Foreigners and natives alike (and not alike) have always viewed Mt. Fuji as being somehow deeply symbolic of Japan.
Think about Hokusai’s woodblock prints (36 Views of Mount Fuji).
These images are iconic. It’s been my wish to do a modern set of these using the same perspectives as a meditation on time/change. Recently there have been some stories here about Chinese investors buying property around Fuji because of the views are so symbolic of Japan. One hotel developer was quoting as saying, “Fuji is Japan. You can’t say you’ve seen Japan without seeing Fuji.”
That seems to embody the foreign perspective. Those on the outside don’t exactly understand why, but they know that Fuji is deeply important to Japan.
Admittedly, the meaning of the referent differs depending on the group. Throughout the world, mountains are viewed as majestic (they are “crowned” with peaks), timeless (their existence overshadows and predates that of an civilization), immovable (Try pushing one, then think about all of those stories and idioms about “moving mountains”), and even sacred. Naturally, Fuji has all of that going for it/him/her…not to mention that it's a volcano and its cratered peak represents the highest point in Japan (an island chain birthed that rose from the sea). Fuji san is where one goes to meet the rising sun.
The origin of the name Fuji and its characters is disputed, but all of the purported meanings are fascinating. The possibilities deal with relationship between man and mountain--that which is noble in humanity and that in nature which we perceive to be infinite, immutable, and the abundant. I suppose perceiving infinity is an odd idea. It is more a suspicion or intuition, the product of meditations on nature carried through generations of human life.
Perhaps the most important symbols are important because no consensus can be reached.
Japan, is changing—and so is Fuji-san. The change is man-made, initiated by the will and effort of a people. I think that Fuji reflects the values and changing face of Japan more accurately than any competing symbol. On the slopes of Fuji and the roads that lead to the mountain, we see the effects of commercialization, the throngs of visitors/pilgrims that arrive every year, the ever-improving accessibility to the point of spiritual impoverishment (you can hear Edward Abbey lamenting from the peak of the mountain).
I remember climbing the mountain in the middle of the night. I could smell the exhaust of the mountain hut generators humming like Jurassic, postmodern cicada. Above me, though, shined the light of innumerable stars. The stars seen from Fuji burn with a light too dazzling. They seem close, drawn to the eyes by some strange gravity, as if you could reach up and seize the other end of the universe (高天原). The age of light seems unknowable; it precedes life. Below me shone the lights of cities distant and near. Fuji is somewhere in between these two worlds. It is the only appropriate altar for the Three Sacred Treasures of Japan--sword (stars), mirror (sun), and jewel (moon).
The improvements stem from the idea of sharing the experience (bearing open the heart), an admirable (though perhaps impossible) aim convoluted by the commercialization of the sacred. This isn’t a modern ritual sacrifice or even one unique to Japan. Born of fire, Mt. Fuji is a memorial--not erected by man's hands, but by his mind.
Robert M. Pirsig once said, "The only Zen you find on the top of a mountain, is the Zen you bring there."
Japan and “the Orient” have traditionally been viewed by the West as shrouded in mystique. Western writers write about the culture as if they were peeking beneath a veil. Even modern Japanese culture is puzzling to the West. On the one hand, this puzzled speculation confirms the Japanese exclusionary term for foreigner, gaijin (外人 ) as accurate. The term literally translates as “outsider.” It is not a geographical divide (as many so-called gaijin reside within Japan), but rather a real or imagined (in the case of culture, what is real and what is imagined?) cultural chasm that separates these groups. Even so, we can seek to cross this divide with an interpretation that is simultaneously cogent to the Japanese and the West. Such a bridge must be constructed from both sides and meet in the middle. There is a one critical flaw in the approach of cultural interpretation: the target group is inevitably defined by its interpreter. While the tone may be scientific, the result is spying from a distance, actually shallow, incomplete, and overly subjective. Any real depth of understanding will only arise from the exchange of ideas and opinions. Of course, subjectivity is inextricable from interpretation. There is also the context (the environment of the interpretation) to consider.
Japan is a land of Zen aesthetic, koan, wabisabi, and gundams. Fuji’s soft, cratered peak rises above the clouds; it is Japan’s highest mountain. Since it is clear to most everyone that the Japanese revere Fuji, then it could be viewed as a massive obstacle that must be overcome in order to hope to ever understand the East.
