Perhaps Msr. Kamo might like to look into the origin of the rhetorical style he's using there.

You know, just as a thought.

Is your last paragraph a reference to the final scene of Mishima's Sea of Fertility trilogy? 'Cause that's what it reminds me of, and with all the oppressive Imperial overtones intact. Immanence as a terrible emptiness. Nice.

MMS: Yeah, the irony is as fierce as it usually is in kokugaku writing.

Sgt.: It didn't oc-- uh, I mean, yes, totally intentional reference.

Ah, nationalist crackpottery, how I enjoy thee!

"When no-one errs when they speak, all understand well; when no-one forgets what they hear, words travel far and endure through the ages; when the people have directness of spirit, the Emperor need speak only seldom, and when these rare pronouncements are made, they travel like the wind to the four corners of the nation, and flow like water into the sprits of the people."

Isn't this straight from Confucius?

To be fair, though, it'd probably be hard to find an Emperor (or Imperial theorist) anywhere whose position wasn't "If everyone would just keep quiet and do as the Emperor says, everything will run smoothly."

Yes, but different strokes for different Volks. Shouldn't a Japanese equivalent be something like:

Our noble Prince, offspring of the Bright One,
Has let his words fall like rain on the Rice-abounding Land of Reed Plains;
Let the people gather them so that their obedience may bloom as spring flowers!
Otherwise they will sleep among the bamboo
on the plain of Aki.

You're good! Clearly editing skills are highly portable across centuries.

I thought it was Kafka, myself. "The Great Wall of China":

"The Emperor—so they say—has sent a message, directly from his death bed, to you alone, his pathetic subject, a tiny shadow which has taken refuge at the furthest distance from the imperial sun. He ordered the herald to kneel down beside his death bed and whispered the message to him. He thought it was so important that he had the herald repeat it back to him. He confirmed the accuracy of the verbal message by nodding his head. And in front of the entire crowd of those who have come to witness his death—all the obstructing walls have been broken down and all the great ones of his empire are standing in a circle on the broad and high soaring flights of stairs—in front of all of them he dispatched his herald. The messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one arm out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd. If he runs into resistance, he points to his breast where there is a sign of the sun. So he moves forward easily, unlike anyone else. But the crowd is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open field, how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvellous pounding of his fist on your door. But instead of that, how futile are all his efforts. He is still forcing his way through the private rooms of the innermost palace. He will never he win his way through."

And so forth.