“The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea” by Y. Mishima

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It has always been the case, throughout the course of history, for the Westerners who had travelled to Japan to end up referring to Japanese culture as being firmly founded upon the concept of aesthetics as ‘thing in itself’, as opposed to Western culture, which is essentially an aesthetic extrapolation of its affiliates’ preoccupation with indulging in economic and political pursuits on full-time basis.

The fact that Japanese people idealize aesthetics explains the particulars of Japan’s history and provides us with the insight onto why, after being thoroughly defeated during the course of WW2, Japan was able to quickly regain its former geopolitical prominence on the arena of international politics – just as it used to be the case with Western culture, before being affected by degenerative socio-political doctrines of Socialism and Marxism, Japanese culture should be thought of as physical manifestation of its carriers’ inborn sense of existential idealism.

And, as history shows – it is specifically people endowed with the strong sense of idealism, who were traditionally more capable of bending the course of history, as compared to those who never ceased professing purely materialistic values. In our paper, we will aim to substantiate the validity of this thesis even further, by analyzing themes and motifs, contained in Yukio Mishima’s novel “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea”, as such that derive out of Japanese aesthetically-philosophical concept of evanescence.

In his book “The Nobility of Failure: Tragic Heroes in the History of Japan”, Marius B. Jansen came up with valuable observation as to one of foremost specifics of Japanese people’s mentality – namely, their tendency to glorify one’s failure, for as long as such failure can be referred to as utterly dramatic and therefore, aesthetically pleasing: “Japanese hero is a man whose career represents the very antithesis of an ethos of accomplishment. He is the man whose single-minded sincerity will not allow him to make the maneuvers and compromises that are so often needed for mundane success… His death is no temporary setback, which will be redeemed by his followers, but represents an irrevocable collapse of the cause he has championed” (1988, 21).

Jansen’s suggestion is being directly related to this paper’s subject manner, because themes and motifs in Mishima’s novel appear clearly concerned with author’s unconventional outlook onto death (the ultimate failure). However, unlike what many contemporary critics of Mishima imply, author’s obsession with death (more properly defined as his perceptional stoicism in the face of death) was not of pathological but rather of aesthetic essence.

In order for us to be able to substantiate a rationale, behind this idea, we will need to refer to Charles Ichiro Inouye’s book “Evanescence and Form: An Introduction to Japanese Culture”, in which author provides us with the insight onto evanescence (fading away/vanishing from one’s sight) as not some abstractly-philosophical category but as the most immediate characteristic of surrounding reality: “No amount of lecturing or reading and writing about evanescence could substitute for the sight of thousands of delicately pink petals scattering in the spring breeze, dying at the height of their beauty, sadly affirming the fate of us all. Like those blossoms, we, too, will soon be gone. Like those hana, we too will become a fleeting memory” (2008, 3).

According to practitioners of Zen-based philosophy of Bushido, evanescence represents the most fundamental law of life, which in its turn, is being perceived as one of many emanations of non-existence. Let us outline the most important tenets of Bushido philosophy, because understanding of Bushido’s theoretical premises is quite indispensible, within the context of conducting further analysis on how themes and motifs in Mishima’s novel relate to the concept of evanescence.

These tenets can be summarized as follows:

Non-existence is primary and absolute,
Non-existence if limitless in all of its aspects,
The non-existence of non-existence is existence,
In regards to non-existence, existence is secondary.
Existence, as non-existence of non-existence, is unstable,
The measure of existence’s instability is time,
Everything that exists is existing only in time,
The birth is secondary to death, because people are being born to live only so long; whereas, they die forever,
The most important attribute of existence is realization of its mortality,
Existence is primary, consciousness is secondary,
The realization of mortality is suffering, suffering is an attribute of consciousness,
Suffering causes consciousness to invent the world of an absolute existence (God),
But there is no God,
The realization of God’s non-existence results in the emergence of ‘consciousness of non-existence’, which makes existence transparent and recognizes non-existence beyond existence,
The realization of non-existence beyond existence is horror,
In order to be able to deal with the horror of non-existence, one must confront it with the ‘courage of non-existence’,
The ‘courage of non-existence’ is the highest form of courage, because it implies one’s ability to look calmly in the eyes of non-existence,
The ‘man of non-existence’ is truly courageous individual – he looks in the future without hope but also without despair, which makes every minute of his existence and also his death an art. He is also capable of turning the deaths of others into an art.

In the book, from which we have already quoted, Charles Ichiro Inouy states: “According to the law of failure-follows-success, it is not even the case that bad things might happen. Evanescence requires that they will happen. Do not bother, then, to question whether it is our fault or someone else’s. Either way, the fall will come, and it might come with a vengeance” (2008, 50). Thus, one’s ability to recognize its morality and the overall futility of existence, without experiencing an utter horror, implies such individual being endowed with clearly defined masculine virtues of rationale, courage and non-emotionalism. Given the context of what has been said earlier, there appears to be only one worthy pursuit in life – making this life as artistic as possible by the mean of actively resisting a variety of animalistic urges, which deprive life of its tragic nobleness.

Despite the fact that the character of Noburu in Mishima’s novel is only thirteen years old, he nevertheless is being presented to readers as nothing less of a Japanese samurai, who despises people’s existential weaknesses as ‘thing in itself’ and who goes about confronting its own weaknesses in rather straight forward manner (the scene of cat’s skinning).

It is important to understand that Noburu’s apparent brutishness did not come ‘because of’, but ‘contrary to’ – throughout novel’s entirety, Mishima never ceases to describe Noburu and his friends as particularly sensitive and intelligent kids, who could not possibly derive a sadistic pleasure out of torturing and killing animals: “The chief, number one, number two, Noburu (who was number three), number four, and number five were all smallish, delicate boys and excellent students” (Mishima, 1965: 49). The reason why Noburu and the members of his gang used to indulge in socially inappropriate activities is that they acutely felt their own deep-seated femininity, which in turn, caused them to strive to get rid of it as a ‘weakness’.

Thus, there can be very little doubt as to the fact that “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea” features certain autobiographic undertones – just as Noboru, Yukio Mishima had certain feminine qualities about him. In his article “The Metaphysics of the Womb in Mishima Yukio’s The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea”, Takao Hagiwara explains this fact by specifics of Mishima’s upbringing: “Shortly after his birth, Yukio was taken from his mother name, Hiraoka by his grandmother Natsu, a proud and jealous woman, who virtually imprisoned him in her sickroom for most of the next twelve years… Natsu forbade Yukio to play with noisy boys, and made him to play with quiet girls, sometimes even dressing him like a girl” (1999, 40).

And, just as Noboru, Mishima used to go about confronting his ‘weaknesses’ by subjecting them to his strongly defined will-power. Apparently, there was a good reason why both: Mishima and his character of Noboru, actively strived to distance themselves from just about anything they associated with femininity. This reason becomes apparent, once we assess the notion of evanescence through the lenses of Bushido philosophy. Let us begin from afar.

As it has been rightly noted in Inouy’s book, the notion of evanescence is being synonymous to the concept of an ongoing transformation (decay). In its turn, the fact that we are being constantly transformed implies that we live one second at the time – the notions of past and future are simply mental constructs, which have nothing to do with the objective reality, as we perceive it.

Therefore, it is utterly inappropriate to think that the actual purpose of one’s life is being concerned with individual’s non-existence in the past or with its existence in yet non-existent future, but solely with the present. However, given the fact that we live one second at the time, it implies that the best way to address life’s challenges, is not noticing them altogether, while becoming solely preoccupied with seeking aesthetic intensity/intellectual exaltation to our sensory perceptions.

As Barbara Wolf had put it in her article: “Mishima in Microcosm”: “The moment in Mishima tends to have such enormous consequences, because it so often represents a forced awakening from innocence that is really a kind of unreflecting solipsism” (1975/76, 850). And, while we concentrate on experiencing a whole range of aesthetic impressions, associated with the particular moment of our lives, we cannot be distracted.

What distracts men from abstract philosophizing and from aesthetic contemplating more than anything else does? Socialization with women. This is because; whereas, men are supposed to profess Apollonian (masculine) values of intellectual exaltation, self-discipline and inquisitive rationale, women profess essentially opposite Dionysian (feminine) values of emotionalism, perceptional irrationality and existential indulgence. The reason for this is simple – unlike what it is the case with women, who exist in the state of constant sexual tension, due to particulars of their physiology, men can mentally detach themselves from their genitals.

Men’s sexuality can be compared to a skin rash. Once this rash is being scratched, it goes away – thus allowing men to expand their minds beyond their animalistic physiology and to attain self-dignity, in the face of an impending death – at least; this is how Mishima perceived it. Women’s sexuality, on the other hand, is be best defined as an overwhelming passion, a treacherous desire to dominate by being submissive, which leaves no room for rationale and logic and which has serpent-like qualities about itself.

It is not simply by coincidence that in Mishima’s novel, Fusako is being often compared to a snake: “Like a serpent coiling for a strike, Fusako lifted her bare white neck from the bed and peered through the darkness at the point of light” (1965, 151). In its turn, this explains why initially, Noboru did not mind Ryuji dating his mother – given the fact that in Noboru’s eyes, Ryuji represented an ideal of manhood (physically strong, idealistic, and self-disciplined individual, endowed with the sense of being destined for some great mission), it never occurred to Noboru that Ryuji would ever be willing to treat Fusako in any other way other than simply an occasional lover, especially that Ryuji himself used to refer to Fusako in rather dismissive terms: “Fair enough: then as far as I’m concerned, she’s (Fusako) just another body” (1965, 42).

However, by the time Noboru had realized that Ryuji was intending to marry his mother, for the sake of attaining a conventional happiness of ‘life with a woman’, he began to hate his would-be-stepfather with passion. Just as the name of Mishima’s novel implies, Noboru had come to conclusion that by abandoning his sense of a Great Cause, while succumbing to the prospects of being feminized, Ryuji had committed a transgression against its own calling as the voluntarist bender of reality, which it its turn, had deprived Ryuji’s life of any aesthetic value, whatsoever, as he ceased being observant of his life’s evanescence.

By deciding to settle down with Fusako, Ryuji had chosen in favor of ‘blue pill of ignorance’, as opposed to the ‘red pill of horrible truth’ – thus, becoming a ‘vegetable’ – an individual who can only be formally referred to as being alive.

Whereas; in first part of Mishima’s novel, Ryuji is being presented as essentially a tragic hero, who was able to stoically savor the bitterness of being alone, in novel’s second part, Ryuji has been reduced to essentially a clown, manipulated by Fusako’s treacherous charms, with his existential stance having undergone a drastic transformation from being associated with the notion of control to being associated with the notion of an appeasement: “That smile was a disparagement, for it was meant to mollify a child; besides, it transformed Ryuji himself into a disgraceful caricature of the adult lover of youngsters” (1965, 63). In previously quoted article, Takao Hagiwara state: “Ryuji’s romantic and glorious departure in Part 1 recurs in Part 2 as an ironic parody, where, fallen from his high ideals, he is literally dismantled as scrap on the dry land” (1999, 55).

Thus, we can say that, for as long as the character of Ryuji is being concerned, the concept of evanescence gets to be explored in Mishima’s novel on two different levels: in regards to Ryuji’s initial ability to act as the tragic hero, capable of enjoying life’s non-enjoyable aspects, and in regards to his own gradual deterioration, as existential sovereign.

While acting as a tragic hero, Ryuji was able to prolong every moment of his existence, due to these moments’ sheer intensity (during the time of stress, the flow of time slows down considerably). By being constantly exposed to the dangers of being in the open sea, Ryuji had gotten rid his psyche of petty weaknesses – thus, adopting a Buddhist posture of an unengaged observer, who remains well beyond good and evil, and who understands an utter relativity of life’s conventional challenges: “A solitary life aboard ship had taught Ryuji not to probe matters he didn’t understand” (1965, 74). However, after having fallen in love with Fusako, Ryuji began to rapidly lose its former existential integrity, while being eventually turned into an agent of mediocrity.

According to Mashima, ever since Ryuji’s life had ceased to emanate non-existence, his presence of Earth became nothing but a mockery of his former self – slowly but surely, Ryuji’s was transforming into simply a bulk of flesh, driven by the set of animalistic instincts. Therefore, Noboru’s decision to kill his newly acquired ‘step-farther’ was essentially an act of mercy – by providing Ryuji with an opportunity to face death again, Noboru and his friends strived for nothing less than allowing him to regain his former glory: “Still immersed in his dream, he drank down the tepid tea. It tasted bitter. Glory, as anyone knows, is bitter stuff” (1965, 165). Apparently, in Mishima’s eyes, the life incapable of emanating memorable aesthetics, was not worthy of living.

However, as we have pointed out earlier, such author’s outlook onto the subject matter cannot be thought of as the ultimate proof of his psychological inadequacy, but rather as an indication that, throughout the course of his life, Mishima never ceased being closely affiliated with Japanese Zen-philosophy of Bushido, which does not oppose evanescence but rather celebrates it is particularly courageous manner.

As Steven Heine had pointed out in his article “From Rice Cultivation to Mind Contemplation: The Meaning of Impermanence in Japanese Religion”: “One of the major features of Japanese approach to evanescence (impermanence) is an affirmation of death as coexistent with or even having priority over life. This attitude is reflected in social behavior in Japan characterized by various forms of legitimizing voluntary death” (1991, 374). The Japanese practitioners of Zen/Bushido are being afraid of death just as everybody else. However, unlike everybody else, they posses plenty of courage not to admit this fact even to themselves.

Nevertheless, there is also a third dimension to the discussion of how the concept of evanescence is being explored in “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea” – a socio-historical one. Noboru and Ryuji are clearly the representatives of generations, associated with different existential values. Whereas, Ryuji is being shown to readers as someone capable of adapting to the ways of modernity, Noboru is not.

Moreover, it is not only that Noboru despises modernity, but he also strives to impose tradition upon whatever and whomever he perceives as having been ‘corrupted’ by modernity. As it has been rightly noted in Hagiwara’s article: “The central opposition in The Sailor – the masculine versus the feminine – is correlated with other oppositions, such as civilization versus nature and modernity verses premodernity (tradition)” (1999, 37). Of course, such juxtaposition is being highly autobiographical, in regards to the author, as Mishima himself tried imposing tradition upon Westernized Japan in 1970, by conspiring against Japanese government. The fact that he was fully aware of a sheer futility of his attempt to reverse the course of Japan’s history, did not prevent Mishima from proceeding with this attempt anyways, regardless of odds.

In its turn, this substantiates the validity of our earlier suggestion as to the fact that, while being assessed through the lenses of Japanese traditionalism, the concept of evanescence represents solely an aesthetic value. Just as the character of Noboru in “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea”, Mishima could not care less about whether his intention to reestablish the primacy of masculine stoicism, as the only legitimate worldview in Japan, was even slightly realistic. All he wanted was to turn the remainder of his life into a high tragedy, simply because unlike what it is the case with the genre of comedy, the genre of tragedy implies its strong affiliation with the concept of aesthetics, by definition.

As a natural-born aesthete, Mishima firmly believed that, for as long as a particular course of action is being associated with the prospects of emotional intensity and high drama, the practitioners of Bushido should not even be giving any seconds thoughts on whether to indulge in such action or not: “We must have blood! Human blood! If we don’t get it this empty world will go pale and shrivel up. We must drain that sailor’s fresh lifeblood and transfuse it to the dying universe, the dying sky, the dying forests, and the drawn, dying land” (1965, 167). Within the context of one trying to live the life of art, considerations of practicability and conventional morality are irrelevant.

The conclusions of this paper are being consistent with our initial thesis-statement:

As it appears from the context of Yukio Mishima’s novel “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea”, the specifics of Japanese interpretation of notion of evanescence, derive out Japanese people’s strongly defined sense of idealism, which in its turn, endows them with an acute sense of ‘evanescence aesthetics’, as such that is being concerned with the art of living ‘one second at the time’.
Novel’s themes and motifs promote the idea that, in order for a particular individual to be able to leave a mark in history, he or she must profess masculine values of existential stoicism.
The process of an individual professing these values cannot be discussed outside of one’s ability to practice self-discipline, on full-time basis.
The sheer vagueness of definition of evanescence does not imply this notion’s artificialness, but rather points out as evanescence’s metaphysical essence as ‘thing in itself’
Those that are capable of perceiving different emanations of evanescence as such that represent an aesthetic value; will be able to address life’s challenges more adequately, as compared to those who tend to substantialize past and future, without being able to indulge into the art of living ‘one second at the time’.

Bibliography

Hagiwara, Takao ‘The Metaphysics of the Womb in Mishima Yukio’s The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea’, The Journal of the Association of Teachers of Japanese 33.2 (1999): 36-75. Print.

Heine, Steven ‘From Rice Cultivation to Mind Contemplation: The Meaning of Impermanence in Japanese Religion’, History of Religions 30.4 (1991): 373-403. Print.

Ichiro Inouye, Charles. Evanescence and Form: An Introduction to Japanese Culture. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Print.

Jansen, Marius. The Nobility of Failure: Tragic Heroes in the History of Japan. London: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1988. Print.

Mishima, Yukio. The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea. Trans. John Nathan. New York: Wideview/Perigee, 1965. Print.

Wolf, Barbara ‘Mishima in Microcosm’, American Scholar 45.1 (1975/76): 848-850. Print.

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