JUNICHIRO TANIZAKI
Tanizaki Junichirô est né le 24 juillet 1886 dans le quartier de Nihonbashi à Tôkyô. Issu d'une famille de marchands qui fit fortune sous l'impulsion de son grand-père maternel Kyûemon Tanizaki. Sa mère, Seki, est la troisième fille de Kyûemon, elle est âgée de vingt-deux ans à la naissance de Junichirô. Son père, Kuragorô, est lui aussi issu d'une famille de marchand (grossistes de sake), les Ezawa dont il est le troisième fils, mais sur le déclin, ce qui explique son adoption par la famille Tanizaki. Junichirô est inscrit sur le registre d'état civil comme étant le premier enfant du couple. Cependant il a eu un frère aîné qui ne vécu que trois jours, la mort prématurée de ce frère fut à l'origine de son prénom : Jun signifie « humecter la terre pour la rendre fertile » et ichirô signifie « le premier fils ». Il sera l'aîné d'une famille de sept enfants (trois frères et trois sœurs).
En 1888 son grand-père meurt, et la situation financière de la famille se dégrade petit à petit. Cependant jusqu'à l'âge de huit ans Tanizaki a une vie plus que confortable au sein de sa famille, mais celle-ci change radicalement au cours de l'année 1894 lorsque suite à de nombreux échecs de son père la famille est obligée de déménager dans une modeste demeure. En 1891 le tremblement de terre de la région de Nagoya le marquera profondément et lui inspirera toute sa vie une peur viscérale des séismes, le tremblement de terre de Tôkyô en 1894 ne fit que confirmer ce sentiment.
A l'âge de onze ans Junichirô eut son premier Mentor en la personne de son professeur Inaba Seichiki qui l'influencera durant quatre années. Tanizaki considérera cet instituteur comme son seul et unique Maître durant toute sa vie. En 1898 il écrit ses premières nouvelles : Rêves d'écoliers (Gakusei no yume), Le Maître zen Ikkyû (Ikkyû zenji), Du seigneur Kusunoki (Nankô ron) ... qu'il publiera dans la revue de son école Le club des écoliers (Gakusei kurabu). Durant sa scolarité il étudiera notamment l'anglais et le chinois classique.
En 1901 il entre au « Premier collège » de Tôkyô. Il commence à faire publier dans la revue du collège plusieurs kanshi ainsi que quelques essais : Critique du pessimisme (Ensei-shugi o hyôsu), Idée morale et idée esthétique (Dôtokuteki-kannen to hieki-kannen), Lettres, arts et moralisme (Bungei to dôtoku-shugi), Lève-toi, l'Asie ! (Tateyo, Ajia) ... En 1902 il parvient même à faire publier dans une revue commerciale, Le monde des jeunes (Shônen-sekai), deux essais et un poème écrit dans le style shintaishi. Malheureusement sa famille connaît de plus en plus de difficultés financières et le jeune Junichirô est obligé de s'installer dans la riche famille Kitamura (propriétaires de l'hôtel-restaurant-épicerie Seiyôken) pour y donner des leçons particuliers aux enfants. Cette expérience lui servira d'inspiration pour sa nouvelle Le masque du démon (Oni no men) qu'il publiera en 1916.
En 1905 il entre dans la section de droit anglais du « Premier lycée » de Tôkyô dans lequel Natsume Sôseki enseigne l'anglais depuis 1903 (ayant pris la suite du non moins célèbre Lafcadio Hearn). L'année 1907 voit la publication de trois récits de Tanizaki dans la revue du lycée : Les funérailles d'un épagneul (Chin no sôshiki), Souvenirs incertains (Urooboe) et Le Volcan éteint (Shikazan). Ce dernier récit est en fait la version romancée de ses amours avec Hozumi Fuku, employée chez les Kitamura, et pour lesquelles il fut congédié de son travail chez la riche famille. Suite à cette mésaventure, Tanizaki se retrouvera pensionnaire au lycée. L'année suivante Tanizaki renonce à ses études de droit anglais et s'inscrit dans la section de littérature japonaise de l'Université impériale de Tôkyô, se décidant ainsi à embrasser une carrière littéraire. Il se décide alors à faire publier ses écrits dans des revues renommées, mais essuie deux échecs coup sur coup. La revue Teikoku bungaku lui refuse sa pièce Naissance (Tanjô) et sa nouvelle Une Journée est refusée par la revue Waseda bungaku. Sur ces échecs il commence une dépression et pense à se lancer dans une carrière de journaliste.
En 1910 il participe, avec plusieurs camarades, au lancement de la revue Shinshichô dans laquelle il peut enfin publier sa pièce de théâtre. La même année il y publiera L'Eléphant (Zô), The Affair of Two Watches, Le Tatouage (Shisei) et le Kirin. La parution du Tatouage lui donne l'occasion d'être reconnu sur la scène littéraire, ce qui lui permet de rencontrer le romancier Nagai Kafû qui lui sera un précieux soutient lors de ses premières années d'écrivain.
En 1911 il commence à pouvoir vivre de sa plume, recevant pour la première fois de l'argent pour la publication d'une de ses œuvres : Shinzei (pièce en un acte) qui paraît dans la revue Subaru. A cette première parution feront suite : Les Jeunes Garçons (Shônen) et Le Bouffon (Hôkan) qui seront publiés dans cette même revue. En juin de cette année il perd sa sœur Sono à peine âgée de seize ans. En juillet il est renvoyé de l'Université pour non-paiement de ses frais. En octobre il subit sa première censure pour son texte Hyôfû. En novembre il continue à monter dans le milieu littéraire japonais grâce à la parution du Secret (Himitsu) dans la célèbre revue Chûô kôron et surtout grâce à l'éloge qui est fait de lui par Nagai Kafû dans la revue Mita bungaku. En décembre il sort son premier recueil de nouvelles incluant : Le Tatouage, Le Kirin, Le Bouffon, Les Jeunes Garçons, L'Eléphant et Shinzei.
1912, sa carrière est définitivement lancée. Il est régulièrement publié dans des quotidiens tel que l'Ôsaka Mainichi ou le Tôkyô Nichinichi. Il commence à écrire avec de grandes difficultés son premier long roman, Atsumono, qu'il achèvera en 1913.
En 1915 il se marie avec une ancienne geisha, Ishikawa Chiyo, avec laquelle il aura une fille, Ayuko, née en 1916. Junichirô perd sa mère en 1917, deux ans plus tard (un peu avant la mort de son père) il publiera une nouvelle en son hommage (Nostalgie de ma mère).
En 1918 il effectue son premier voyage hors du Japon, il visitera la Corée, la Chine et la Mandchourie. De ce voyage il tirera plusieurs articles qu'il fera publier dans différents journaux l'année suivante.
Après les nouvelles, le théâtre et le roman, Tanizaki s'intéresse au cinéma. En 1920 il est engagé par la société Taishô pour laquelle il écrira plusieurs scénarii dont : Amachua kurabu, Katsushika Sunaki, Hinamatsuri no yoru ou Jasei no in. Mais cette expérience dans le milieu cinématographique ne durera qu'une année, le succès commercial n'étant pas au rendez-vous. Il reprendra l'écriture de pièces, dont certaines finalement furent reprises par la suite au cinéma (Puisque je l'aime, O-kuni et Gohei, Hommoku yawa ...).
Le tremblement de terre de 1923 incitera Tanizaki à quitter définitivement le Kantô. Désormais il vivra dans le Kansai (jusqu'en 1956) et changera régulièrement de résidence. Cet exil dans le Kansai marquera fortement ces œuvres à venir. Il essayera d'assimiler les croyances et les mœurs de cette région du Japon qui lui est inconnue et beaucoup de ses romans se dérouleront dans le triangle Ôsaka, Kyôto, Kôbe.
À partir de 1928, Tanizaki publie à une cadence surprenante des œuvres rénovatrices de grande qualité : Manji (Svastika, 1928), Le Goût des orties (1928), Rangiku monogatari (Chrysanthème dans la tourmente, 1930).
Tanizaki se remarie en 1931, à l’âge de quarante-cinq ans, avec Tomiko Furukawa, une jeune journaliste de vingt-quatre ans. Il exprime dans un essai sa satisfaction psychologique et physique que lui procure cette nouvelle vie conjugale. Plusieurs chefs-d’œuvre confirment la plénitude du romancier : Yoshino kuzu (Yoshino, 1931), Mōmoko monogatari (Le Récit de l’aveugle, 1931), Bushūkōiwa (Histoire secrète du sire de Musashi, 1932).
Le narrateur joue un rôle déterminant dans les récits que Tanizaki écrit à cette époque. C’est lui qui tisse son histoire à l’aide de multiples sources, des photographies ou des témoignages tantôt historiques tantôt fabriqués par l’auteur. Il introduit le lecteur dans les replis des passions, des lieux du drame et de la profondeur des souvenirs.
Mais l’inspiratrice de ces récits, qui ont comme sujet l’adoration d’une femme, n’est pas sa jeune épouse. Il divorcera en 1935 et se remariera avec sa muse Matsuko Nezu. Ces tumultes ne freinent nullement sa création littéraire et il impressionne ses lecteurs par la qualité de ses ouvrages : Ashikari (Le Coupeur de roseaux, 1932), Shunkinshō (Shunkin, esquisse d’un portrait, 1933), Éloge de l'ombre (1933).
En 1936, Tanizaki publie Neko to Shōzō to futari no onna (Le Chat, son maître et ses deux maîtresses). Ce récit plein d’humour et de cocasserie met en vedette une chatte comme objet d’adoration. Le rire éclate comme une force libératrice et salutaire au moment où les bruits de botte font trembler le Japon et annoncent une période historique très sombre.
À cinquante-sept ans, Tanizaki se lance dans une entreprise de grande envergure : la traduction en japonais moderne d’un véritable monument de la littérature du xie siècle, Genji monogatari (le Dit du Genji) qui évoque les nombreux aspects de la vie amoureuse. À sa publication en 1939-1941, Tanizaki fait face à une censure féroce. La montée de la conscience nationaliste porte surtout des ouvrages virils, héroïques et patriotiques. Son plus long ouvrage, Sasameyuki (Bruine de neige) est interdit de publication en juillet 1944. Les écrivains sont sommés de soutenir de leur plume la thèse de la guerre sainte en exaltant les valeurs traditionnelles. Dans cette situation, Tanizaki apparaît peu compromis tant est grand le décalage entre la mentalité dominante de l’époque et son univers romanesque.
La littérature japonaise va immédiatement retrouver sa vitalité. De nombreux jeunes écrivains, profondément marqués par la guerre, participent à la rénovation de la société. Loin de devenir sage avec l’âge, Tanizaki renoue avec ses tendances profondes et ses fantasmes puissants. Il affirme qu’au royaume des passions, l’homme est toujours en lutte. La Mère du général Shigemoto (1950) montre que la lucidité de l’esprit ne peut annihiler la jouissance poétique. Couvert de distinctions nationales, Tanizaki publie en 1956 Kagi (La Clef, d'abord traduit La Confession impudique) où il traite sans détours le problème du désir sexuel chez un couple. Les manœuvres psychologiques des personnages s’y révèlent extrêmement machiavéliques. L’opinion publique réagit vivement : s’agit-il d’une œuvre pornographique et immorale comme certains l’ont prétendu à l’époque ? Il publie en 1959 une œuvre pleine de suavité sur le thème de l’adoration de la mère Yume no ukihashi (Le Pont flottant des songes).
Son état de santé s’aggrave après 1960. Le désir de se délivrer de la souffrance physique et de l’obsession de la mort constitue le thème essentiel de l’œuvre tragicomique Journal d’un vieux fou (1961). Dans ses derniers essais, Jun'ichirō Tanizaki se souviendra de sa préférence pour la fiction romanesque plutôt que pour le récit autobiographique, à propos de la polémique qui l’avait opposé à son ami et écrivain, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa : « Je ne m’intéresse qu’aux mensonges », avait-il écrit.
Tanizaki meurt le 30 juillet 1965 en Tôkyô.
— Shunkin
JUNICHIRO TANIZAKI, born in Tokyo 24 July 1886, the son of a rice broker, received a conventional education. Entering the Imperial University in 1908, he studied Japanese classical literature but left without taking a degree. From a very young age he was interested in literary pursuits and soon achieved his ambition of devoting his life to art.
Eschewing the flourishing naturalism of the day, Tanizaki sought to create works of beauty through style and mood, inspired in part by the Japanese past and also by certain Western writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Baudelaire, and Oscar Wilde. Throughout his fiction run strains of eroticism and lyricism together with a good deal of imagery taken from the acute observation of real life. The character of a dominant or destructive woman is much in evidence in many of his novels, as are subtle contrasts of new and old, Japanese and Occidental. Tanizaki saw and depicted vividly the clash between Japan and the West, but on the esthetic plane.
Shisei (1910; The Tatoo), set in the premodern era of the early 19th century, depicts a tattooer and artist who becomes enslaved to a beautiful woman after tattooing a spider on her back while she slept. The richness and beauty of the style brought Tanizaki to the immediate attention of the reading public. Shonen (1912; Children) pursues the vein of "diabolism" with the depiction of children committing unspeakable, and unspecified, horrors. Jotaro (1914) explores the subjects of masochism and madness on the part of a famous author. O-Tsuya Goroshi (1915; The Killing of O-Tsuya), with a picturesque setting of city life in the recent premodern past, is a tale of infidelity, lust, and murder in a vivid, dramatic, and essentially modern technique.
In Itansha no Kanashimi (1917; The Sorrows of a Heretic) the theme of masochism is again set forth. Haha o Kouru-ki (1919; Pining for Mother) depicts mother love and nostalgia for the world of the preceding generation. Chiisana Okoku (1918; A Small Kingdom) has for its theme masochism as well as subjection to inevitable tyranny. It is almost political but not quite. The play Okuni and Gohei (1922) is complex, historical, and violent.
With Chijin no Ai (1925; A Fool's Love) Tanizaki embarked on his first long novel. Set in the foreign quarter of Yokohama, it depicts a man's obsession with a Eurasian prostitute who bears a resemblance to Mary Pickford. It may be an ironic commentary on Japan's dilemma of Westernization. After the great earthquake of 1923 Tanizaki had left Tokyo to establish himself in the more traditional and picturesque Kyoto-Osaka area, where he was to remain. He now turned his attention to depicting the more glamorous aspects of the Japanese past and could look back on modern Tokyo with a certain disdain.
From this time on, Tanizaki's greatest works were written. Tade Kuu Mushi (1929; Some Prefer Nettles) portrays modern life in Kobe and Kyoto, the muted charms of Kyoto versus the blatant cheapness of the modern port city with its shabby cosmopolitanism. Manji (1930; Whirl), a stylistic tour de force written entirely in Osaka dialect, deals with suicide and the perverse. In Yoshino Kudzu (1931), a tone poem that is part essay, part fiction, the hero falls in love with a girl who reminds him of his deceased mother. Momoku Monogatari (1931; A Blind Man's Tale) is a historical tale of the 16th century in which prominent historical personages are "seen" through the eyes of a narrator who is a blind masseur and musician. Stylistically it is one of Tanizaki's greatest achievements, as is Ashikari (1932), a discursive evocation of passion somewhat reminiscent of a No play. Kaoyo (1933), a play set in the 14th century, depends on mood and strangeness for its effect.
Shunkinsho (1934; A Portrait of Shunkin), a most exotic tale, depicts an imperious woman named Shunkin, who is a beautiful blind musician, and her abject body servant. Neko to Shozo to Futari no Onna (1936; A Cat, Shozo, and Two Women) is a perverse and comic novel with a modern setting and humorous tone.
During the 1930s Tanizaki had been working on a modern version of the Tale of Genji, the great classic novel of 10th-century life by Lady Murasaki. This appears to have influenced some of the descriptive passages in his long novel Sasameyuki (1948; The Makioka Sisters), a study of a prominent old Osaka merchant family in decline. It is an important document of contemporary social customs. Returning to the Japanese past with Shosho Shigemoto no Haha (1949; The Mother of Captain Shigemoto), Tanizaki again treated the theme of a youth burdened by the memory of his beautiful mother. Kagi (1956; The Key) and Futen Rojin Nikki (1962; Diary of a Mad Old Man) offer vivid and humorous descriptions of modern depravity in the postwar world.
Elected to the Japanese Academy of Art in 1923 and decorated with the Order of Culture in 1949, Tanizaki occupied a position of eminence in the world of letters for many years. He died in July 1965.
TANIZAKI, EL PARADIGMA
Si hubiera que elegir un autor emblemático y representativo de la novela moderna japonesa, aquel que mejor expresara los diversos cambios que se operaron en el siglo XX, muchos de ellos inducidos por razones históricas, políticas y estéticas, éste sería sin ninguna duda Junichiro Tanizaki (1886-1965). Tanizaki, un escritor multifacético y dotado de un talento excepcional, se mantuvo activo durante casi seis décadas, realizando un recorrido magistral de su obra en paralelo con la serie de acontecimientos que marcaron la vida del pueblo japonés en un siglo convulsionado que cambió para siempre el rostro de un país. La relevancia de la obra de Tanizaki no reside tanto en la longevidad del autor ni en las miles de páginas que escribió; se basa en la conciencia hipercrítica que le permitió cuestionar, cambiar e incluso dar una vuelta de tuerca a sus escritos en los momentos clave, manteniendo siempre ese carácter arriesgado, experimental, reflexivo e innovador que es propio de la modernidad.
De temprana vocación literaria, su primera colección de cuentos Shisei [El tatuador], data de 1910 y en ella se muestra la influencia de Edgar Allan Poe y Oscar Wilde, influencia que derivará en sus escritos posteriores hacia una temática netamente nacional que crítica la fascinación de los japoneses por los valores recién llegados de Occidente: modas, vestidos, peinados, culinaria, expresiones idiomáticas y la concepción misma de la belleza. Durante esos años, Tanizaki escribe numerosos relatos en los cuales predominan los temas relacionados con la sensualidad, la búsqueda de la belleza, las costumbres de una sociedad refinada y cosmopolita y algunos directamente escabrosos que van desde el fetichismo (que, de hecho, recorre toda su obra), cierto animalismo e incluso la necrofilia con un toque de gourmet.
El terremoto que devasta Tokyo en 1923 tiene una influencia determinante en Tanizaki, quien no sólo abandona la ciudad sino que cambia radicalmente su forma de escribir, vale decir sufre una mudanza en su visión del mundo. Desde la región de Kansai (Kyoto-Osaka), donde fija su nueva residencia, comienza una nueva etapa en su carrera literaria, quizá la más prolífica e intensa. Bastará con citar su extraordinaria novela Tade kuu mushi [Hay quien prefiere las ortigas, 1929], que plantea, dentro de una contenida tragedia familiar, los conflictos de una sociedad en vías de transformación; su exquisito ensayo In ‘ei raisan [Elogio de la sombra, 1933], considerado por la crítica japonesa como el ensayo más importante de cualquier época publicado en Japón, y que es una visión del ser esencialmente japonés en todas sus dimensiones; su bizarra novela de carácter histórico Bushuko hiwa [La historia secreta del señor de Musashi, 1935], para culminar, luego de las vicisitudes de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, con su obra cumbre Sasameyuki [Las cuatro hermanas, 1947], que es un ambicioso fresco, a la manera de las grandes novelas rusas, sobre la vida cotidiana en el Japón de la década del treinta. Ya en su madurez se inclina por temas de un erotismo refinado y decadente en obras inolvidables como Kagi [La llave, 1956] y Futen rojin nikki [Diario de un viejo loco, 1962].
La obra de Tanizaki es vasta y reveladora de las múltiples facetas de una cultura con valores propios enraizada en siglos de tradición, que intenta sobrevivir a la avalancha tentadora de nuevas ofertas, adoptando las más convenientes y reivindicando sus logros más valiosos, aquellos que la definen como una cultura única, refinada y auténtica. Tanizaki representa, como ningún otro artista de su tiempo, el espíritu y la esencia del Japón.
Tanizaki gozó en vida de una fama muy merecida y recibió las más altas distinciones en su país y en el extranjero. En 1949 recibe el Premio Imperial, el máximo reconocimiento que se concede en Japón a un artista. Fue elogiado por escritores como Henry Miller, y a principio de los sesenta su nombre sonó en varias oportunidades como un sólido candidato al Premio Nobel. No se puede decir que haya caido totalmente en el olvido, pero creo que en la actualidad flota en ese limbo donde los clásicos parecieran purgar el hecho de su misma consagración. Un crítico tan exigente como Donald Keene, probablemente el mayor especialista extranjero en literatura japonesa, por allá en 1953 escribió que Tanizaki era el máximo novelista moderno del Japón. ¿Habrá sido superado? Eso tal vez no importe. Existen numerosas traducciones de Tanizaki en inglés y francés. En Francia, donde lo han adoptado casi como propio, la famosa colección La Pléyade de la Editorial Gallimard publicó en 1959, en dos tomos, gran parte de la obra de Tanizaki. En español no ha corrido con tanta suerte, se le ha conocido más bien esporádicamente, en ráfagas, y esto tal vez se deba a las dificultades de traducción. Algunas de sus novelas han sido traducidas en los últimos años, pero hasta el presente ninguna editorial lo ha tomado como escritor bandera.
Ednodio QUINTERO
— El Boomeran(g)
TANIZAKI AND BUDDHISM
To trace back Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s religious outlook, it might be useful to have a glance at the religious life of his grandfather on his mother’s side, Tanizaki Kyūemon. From Yōshō jidai 幼少時代 (‘Childhood Years,’ 1956), Tanizaki’s memoirs of his early childhood, we learn that his grandfather had converted himself late in his life to the Russian Orthodox Church, and had kept an icon of the Virgin Mary in the house. This eventually led up to the awkward situation at his deathbed when both a Buddhist Nichiren priest – the sect of which his family had been adherents for many generations – and an Orthodox priest arrived, upon which a heated discussion flared up as to how the old man should be buried. Because Kyūemon had been the only one in the family to convert to this new faith, and had even kept his conversion a secret from his wife, in the end it was Buddhism that prevailed, and Kyūemon was interred according to Nichiren rites at the Jigenji 慈眼寺 cemetery in Fukagawa (which was later moved to its present location in Somei). Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, who was only two at the time of his grandfather’s death, had no direct recollections of these events, but the thoughts he said he had at the sight of the image of Mary, which was kept enshrined there throughout his youth, are very revealing:
… [W]hen I looked at the image of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Christ, there was a solemnness different from my emotions when I stood before the family Buddhist altar, as Grandmother and the others recited the sutras morning and evening. Gazing with inexpressible reverence into the Virgin Mother’s eyes, so full of tenderness and mercy, I felt I never wanted to leave her side. I understood something of my grandfather’s feeling as he prayed before this image of the Western goddess. There was a certain strangeness about it all, yet I sensed that someday I too might well do as he had done. (Tanizaki 1988: 19-20; Paul McCarthy’s translation)
The Christian faith of his grandfather is reduced here to the worshipping of a ‘Western goddess.’ In the eyes of the young Tanizaki, joining the hands in supplication before this exotic female figure was something infinitely more exiting than the dreary spectacle of grandma chanting sutras before the Buddhist altar. In this description, it seems like almost no distinction is made between religious fervor and a yearning for the exotic and female beauty. This appraisal of his grandfather’s faith, as we will see, will share certain crucial characteristics with his later assessment of Buddhism.
Probably the first reference to Buddhist matters in Tanizaki’s published fiction we find in his early short story Himitsu (‘The Secret,’ 1911). In this story, an extravagant young man who secretly goes out every night in female attire is seeking a hideaway in the center of Tokyo to stay low during daytime. He finds this in a Shingon monastery behind the Honganji Temple in Asakusa. But this young man’s choice for a monastery has little to do with religious feelings. What he seeks is something completely different. To adorn the walls of his room, he lends some old Buddhist paintings of hell and paradise, Mount Sumeru, and a Lying Buddha from the head priest, intent at creating a mysterious, exotic atmosphere:
A steady thread of mauve smoke rose calmly from the incense burner in the alcove and filled the bright, warm room with its fragrance. … The room presented a mesmerizing spectacle on clear days, when the rays of the noontime sun struck the shōji with full force. From the old paintings that covered the surrounding walls, brilliantly colored Buddhas, arhats, bhiksu, bhiksuni, upāsaka, upāsikā, elephants, lions, and unicorns swam out into the abundant light to join a host of living figures from the countless books thrown open on the floor – on manslaughter, anesthesia, narcotics, witchcraft, religion – merging with the incense smoke and looming dimly over me as I lay on a small scarlet rug, gazing with the glassy eyes of a savage, conjuring up hallucinations, day after day. (Tanizaki 2001: 53; translated by Anthony H. Chambers)
As becomes clear from this flowery excerpt, Tanizaki’s early works were characterized by a decadent brand of tambi shugi 耽美主義, or aestheticism, and it is obvious that his use of the setting of the monastery and rooms with Buddhist paintings has much less to do with religion than with his intention to create an outlandish, intoxicating ambience. As an ingredient of this exotic ambience, religion is hardly distinguishable from “manslaughter, anesthesia, narcotics,” or “witchcraft.”
Three works from the early phase of Tanizaki’s career have a setting that is through and through Buddhist, with monks, or people closely involved with monastic life, as major characters. The first, Hōjōji monogatari 法成寺物語 (‘A Tale of the Hōjōji Temple,’ 1916), is a play about the famous Heian sculptor of Buddhist statues Jōchō 定朝, who is commissioned by regent Fujiwara no Michinaga to make a statue of the Amida Buddha. However, this play, said to be influenced by Oscar Wilde’s Salome, is above all about intricate love relations and the function and significance of art, rather than about Buddhism itself. The same sort of thing can be said about Genzō Sanzō 玄奘三蔵 (‘Xuanzang, Monk of the Three Treasuries,’ 1917), a short story on the famous Chinese monk Xuanzang who went to India to study Buddhism and collect Sanskrit Buddhist scriptures. This story too, as was the case with Himitsu, has a ‘Buddhist’ setting purely for the exotic effect of it. In this period, Tanizaki wrote many stories set in ancient China, a distant Japanese past, or even imagined lands, which he peopled with sorcerers, mermaids, fairies, and the like. Also, his choice for Xuanzang as his protagonist might have been inspired by the popular Chinese Ming novel Xiyouji 西遊記 (‘Journey to the West’), which also bursts with fantastical elements originating from Chinese folklore – a story he new very well, as he had bought the book with his saved pocket money as a child (Tanizaki 1956: 187). Best proof of all this is that in Genzō Sanzō, Xuanzang not once on his journey meets a Buddhist monk or comes across a Buddhist scripture. Instead, he encounters a variety of (non-Buddhist) mute ascetics, fakirs on nail beds and other eccentrics. Genzō Sanzō also treats the question of poetry. When Xuanzang is watching an exceptionally beautifully voiced Hindu nun chanting verses of the Ramayana, he is informed by another spectator that, “one who is born in a foreign country and cannot appreciate the special flavor of the Indian language, however much he may know about the mercy of the Buddha, cannot hope to gauge the depth of poetic expression. … Of all human speech, poetry is closest to the gods.” (Tanizaki 1917: 349; my translation) Through this bystander, Tanizaki seems intent on championing poetry over religion.
Of special interest to this paper is the next story with a fully Buddhist setting, Futari no chigo 二人の稚児 (‘Two Acolytes,’ 1918). All principle characters are related to Buddhism – mainly the two acolytes of the title and an eminent Buddhist monk – and find themselves in a thoroughly Buddhist environment, namely Mount Hiei, the location of the head temple of the Tendai sect. As the two acolytes have been raised there from early childhood, they have no clear memory of the world outside of the mountain. “Their greatest source of unease,” it is said, “was the fact of never having actually seen the creature they called “a woman” – some sort of human being that lived in the outside world and was held to be the source of almost every calamity.” (Tanizaki 2001: 74; McCarthy’s translation) Since they are not allowed to descend from the mountain, they have only the instructions of their master and the sutras to rely on for information on this puzzling creature. Letting the two boys consult the scriptures on the subject of women, Tanizaki displays quite some expertise in the Buddhist canon, citing from as much as five different sources that deal with women, i.e. the Utenōkyō 優填王経 (‘Sutra of King Udayana’), the Chidoron 智度論 (‘Treatise on the Perfection of Wisdom’), the Nehangyō 涅槃経 (‘Nirvana Sutra’), the Hōshakukyō 寶積経 (‘Great Treasure Store of Sutras’), and the Yuishikiron 唯識論 (‘Treatise on Consciousness Only’) (Tanizaki 1918: 313-14; 2001: 75-76).
Tanizaki’s somewhat surprising erudition in the Buddhist scriptures – there is still much more Buddhist terminology in the story, apart from the above five quotes – might have something to do with his education. In his four years at the higher elementary school, which in the old school system took from the age of ten to fourteen, he had a teacher, called Inaba, with a broad interest in a range of subjects. This Inaba-sensei let him read all kinds of works from Plato and Schopenhauer to classical Chinese poetry, but his biggest interest seems to have lain in Buddhist texts, especially of Zen philosophy. Among the books Inaba-sensei used to carry with him, Tanizaki mentions Kūkai’s Sangōshiiki 三教指帰 (‘Paradigm for the Three Religions’) and Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō 正法眼蔵 (‘Treasury of the True Dharma Eye’). Acknowledging Tanizaki’s literary talent, Inaba-sensei had always given the boy special attention, seeing him also outside of the classroom and lending him many books. All this even inspired the young Tanizaki to write a piece called Ikkyū Zenji 一休禅師 (‘Monk Ikkyū,’ 1897), which appeared in the school magazine he issued monthly with his friends. As Tanizaki declared that no teacher had ever influenced him more than Inaba-sensei, the knowledge on Buddhism he displayed in his later works may well have originated from his readings back then (Tanizaki 1956: 86, 214-16).
But let us return to the story of the two acolytes. To solve the enigma of ‘women,’ one of the boys decides to break the rules and descends the mountain, promising to his friend that he will be back before evening. It eventually takes half a year before his friend hears from him again, when a messenger comes to pass a letter. The messenger explains that his friend now passes his days in pleasure, loved not only by a wife but also by “a crowd of courtesans more beautiful than the twenty-five bodhisattvas.” (Tanizaki 2001: 85) After the letter describes in a few words what has happened to him during all those months, it goes on to tell about the outside world:
The truth is, the outside world is not a dream, not an illusion. It’s a sheer delight – in fact a paradise, the Western Pure Land here on earth. I have no use any more for the doctrine of “Three Thousand Phenomena in a Single Thought” or for the meditation on “The Perfect Interpenetration of the Three Truths.” Believe me, the joy of being just a common layman involved with the passions is infinitely preferable to being an ascetic practicing the “Perfect and Sudden Way” to enlightenmment [sic]. I urge you to change your way of thinking and come down from the mountain at once. (Tanizaki 2001: 87)
One is inclined to think this a perfect summary of Tanizaki’s own look on life. The acolyte who is still on the mountain, however, does not let himself be persuaded by his friend’s letter and decides to stay on the mountain to continue his ascetic training, swearing he will become a monk as eminent as his master one day. The story of the two acolytes might be very much related to Tanizaki’s own experiences in his youth. In Yōshō jidai, his childhood memoirs, he writes:
Though sensei was interested in literature, his real intent seems to have lain with the classical Way of Sages, and he aspired to educate me in a Confucian or Buddhist way. However, in the end I had to disappoint him. All in all, my fascination for philosophy, ethics and religion had just been something temporary, borrowed from sensei. (Tanizaki 1956: 229; my translation)
As Chambers (Tanizaki 2001: 10) also points out, although Tanizaki had eventually ‘gone down the mountain’ to taste from the pleasures of life, just like the other boy, maybe this story can be seen as a kind of tribute to the part of himself that might have chosen the other path.
As if he wanted to close that chapter for good, Futari no chigo was his last original work with an all-Buddhist setting. In 1929, however, Tanizaki rewrote a medieval otogizōshi tale called Sannin hōshi 三人法師 (‘Three Monks’). It is the somewhat grisly story of three monks on Mount Kōya confessing to each other the events that had brought them to becoming a monk. Tanizaki said he did this adaptation merely to practice the classically-inspired literary style of the many historical works he was to write thereafter. Yet the monks of the story may have given him inspiration on a personal level as well, as two years later, he would spend four months on Mount Kōya himself, to write on the novel Mōmoku monogatari (‘A Blind Man’s Tale,’ 1931). There, he stayed in the Taiunin 泰雲院, an annex to the Shinnōin Temple 親王院 (Nomura 1972: 351). Until now we have seen that Tanizaki, having been taught in childhood on Buddhist scriptures and from time to time including Buddhist elements in his fiction, was not as much on opposite ends with Buddhism as one would expect from a genuine lotus-eater like him. But even more remarkable is that he voluntarily retreated on this holy mountain for as long as four months. It was not the first time that he did such a thing, however. In the summer of 1925, too, he had stayed for about two months in the Saijūin Temple 西住院 in Kyoto (Nomura 1972: 299). To be able to devote himself wholeheartedly to his writings, he had been staying alone in hotels and inns from the beginning of his career, so presumably, temples likewise were ideal places for him to concentrate. As we can glean from Nomura Shōgo’s biography of Tanizaki, thereafter he would still stay many more times in temples, among which are the Jizōin 地蔵院, a convent adherent to the Jingoji 神護寺 in Kyoto, the Shōnenji 正念寺 in Osaka, and the Shinjōin 真乗院, a temple adherent to the Nanzenji 南禅寺 in Kyoto (1972: 370-71, 395, 438).
His retreat on Mount Kōya has often been called a ‘working honeymoon,’ since less than a month earlier he had married his second wife Furukawa Tomiko. However, as Nomura points out, his real motivation likely was not so fancy. Pressed by serious debts, he had been obliged to sell his house, and it appears that his stay on the mountain was more of a necessity. (1972: 351-52) Be this as it may, while he was on the mountain, Tanizaki devoted his time not only to writing, but also took the opportunity to learn more about esoteric Buddhism from a Shingon monk of the Shinnōin Temple called Mizuhara Gyōei 水原尭栄 (1890-1965). No doubt the secrecy and mystery associated with esoteric Buddhism greatly appealed to his rich imagination and taste for the unusual. It induced him also to write, besides the long novel he had been planning from before, a fantastical story and an essay, using materials he had come across on the mountain. The short story, Kakukai-shōnin Tengu ni naru koto 覚海上人天狗になる事 (‘On Eminent Monk Kakukai’s Becoming Tengu,’ 1931), is based on a local legend that said that the monk Kakukai (1142-1223) had metamorphosed into the long-nosed mythical creature Tengu, and had eventually flown away into the skies. The very short essay Tengu no hone 天狗の骨 (‘Tengu’s Bones,’ 1931), then, centers upon a skull of unknown origin (but said to be that of Tengu) which Tanizaki had chanced upon in the Zōfukuin Temple 増幅院.[...]
— Behold My Swarthy Face
