Before the ritual self-disembowelment, Yukio Mishima had other ways of getting his point across. The point was that Japan had lost its martial soul in the postwar boom. There was too much of the pocket camera and not enough of the sword for the great writer’s chivalric tastes. One of his lesser works, spoofing the consumer cult, tells of an office chump who takes out a tabloid ad. What he puts up for sale is the right to kill him. Mishima performed seppuku two years later.
Zealots, even rightwing ones, don’t get business: the pragmatism of it, the lack of absolutes. To judge by Elon Musk’s faith that Russia will honour whatever peace deal he has in mind, instead of coming back for more, the incomprehension is mutual.
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