I
Of whatever dimension, the temples or shrines of pure Shintō are all
built in the same archaic style. The typical shrine is a windowless
oblong building of unpainted timber, with a very steep overhanging
roof; the front is the gable end; and the upper part of the perpetually
closed doors is wooden lattice-work,--usually a grating of bars
closely set and crossing each other at right angles. In most cases
the structure is raised slightly above the ground on wooden pillars;
and the queer peaked façade, with its visor-like apertures and the
fantastic projections of beam-work above its gable-angle, might remind
the European traveler of certain old Gothic forms of dormer. There is
no artificial color. The plain wood[1] soon turns, under the action of
rain and sun, to a natural grey, varying according to surface exposure
from the silvery tone of birch bark to the sombre grey of basalt. So
shaped and so tinted, the isolated country _yashiro_ may seem less like
a work of joinery than a feature of the scenery,--a rural form related
to nature as closely as rocks and trees,--a something that came into
existence only as a manifestation of Ohotsuchi-no-Kami, the Earth-god,
the primeval divinity of the land.
Why certain architectural forms produce in the beholder a feeling of
weirdness is a question about which I should like to theorize some
day: at present I shall venture only to say that Shinto shrines evoke
such a feeling. It grows with familiarity instead of weakening; and a
knowledge of popular beliefs is apt to intensify it. We have no English
words by which these queer shapes can be sufficiently described,--much
less any language able to communicate the peculiar impression which
they make. Those Shinto terms which we loosely render by the words
"temple" and "shrine" are really untranslatable;--I mean that the
Japanese ideas attaching to them cannot be conveyed by translation. The
so-called "august house" of the Kami is not so much a temple, in the
classic meaning of the term, as it is a haunted room, a spirit-chamber,
a ghost-house; many of the lesser divinities being veritably
ghosts,--ghosts of great warriors and heroes and rulers and teachers,
who lived and loved and died hundreds or thousands of years ago. I
fancy that to the Western mind the word "ghost-house" will convey,
better than such terms as "shrine" and "temple," some vague notion of
the strange character of the Shinto _miya_ or _yashiro,_--containing
in its perpetual dusk nothing more substantial than symbols or tokens,
the latter probably of paper. Now the emptiness behind the visored
front is more suggestive than anything material could possibly be;
and when you remember that millions of people during thousands of
years have worshipped their great dead before such _yashiro,--_that
a whole race still believes those buildings tenanted by viewless
conscious personalities,--you are apt also to reflect how difficult
it would be to prove the faith absurd. Nay! in spite of Occidental
reluctances,--in spite of whatever you may think it expedient to say
or not to say at a later time about the experience,--you may very
likely find yourself for a moment forced into the attitude of respect
toward possibilities. Mere cold reasoning will not help you far in the
opposite direction. The evidence of the senses counts for little: you
know there are ever so many realities which can neither be seen nor
heard nor felt, but which exist as forces,--tremendous forces. Then
again you cannot mock the conviction of forty millions of people while
that conviction thrills all about you like the air,--while conscious
that it is pressing upon your psychical being just as the atmosphere
presses upon your physical being. As for myself, whenever I am alone in
the presence of a Shinto shrine, I have the sensation of being haunted;
and I cannot help thinking about the possible apperceptions of the
haunter. And this tempts me to fancy how I should feel if I myself were
a god,--dwelling in some old Izumo shrine on the summit of a hill,
guarded by stone lions and shadowed by a holy grove.
Elfishly small my habitation might be, but never too small, because I
should have neither size nor form. I should be only a vibration,--a
motion invisible as of ether or of magnetism; though able sometimes to
shape me a shadow-body, in the likeness of my former visible self, when
I should wish to make apparition.
As air to the bird, as water to the fish, so would all substance be
permeable to the essence of me. I should pass at will through the walls
of my dwelling to swim in the long gold bath of a sunbeam, to thrill in
the heart of a flower, to ride on the neck of a dragon-fly.
Power above life and power over death would be mine,--and the power of
self-extension, and the power of self-multiplication, and the power of
being in all places at one and the same moment. Simultaneously in a
hundred homes I should hear myself worshiped, I should inhale the vapor
of a hundred offerings: each evening, from my place within a hundred
household shrines, I should see the holy lights lighted for me in
lamplets of red clay, in lamplets of brass,--the lights of the Kami,
kindled with purest fire and fed with purest oil.
But in my yashiro upon the hill I should have greatest honor: there
betimes I should gather the multitude of my selves together; there
should I unify my powers to answer supplication.
From the dusk of my ghost-house I should look for the coming of
sandaled feet, and watch brown supple fingers weaving to my bars the
knotted papers which are records of vows, and observe the motion of the
lips of my worshipers making prayer:--
_--"Harai-tamai kiyomé-tamaé!_ ... We have beaten drums, we have
lighted fires; yet the land thirsts and the rice fails. Deign out of
thy divine pity to give us rain, O Daimyōjin!"
_--"Harai-tamai kiyomé-tamaé!_ ... I am dark, too dark, because I have
toiled in the field, because the sun hath looked upon me. Deign thou
augustly to make me white, very white,--white like the women of the
city, O Daimyōjin!"
_--"Harai-tamai kiyomê-tamaé!_... For Tsukamoto Motokichi our son, a
soldier of twenty-nine: that he may conquer and come back quickly to
us,--soon, very soon,--we humbly supplicate, O Daimyōjin!"
Sometimes a girl would whisper all her heart to me: "Maiden of eighteen
years, I am loved by a youth of twenty. He is good; he is true; but
poverty is with us, and the path of our love is dark. Aid us with thy
great divine pity!--help us that we may become united, O Daimyōjin!"
Then to the bars of my shrine she would hang a thick soft tress of
hair,--her own hair, glossy and black as the wing of the crow, and
bound with a cord of mulberry-paper. And in the fragrance of that
offering,--the simple fragrance of her peasant youth,--I, the ghost and
god, should find again the feelings of the years when I was man and
lover.
Mothers would bring their children to my threshold, and teach them
to revere me, saying, "Bow down before the great bright God; make
homage to the Daimyōjin." Then I should hear the fresh soft clapping
of little hands, and remember that I, the ghost and god, had been a
father.
Daily I should hear the plash of pure cool water poured out for me, and
the tinkle of thrown coin, and the pattering of dry rice into my wooden
box, like a pattering of rain; and I should be refreshed by the spirit
of the water, and strengthened by the spirit of the rice.
Festivals would be held to honor me. Priests, black-coiffed and
linen-vestured, would bring me offerings of fruits and fish and
seaweed and rice-cakes and rice-wine,--masking their faces with
sheets of white paper, so as not to breathe upon my food. And the
_miko_ their daughters, fair girls in crimson _hakama_ and robes of
snowy white, would come to dance with tinkling of little bells, with
waving of silken fans, that I might be gladdened by the bloom of their
youth, that I might delight in the charm of their grace. And there
would be music of many thousand years ago,--weird music of drums and
flutes,--and songs in a tongue no longer spoken; while the miko, the
darlings of the gods, would poise and pose before me:--... "Whose
virgins are these,--the virgins who stand like flowers before the
Deity? They are the virgins of the august Deity.
"The august music, the dancing of the virgins,--the Deity will be
pleased to hear, the Deity will rejoice to see.
"Before the great bright God the virgins dance,--the virgins all like
flowers newly opened." ...
*
Votive gifts of many kinds I should be given: painted paper lanterns
bearing my sacred name, and towels of divers colors printed with the
number of the years of the giver, and pictures commemorating the
fulfillment of prayers for the healing of sickness, the saving of
ships, the quenching of fire, the birth of sons.
Also my Karashishi, my guardian lions, would be honored. I should see
my pilgrims tying sandals of straw to their necks and to their paws,
with prayer to the Karashishi-Sama for strength of foot.
I should see fine moss, like emerald fur, growing slowly, slowly, upon
the backs of those lions;--I should see the sprouting of lichens upon
their flanks and upon their shoulders, in specklings of dead-silver, in
patches of dead-gold;--I should watch, through years of generations,
the gradual sideward sinking of their pedestals under-mined by frost
and rain, until at last my lions would lose their balance, and fall,
and break their mossy heads off. After which the people would give me
new lions of another form,--lions of granite or of bronze, with gilded
teeth and gilded eyes, and tails like a torment of fire.
Between the trunks of the cedars and pines, between the jointed
columns of the bamboos, I should observe, season after season, the
changes of the colors of the valley: the falling of the snow of winter
and the falling of the snow of cherry-flowers; the lilac spread of
the _miyakobana;_ the blazing yellow of the _natané;_ the sky--blue
mirrored in flooded levels,--levels dotted with the moon-shaped hats of
the toiling people who would love me; and at last the pure and tender
green of the growing rice.
The muku-birds and the _uguisu_ would fill the shadows of my grove with
ripplings and purlings of melody;--the bell-insects, the crickets,
and the seven marvelous cicadas of summer would make all the wood of
my ghost-house thrill to their musical storms. Betimes I should enter,
like an ecstasy, into the tiny lives of them, to quicken the joy of
their clamor, to magnify the sonority of their song.
*
But I never can become a god,--for this is the nineteenth century;
and nobody can be really aware of the nature of the sensations of a
god--unless there be gods in the flesh. Are there? Perhaps--in very
remote districts--one or two. There used to be living gods.
Anciently any man who did something extraordinarily great or good or
wise or brave might be declared a god after his death, no matter how
humble his condition in life. Also good people who had suffered great
cruelty and injustice might be apotheosized; and there still survives
the popular inclination to pay posthumous honor and to make prayer
to the spirits of those who die voluntary deaths under particular
circumstances,--to souls of unhappy lovers, for example. (Probably the
old customs which made this tendency had their origin in the wish
to appease the vexed spirit, although to-day the experience of great
suffering seems to be thought of as qualifying its possessor for divine
conditions of being;--and there would be no foolishness whatever in
such a thought.) But there were even more remarkable deifications.
Certain persons, while still alive, were honored by having temples
built for their spirits, and were treated as gods; not, indeed, as
national gods, but as lesser divinities,--tutelar deities, perhaps, or
village-gods. There was, for instance, Hamaguchi Gohei, a farmer of the
district of Arita in the province of Kishu, who was made a god before
he died. And I think he deserved it.
[Footnote 1: Usually _hinoki_ (Chamœcyparis obtusa).]