Between Ritual and Art: The Zen Path in Eastern Tradition

A New Translation from Julius Evola

Editors Note:

Julius Evola, ever the connoisseur of tradition and spiritual disciplines, uses this essay to delve into the works of Eugen Herrigel and Kakuzo Okakura, treating them as windows into the metaphysical and aesthetic principles underlying Far Eastern civilization. These books, Zen in the Art of Archery and The Book of Tea, respectively, serve as starting points for Evola's meditations on Zen Buddhism’s profound connection to traditional arts, from archery to the tea ceremony, and the subtle spirituality these practices embody.

In Herrigel’s exploration of Japanese archery, Evola finds not merely a technical guide but a revelation of Zen as a living experience—one that transforms art into a ritual of self-transcendence. Similarly, Okakura’s treatise on the tea ceremony becomes, for Evola, an illustration of Zen’s ability to infuse the simplest acts with transcendent meaning. Through these works, Evola seeks to illuminate the interplay between discipline, ritual, and spiritual awakening in Far Eastern traditions, while also reflecting on their resonance with and divergence from Western heritage.

By engaging with these texts, Evola does more than review their content; he identifies in them a vehicle for his larger critique of modernity and his celebration of the traditional worldview. In his analysis, Zen and its associated practices embody a harmonious interplay of form and emptiness, discipline and freedom—qualities that Evola considers increasingly alien to a desacralized and mechanized West.

The Essay:

The first of these concise works, translated into Italian from the German, stands as a singular and remarkable introduction to the ethos, foundational disciplines, and comportment characteristic of Far Eastern civilization, particularly that of Japan. Its author, Eugen Herrigel,¹ a German professor invited to teach philosophy at a Japanese university, sought to delve into the traditional spirit of the nation by engaging directly with its most authentic, living expressions. His interest gravitated toward Zen Buddhism, and, curiously, he was advised that the most effective means to grasp its essence was to immerse himself in the traditional practice of archery. Herrigel, with unwavering dedication, pursued this art for no less than five years, and his book recounts how his technical progress in archery unfolded in parallel with his deepening insight into Zen, each sphere mutually informing and transforming the other. This dual journey culminated in a profound inner metamorphosis within the author himself.

Zen, as is well-known, embodies a distinct worldview whose central tenet is its interpretation of the state of nirvana.² Influenced in part by Taoism,³ the Japanese understanding of nirvana diverges from the ascetic and ethereal beatitude often associated with it, instead presenting it as something immanent—a liberation from the fetters, anxieties, and constraints of the ego. Crucially, this liberation is not relegated to secluded asceticism but can be integrated into the manifold activities and forms of quotidian existence. Through this state, life as a whole is imbued with a new dimension; it is perceived and lived in an altogether different manner. The “absence of the ego,” which Zen so emphatically champions in alignment with Buddhist principles, should not be mistaken for apathy or inertia. Rather, it gives rise to a higher mode of spontaneous action—one characterized by confidence, freedom, and serenity in activity. This state may be likened to a man who, after clinging desperately to an object, discovers a superior freedom, tranquility, and mastery in the very act of releasing his grip.

After elucidating these points, the author highlights the presence in the Far East of traditional arts that both emerge from this Zen freedom and serve as vehicles for attaining it through the discipline required for their mastery.⁴ Remarkably, the Zen spirit permeates the Far Eastern arts taught by the Masters—whether in painting, the tea ceremony, flower arrangement, archery, wrestling, fencing, and similar practices. Each of these arts bears a ritual character and, more profoundly, ineffable qualities⁵ that render true mastery unattainable without an inner awakening—a transformation of ordinary self-consciousness. In this way, mastery becomes something akin to a tangible sacrament, wherein art and spirituality are indissolubly united.

Herrigel recounts how, in the course of learning the art of drawing the longbow, he gradually uncovered, through the challenges presented by this discipline as it is still taught in Japan, the knowledge and inner comprehension he sought. He realized that archery was not merely a sport but a form of ritual action and initiation.⁶ To truly master it, one had to achieve the obliteration of the ego, overcome all inner tension, and attain a higher spontaneity. Only then could muscular relaxation paradoxically combine with maximal strength, and the archer, the bow, and the target merge into a singular unity.⁷ The arrow, as if guided by a force beyond intention, would fly to its mark with little or no conscious aiming. Thus, mastery became a degree of spirituality—of “Zen”—not as a theoretical abstraction or philosophical doctrine but as a lived experience, a profound mode of being.

By recounting such experiences, drawn from his personal journey, Herrigel’s concise work assumes significance not only as an introduction to the ethos of an exotic civilization but also as an invitation to reconsider certain elements of our own heritage. It reminds us that in antiquity, and even into the Middle Ages, carefully guarded traditions, religious elements, rites, and even mysteries were intimately connected with the arts.⁸ Each art had its own numina, and initiation into these crafts often paralleled spiritual initiation. Within the medieval guilds and collegia, the transmission of technical knowledge was intertwined with rites of admission and symbolic practices. To cite a later example, the allegories of the medieval stonemason’s craft provided the foundation for early Freemasonry, where they were adopted to symbolize the proceedings of the Magnum Opus, the “Great Work.”⁹ Thus, it may be inferred that the West, too, once possessed something akin to what has been preserved in the Far East—teachings such as “the way of the bow” or “the art of the sword,” which are held to be synonymous with the “way of Zen,” a singularly active and positive expression of Buddhism.

The author of the second little book, to the Italian edition of which we now turn, is a Japanese scholar primarily concerned with aesthetic problems. Having studied the modern schools of art in Europe and America, he has nevertheless remained steadfastly loyal to his own traditions, engaging in a determined and effective campaign within his homeland to resist the encroachment of Europeanizing tendencies. His The Book of Tea reinforces, particularly in its central sections devoted to the subject at hand, the observations we have just outlined.

In the Far East, profound connections have existed between Zen, the “tea schools,” and the “tea cult”—the latter a term the author refers to as “teaism.”¹⁰ This word, while evocative, may appear somewhat ill-chosen to Western ears, where “theism” typically denotes any religion predicated on the concept of a personal God. It is claimed that the Japanese tea ceremonial, as codified in the 16th century, derives from the far older Zen ritual of drinking tea from a single cup before the image of Bodhidharma.¹¹ Broadly speaking, this ceremonial is one among many expressions of the Taoist principle of “completeness in the fragment.”¹² Lu-wu, in his classic work Cha-ching, had already declared that in the preparation of tea, the same order and harmony must prevail as, from the Taoist perspective, govern all things.

The author further asserts that this ceremonial forms part of the broader “religion of the art of life.” Tea thus became a pretext for moments of meditation and serene detachment, in which host and guests alike participated. Even the site and structure of the rooms designated for this ritual purpose—the tea rooms (sukiya)—adhere strictly to ritualistic principles and are imbued with symbolic meaning. The winding, irregular paths leading to the tea room, designed within the framework of the Far Eastern art of gardening, symbolize the preparatory state of meditation. These paths evoke a mental and spiritual transition, enabling one to sever ties with the external world and achieve detachment from the anxieties and distractions of ordinary existence.¹³

The tea room itself is an epitome of refined simplicity.¹⁴ Though its austerity and ostensibly humble appearance might strike Western eyes as impoverished,¹⁵ every detail reflects deliberate intent. The selection and use of materials demand meticulous care, so much so that the cost of a flawlessly constructed tea room may exceed that of an entire dwelling.¹⁶ The term sukiya, the author notes, originally signified “the house of imagination,” though not in the sense of idle fancy.¹⁷ Instead, it alludes to the capacity to withdraw from the empirical world, to recollect oneself, and to seek refuge in an ideal realm.

Other terms employed by the Masters of the Tea Rite include “the house of emptiness” and “the house of asymmetry.”¹⁸ The former derives directly from the concept of the Void central to Taoist metaphysics—a notion that also underpins the ethereal quality often observed in Far Eastern painting. The latter expression, “house of asymmetry,” alludes to the deliberate incompleteness inherent in the arrangement of the tea room. A detail is always intentionally left unfinished, and care is taken to create an impression of imperfection or absence. This is because the sense of completeness and harmony must not stem from something static or mechanically reproducible.¹⁹ Rather, it is to be evoked by an external incompleteness, compelling the observer to realize it inwardly through a conscious mental act.

The author also explores the connections between the art of tea and the art of selecting and arranging flowers within the sukiya, a process equally bound to symbolism and a particular aesthetic sensibility.²⁰ Often, the sole ornamentation within the “house of emptiness” is a single flower, chosen and placed with impeccable care.²¹

Finally, the author reminds us of the particular philosophy of daily life that accompanies the tea ritual.²² So integral is this philosophy to Japanese culture that colloquial expressions have arisen from it. A person devoid of sensitivity to the tragicomic aspects of personal existence is said to be “lacking in tea,” while those prone to unrestrained emotions and impulses are described as having “too much tea.”²³ These idioms reflect the ideal of balanced, measured, and serene superiority—a hallmark of the Far Eastern man’s broader outlook.

Reflecting upon the extensive consumption of tea in the West, particularly in the context of fashionable society, one cannot help but draw comparisons. Such considerations reveal, yet again, that even in this seemingly trivial domain, as in the realm of ideas, all things Oriental are diminished when transplanted into the Western world.²⁴

End.

1. Herrigel's seminal work, Zen in the Art of Archery (Zen in der Kunst des Bogenschießens, 1948), emerged from his direct experience learning kyūdō (the Japanese art of archery) under Awa Kenzō, a prominent kyūdō master. The text serves not merely as an account of his technical journey but as a philosophical exploration of Zen principles through action.

2. In Mahayana Buddhism, particularly the Zen tradition, nirvana is viewed less as an escape from the cycle of existence (saṃsāra) and more as a state of liberation or "non-attachment" realizable within everyday life. This interpretation stands in contrast to some Theravada descriptions, which emphasize a transcendent, unconditioned state beyond the worldly realm.

3. Taoism, or Daoism, is a Chinese philosophical tradition rooted in texts like the Tao Te Ching (attributed to Laozi) and Zhuangzi. Its principle of wu wei (non-action) resonates deeply with Zen Buddhism's emphasis on spontaneity, harmony, and absence of ego in achieving mastery of both art and life.

4. The Japanese practices of sumi-e (ink wash painting), chanoyu (tea ceremony), and ikebana (flower arrangement) reflect Zen aesthetics: simplicity (wabi), transience (mono no aware), and asymmetry. These arts are often considered as spiritual disciplines in their own right, requiring inward transformation of the practitioner.

5. The "ritual character" and the “ineffable qualities” Herrigel encountered align with the concept of yūgen—a traditional Japanese aesthetic ideal meaning "profound grace" or "subtle depth" beyond words or logical comprehension. Zen arts often strive to evoke this ineffable experience through form and discipline.

6. The ritualistic aspect of the bow can be compared to shugyō, a concept describing disciplined practice toward inner transformation in various martial or artistic traditions of Japan. Such practices parallel initiation rites within Western esoteric traditions, where symbolic acts lead to higher states of being.

7. This description recalls mushin no shin ("mind of no mind"), a Zen concept central to martial arts. It signifies a state of egoless spontaneity, wherein the practitioner's action flows naturally and without deliberate thought, achieving oneness with the task.

8. The medieval collegia artificum (guilds of craftsmen) often transmitted practical skills alongside esoteric and symbolic knowledge. In Freemasonry, which formalized such traditions, the allegorical "Great Work" of spiritual enlightenment found resonance with the material processes of building and craftsmanship.

9. The “Great Work” refers to alchemical processes that symbolize inner transformation and enlightenment. The integration of art, spirituality, and mystery within Western traditions echoes the Zen-like qualities of the Eastern “arts as ways.”

10. The term "teaism" used in this context refers to the cultural and philosophical approach surrounding the Japanese tea ceremony. It was popularized by Okakura Kakuzō in his work The Book of Tea, where it encapsulates more than just the act of drinking tea—it encompasses a spiritual way of life that emphasizes simplicity, mindfulness, and a connection to Zen and Taoist principles.

11. Bodhidharma (5th–6th century) is traditionally credited as the founder of Zen Buddhism in Japan. According to Zen lore, he famously sat in meditation for nine years facing a wall. His connection to tea comes from a much earlier Zen tradition in which tea drinking was linked to achieving meditative focus, often using tea as a means of staying alert during long hours of meditation.

12. Lu-wu and Cha-ching: Lu-wu, the author of the 8th century Chinese treatise Cha-ching (The Classic of Tea), is considered the father of Chinese tea culture. His text outlines the philosophy and ritualistic aspects of tea preparation, noting that the harmonious balance of elements in tea should reflect the larger Taoist principle of harmony in the natural world.

13. The tea room, or sukiya, is a quintessential part of the Japanese tea ceremony. Its design is rooted in Zen aesthetics—simplicity, minimalism, and the avoidance of ostentation. The irregular layout of the room and its focus on natural, imperfect elements align with Zen's rejection of perfectionism and embrace of transience, often symbolizing the ephemeral nature of life.

14. This reference to the tea room (sukiya) as embodying "refined simplicity" aligns with the broader Japanese aesthetic concept of wabi-sabi. Wabi connotes rustic, imperfect beauty, while sabi reflects the serene passage of time. These ideas are central to Zen-inspired arts, embracing imperfection, impermanence, and austerity.

15. Evola highlights a common cultural misunderstanding. Western visitors in earlier eras often perceived Japanese austerity as primitive, failing to recognize its deliberate aesthetic principle. The Tea Masters deliberately eschewed ostentation, echoing Zen and Taoist metaphysical values.

16. This reflects the meticulous craftsmanship involved in creating a sukiya. Every beam, joint, and material selection follows ritualistic care, evoking harmony between nature and architecture. As a result, even small structures might surpass the cost of conventional homes, despite their modest size.

17. Sukiya does indeed derive from the kanji characters 宿 (su), meaning "dwelling," and 奇 (ki), denoting "imagination" or "unique." This imaginative withdrawal links it to contemplative refuge, blending aesthetic simplicity with spiritual purpose.

18. These terms reinforce Taoist and Zen principles. “The house of emptiness” (kū 空) connects to the central concept of mu 無, or Void, essential to both Zen metaphysics and Japanese aesthetics. “The house of asymmetry” reflects intentional imperfection, prompting active contemplation from the observer.

19. Evola underscores a vital distinction between Eastern and Western notions of symmetry. Whereas Western art often strives for geometric balance, Zen aesthetics favor organic incompletion, which invites spiritual realization within the viewer

20. The art of flower arrangement referenced here is ikebana (生け花), a deeply symbolic practice originating in Japanese Buddhism. Like the tea ritual, ikebana emphasizes harmony, minimalism, and seasonal awareness, embodying spiritual reflection through nature.

21. This minimalist adornment reflects mono no aware (物の哀れ), the sensitivity to ephemeral beauty—a central motif in Japanese art and literature. The “single flower” magnifies the aesthetic of simplicity and impermanence.

22. This philosophy embodies the broader concept of shibui (渋い), or restrained, quiet elegance. Tea ceremonies served not only as moments of aesthetic pleasure but as rituals of discipline and inner refinement.

23. These idioms highlight Japan’s unique fusion of aesthetics and practical wisdom. Sensitivity to life’s nuances and controlled emotional temperament—avoiding excess or deprivation—reflect virtues prized in Zen-influenced cultures.

24. Evola laments what he sees as the superficial Western adoption of Eastern traditions. Historically, practices like the tea ceremony and Zen arts have been severed from their spiritual and cultural roots when commodified or appropriated in the West.