sacred mountain peaks, arrest the attention of every thoughtful
student of Japan. These pilgrims are numbered by the hundreds of
thousands every year. The visitors to the great shrine at Kizuki of
Izumo number about 250,000 annually. "The more prosperous the season,
the larger the number of pilgrims. It rarely falls below two hundred
thousand." In his "Occult Japan," Mr. Lowell has given us an
interesting account of the "pilgrim clubs," The largest known to him
numbered about twelve thousand men, but he thinks they average from
one hundred to about five hundred persons each. The number of yearly
visitors to the Shinto shrines at Ise is estimated at half a million,
and ten thousand pilgrims climb Mt. Fuji every summer. The number of
pilgrims to Kompira, in Shikoku, is incredibly large; according to the
count taken during the first half of 1898, the first ever taken, the
average for six months was 2500 each day; at this rate the number for
the year is nearly 900,000. The highest for a single day was over
12,000. These figures were given me by the chief official of this
district. The highest mountain in Shikoku, Ishidzuchi San, some six
thousand feet in height, is said to be ascended by ten thousand
pilgrims each summer. These pilgrims eat little or nothing at hotels,
depending rather on what they carry until they return from their
arduous three days' climb; nor do they take any prolonged rest until
they are on the homeward way. The reason for this is that the climb is
supposed to be a test of the heart; if the pilgrim fail to reach the
summit, the inference is that he is at fault, and that the god does
not favor him. They who offer their prayers from the summit are
supposed to be assured of having them answered.
But beside these greater pilgranages to mountain summits and national
shrines, innumerable lesser ones are made. Each district has a more or
less extended circuit of its own. In Shikoku there is a round known as
the "Hachi-Ju-hakka sho mairi," or "The Pilgrimage to the 88 Places,"
supposed to be the round once made by Kobo Daishi (A.D. 774-834), the
founder of the Shinton sect of Buddhism. The number of pilgrims who
make this round is exceedingly large, since it is a favorite circuit
for the people not only of Shikoku, but also of central and western
Japan. Many of the pilgrims wear on the back, just below the neck, a
pair of curious miniature "waraji" or straw sandals, because Kobo
Daishi carried a real pair along with him on his journey. I never go
to Ishite Temple (just out of Matsuyama), one of the eighty-eight
places of the circuit, without seeing some of these pilgrims. But this
must suffice. The pilgrim habit of the Japanese is a strong proof of
widespread religious enthusiasm, and throws much light on the
religious nature of the people. There seems to be reason for thinking
that the custom existed in Japan even before the introduction of
Buddhism. If this is correct, it bears powerful testimony to the
inherently religious nature of the Japanese race.
The charge has been made that these pilgrimages are mere pleasure
excursions. Mr. Lowell says, facetiously, that "They are peripatetic
picnic parties, faintly flavored with piety; just a sufficient
suspicion of it to render them acceptable to the easy-going gods."
Beneath this light alliterative style, which delights the literary
reader, do we find the truth? To me it seems like a slur on the
pilgrims, evidently due to Mr. Lowell's idea that a genuine religious
feeling must be gloomy and solemn. Joy may seem to him incompatible
with heartfelt religion and aspiration. That these pilgrims lack the
religious aspiration characteristic of highly developed Christians of
the West, is, of course, true; but that they have a certain type of
religious aspiration is equally indisputable. They have definite and
strong ideas as to the advantage of prayer at the various shrines;
they confidently believe that their welfare, both in this world and
the next, will be vitally affected by such pilgrimages and such a
faithful worship. It is customary for pilgrims, who make extended
journeys, to carry what may be called a passbook, in which seals are
placed by the officials of each shrine. This is evidence to friends
and to the pilgrim himself, in after years, of the reality of his long
and tedious pilgrimage. Beggars before these shrines are apt to
display these passbooks as an evidence of their worthiness and need.
For many a pilgrim supports himself, during his pilgrimage, entirely
by begging.
Pilgrims also buy from each shrine of note some charm, "o mamori,"
"honorable preserver," and "o fuda," "honorable ticket," which to them
are exceedingly precious. There is hardly a house in Japan but has
some, often many, of these charms, either nailed on the front door or
placed on the god-shelf. I have seen a score nailed one above another.
In some cases the year-names are still legible, and show considerable
age. The sale of charms is a source of no little revenue to the
temples, in some cases amounting to thousands of yen annually. We may
smile at the ignorance and superstition which these facts reveal, but,
as I already remarked, these are external features, the material
expression or clothing, so to speak, of the inner life. Their
particular form is due to deficient intellectual development. I do not
defend them; I merely maintain that their existence shows conclusively
the possession by the people at large of a real religious emotion and
purpose. If so, they, are not to be sneered at, although the mood of
the average pilgrim may be cheerful, and the ordinary pilgrimage may
have the aspect of a "peripatetic picnic, faintly flavored with
piety." The outside observer, such as the foreigner of necessity is,
is quick to detect the picnic quality, but he cannot so easily discern
the religious significance or the inner thoughts and emotions of the
pilgrims. The former is discernible at a glance, without knowledge of
the Japanese language or sympathy with the religious heart; the latter
can be discovered only by him who intimately understands the people,
their language and their religion.
If religion were necessarily gloomy, festivals and merry-making would
be valid proof of Japanese religious deficiency. But such is not the
case. Primitive religions, like primitive people, are artless and
simple in religious joy as in all the aspects of their life. Developed
races increasingly discover the seriousness of living, and become
correspondingly reflective, if not positively gloomy. Religion shares
this transformation. But those religions in which salvation is a
prominent idea, and whose nature is such as to satisfy at once the
head and the heart, restore joyousness as a necessary consequence.
While certain aspects of Christianity certainly have a gloomy
look,--which its critics are much disposed to exaggerate, and then to
condemn,--yet Christianity at heart is a religion of profound joy, and
this feature shows itself in such universal festivals as Christmas and
Easter. Even though the Japanese popular religious life showed itself
exclusively in festivals and on occasions of joy, therefore, that
would not prove them to be inherently lacking in religious nature.
But there is another set of phenomena, even more impressive to the
candid and sympathetic student. It is the presence in every home of
the "Butsu-dan," or Buddha shelf, and the "Kami-dana," or God shelf.
The former is Buddhist, and the latter Shinto. Exclusive Shintoists,
who are rare, have the latter alone. Where both are found, the
"I-hai," ancestral memorial tablets, are placed on the "Butsu-dan";
otherwise they are placed on the "Kami-dana." The Kami-dana are always
quite simple, as are all Shinto charms and utensils. The Butsu-dan are
usually elaborate and beautiful, and sometimes large and costly. The
universality of these tokens of family religion, and the constant and
loving care bestowed upon them, are striking testimony to the
universality of the religion in Japan. The pathos of life is often
revealed by the faithful devotion of the mother to these silent
representatives of divine beings and departed ancestors or children. I
have no hesitation in saying that, so far as external appearances go,
the average home in Japan is far more religious than the average home
in enlightened England or America, especially when compared with such
as have no family worship. There may be a genuine religious life in
these Western homes, but it does not appear to the casual visitor. Yet
no casual visitor can enter a Japanese home, without seeing at once
the evidences of some sort, at least, of religious life.
It is impossible for me to believe, as many assert, that all is mere
custom and hollow form, without any kernel of meaning or sincerity.
Customs may outlast beliefs for a time, and this is particularly the
case with religious customs; for the form is so often taken to involve
the very essence of the reality. But customs which have lost all
significance, and all belief, inevitably dwindle and fade away, even
if not suddenly rejected; they remain them; they leave their trace
indeed, but so faintly that only the student of primitive customs can
detect them and recognize their original nature and purpose. The
Butsu-dan and Kami-dana do not belong to this order of beliefs. The
average home of Japan would feel itself desecrated were these to be
forcibly removed. The piety of the home centers, in large measure,
about these expressions of the religious heart. Their practical
universality is a significant witness to the possession by the people
at large of a religious nature.
If it is fair to argue that the Christian religion has a vital hold on
the Western peoples because of the cathedrals and churches to be found
throughout the length and breadth of Christendom, a similar argument
applies to Japan and the hold of the religions of this land upon its
people. For over a thousand years the external manifestations of
religion in architecture have been elaborate. Temples of enormous
size, comparing not unfavorably with the cathedrals of Europe as
regards the cost of erection, are to be found in all parts of the
land. Immense temple bells of bronze, colossal statues of Buddha, and
lesser ones of saints and worthies innumerable, bear witness to the
lavish use of wealth in the expression of religious devotion. It is
sometimes said that Buddhism is moribund in Japan. It is seriously
asserted that its temples are falling into decay. This is no more true
of the temples of Buddhism in Japan, than of the cathedrals Of
Christendom. Local causes greatly affect the prosperity of the various
temples. Some are falling into decay, but others are being repaired,
and new ones are being built. No one can have visited any shrine of
note without observing the large number of signboards along either
side of the main approach, on which are written the sums contributed
for the building or repairing of the temple. These gifts are often
munificent, single gifts sometimes reaching the sum of a thousand yen;
I have noticed a few exceeding this amount. The total number of these
temples and shrines throughout the country is amazing. According to
government statistics, in 1894 the Buddhist temples numbered 71,831;
and the Shinto temples and shrines which have received official
registration reached the vast number of 190,803. The largest temple in
Japan, costing several million dollars, the Nishihongwanji in Kyoto,
has been built during the past decade. Considering the general poverty
of the nation, the proportion of gifts made for the erection and
maintenance of these temples and shrines is a striking testimony to
the reality of some sort of religious zeal. That it rests entirely on
form and meaningless rites, is incredible.
XXVI
SOME RELIGIOUS PHENOMENA
Without doubt, many traits are attributed to the Japanese by the
casual observer or captious critic, through lack of ability to read
between the lines. We have already seen how the stoical element of
Japanese character serves to conceal from the sociologist the
emotional nature of the people. If a Japanese conceals his ordinary
emotions, much more does he refrain from public exhibition of his
deeper religious aspirations. Although he may feel profoundly, his
face and manner seldom reveal it. When torn with grief over the loss
of a parent or son, he will tell you of his loss with smiles, if not
with actual laughter. "The Japanese smile" has betrayed the solemn
foreigner into many an error of individual and racial character
interpretation. Particularly frequent have been such errors in matters
of religion.
Although the light and joyous, "smiling" aspect of Japanese religious
life is prominent, the careful observer will come incidentally and
unexpectedly on many signs of an opposite nature, if he mingle
intimately with the people. Japan has its sorrows and its tragedies,
no less than other lands. These have their part in determining
religious phenomena.
The student who takes his stand at a popular shrine and watches the
worshipers come and go will be rewarded by the growing conviction
that, although many are manifestly ceremonialists, others are clearly
subjects of profound feeling. See that mother leading her toddling
child to the image of Binzuru, the god of healing, and teaching it to
rub the eyes and face of the god and then its own eyes and face. See
that pilgrim before a bare shrine repeating in rapt devotion the
prayer he has known from his childhood, and in virtue of which he has
already received numberless blessings. Behold that leper pleading with
merciful Kwannon of the thousand hands to heal his disease. Hear that
pitiful wail of a score of fox-possessed victims for deliverance from
their oppressor. Watch that tearful maiden performing the hundred
circuits of the temple while she prays for a specific blessing for
herself or some loved one. Observe that merchant solemnly worshiping
the god of the sea, with offering of rice and wine. Count those
hundreds of votive pictures, thanksgiving remembrances of the sick who
have been healed, in answer, as they firmly believe, to their prayers
to the god of this particular shrine. These are not imaginary cases.
The writer has seen these and scores more like them. Here is a serious
side to Japanese religious life easily overlooked by a casual or
unsympathetic observer.
In addition to these simpler religious phenomena, we find in Japan, as
in other lands, the practice of ecstatic union with the deity. In
Shinto it is called "Kami-oroshi," the bringing down of the gods. It
is doubtless some form of hypnotic trance, yet the popular
interpretation of the phenomenon is that of divine possession.
Among Buddhists, the practice of ecstasy takes a different form. The
aim is to attain absolute vacuity of mind and thus complete union with
the Absolute. When attained, the soul becomes conscious of blissful
superiority to all the concerns of this mundane life, a foretaste of
the Nirvana awaiting those who shall attain to Buddhahood. The actual
attainment of this experience is practically limited to the
priesthood, who alone have the time and freedom from the cares of the
world needful for its practice. For it is induced only by long and
profound "meditation." Especially is this experience the desire of the
Zen sect, which makes it a leading aim, taking its name "zen" (to sit)
from this practice. To sit in religious abstraction is the height of
religious bliss.
The practical business man of the West may perhaps find some
difficulty in seeing anything particularly religious in ecstasy or
mental vacuity. But if I mistake not, this religious phenomenon of the
Orient does not differ in essence from the mystical religious
experience so common in the middle and subsequent ages in Europe, and
represented to-day by mystical Christians. Indeed, some of the finest
religious souls of Western lands have been mystics. Mystic
Christianity finds ready acceptance with certain of the Japanese.
The critical reader may perhaps admit, in view of the facts thus far
presented, that the ignorant millions have some degree of religious
feeling and yet, in view of the apparently irreligious life of the
educated, he may still feel that the religious nature of the race is
essentially shallow. He may feel that as soon as a Japanese is lifted
out of the superstitious beliefs of the past, he is freed from all
religious ideas and aspirations. I admit at once that there seems to
be some ground for such an assertion. Yet as I study the character of
the samurai of the Tokugawa period, who alone may be called the
irreligious of the olden times, I see good reasons for holding that,
though rejecting Buddhism, they were religious at heart. They
developed little or no religious ceremonial to replace that of
Buddhism, yet there were indications that the religious life still
remained. Intellectual and moral growth rendered it impossible for
earnest and honest men to accept the old religious expressions. They
revolted from religious forms, rather than from religion, and the
revolt resulted not in deeper superstitions and a poorer life, but in
a life richer in thought and noble endeavor. Muro Kyu-so, the
"Japanese Philosopher" to whom we have referred more than once,
rejected Buddhism, as we have already seen. The high quality of his
moral teachings we have also noticed. Yet he had no idea that he was
"religious." Those who reject Buddhism often use the term
"Shukyo-kusai," "stinking religion." For them religion is synonymous
with corrupt and superstitious Buddhism. To have told Muro that he was
religious would doubtless have offended him, but a few quotations
should satisfy anyone that at heart he was religious in the best sense
of the term.
"Consider all of you. Whence is fortune? From Heaven. Even the world
says, Fortune is in Heaven. So then there is no resource save prayer
to Heaven. Let us then ask: what does Heaven hate, and what does
Heaven love? It loves benevolence and hates malevolence. It loves
truth and hates untruth.... That which in Heaven begets all things, in
man is called love. So doubt not that Heaven loves benevolence and
hates its opposite. So too is it with truth. For countless ages sun
and moon and stars constantly revolve and we make calendars without
mistake. Nothing is more certain. It is the very truth of the
universe.... I have noticed prayers for good luck, brought year by
year from famous temples and hills, decorating the entrances to the
homes of famous samurai. But none the less they have been killed or
punished, or their line has been destroyed and house extinguished. Or
at least to many, shame and disgrace have come. They have not learned
fortune, but foolishly depend on prayers and charms. Confucius said:
'When punished by Heaven there is no place for prayer.' Women of
course follow the temples and trust in charms, but not so should men.
Alas! Now all are astray, those who should be teachers, the samurai
and those higher still" (pp. 63-5). "Sin is the source of pain and
righteousness of happiness. This is the settled law. The teaching of
the sages and the conduct of superior men is determined by principles
and the result is left to Heaven. Still, we do not obey in the hope of
happiness, nor do we forbear to sin from fear. Not with this meaning
did Confucius and Mencius teach that happiness is in virtue and pain
in sin. But the 'way' is the law of man. It is said, 'The way of
Heaven blesses virtue and curses sin.' That is intended for the
ignorant multitude. Yet it is not like the Buddhist 'hoben' (pious
device), for it is the determined truth" (p. 66). "Heaven is forever
and is not to be understood at once, like the promises of men.
Shortsighted men consider its ways and decide that there is no reward
for virtue or vice. So they doubt when the good are virtuous and fear
not when the wicked sin. They do not know that there is no victory
against Heaven when it decrees" (p. 67). "Reason comes from Heaven,
and is in men.... The philosopher knows the truth as the drinker knows
the taste of _saké_ and the abstainer the taste of sweets. How shall
he forget it? How shall he fall into error? Lying down, getting up,
moving, resting, all is well. In peace, in trouble, in death, in joy,
in sorrow, all is well. Never for a moment will he leave this 'way.'
This is to know it in ourselves" (p. 71).
One day, five or six students remained after the lecture to ask Kyu-so
about his view as to the gods, stating their own dissatisfaction with
the fantastic interpretations given to the term "Shinto" by the native
scholars. Making some quotations from the Chinese classics, he went on
to say for himself:
"I cannot accept that which is popularly called Shinto.... I do not
profess to understand the profound reason of the deities, but in
outline this is my idea: The Doctrine of the Mean speaks of the
'virtue of the Gods' and Shu-shi explains this word 'virtue' to mean
the 'heart and its revelation.' Its meaning is thus stated in the
Saden: 'God is pure intelligence and justice.' Now all know that God
is just, but do not know that he is intelligent. But there is no such
intelligence elsewhere as God's. Man hears by the ear and where the
ear is not he hears not ...; man sees with his eyes, and where they
are not he sees not ...; with his heart man thinks and the swiftest
thought takes time. But God uses neither ear nor eye, nor does he pass
over in thought. Directly he feels, and directly does he respond....
Is not this the divinity of Heaven and Earth? So the Doctrine of the
Mean says: 'Looked for it cannot be seen, listened to it cannot be
heard. It enters into all things. There is nothing without it.' ...
'Everywhere, everywhere, on the right and on the left.' This is the
revealing of God, the truth not to be concealed. Think not that God is
distant, but seek him in the heart, for the heart is the House of God.
Where there is no obstacle of lust, there is communion of one spirit
with the God of Heaven and Earth.... And now for the application.
Examine yourselves, make the truth of the heart the foundation,
increase in learning and at last you will attain. Then will you know
the truth of what I speak" (pp. 50-52).
In the above passage Dr. Knox has translated the term "Shin," the
Chinese ideograph for the Japanese word "Kami," by the English
singular, God. This lends to the passage a fullness of monotheistic
expression which the original hardly, if at all, justifies. The
originals are indefinite as to number and might with equal truth be
translated "gods," as Dr. Knox suggests himself in a footnote.
These and similar passages are of great interest to the student of
Japanese religious development. They should be made much of by
Christian preachers and missionaries. Such writers and thinkers as
Muro evidently was might not improperly be called the pre-Christian
Christians of Japan. They prepared the way for the coming of more
light on these subjects. Japanese Christian apologists should collect
such utterances from her wise men of old, and by them lead the nation
to an appreciation of the truths which they suggest and for which they
so fitly prepare the way. Scattered as they now are, and seldom read
by the people, they lie as precious gems imbedded in the hills, or as
seed safely stored. They can bear no harvest till they are sown in the
soil and allowed to spring up and grow.
The more I have pondered the implications of these and similar
passages, the more clear has it become that their authors were
essentially religious men. Their revolt from "religion" did not spring
from an irreligious motive, but from a deeper religious insight than
was prevalent among Buddhist believers. The irrational and often
immoral nature of many of the current religious expressions and
ceremonials and beliefs became obnoxious to the thinking classes, and
were accordingly rejected. The essence of religion, however, was not
rejected. They tore off the accumulated husks of externalism, but kept
intact the real kernel of religion.
The case for the religious nature of modern, educated Japan is not so
simple. Irreligious it certainly appears. Yet it, too, is not so
irreligious as perhaps the Occidental thinks. Though immoral, a
Japanese may still be a filial son and a loyal subject,
characteristics which have religious value in Japan, Old and New. It
would not be difficult to prove that many a modern Japanese writer who
proclaims his rejection of religion--calling all religion but
superstition and ceremony--is nevertheless a religious man at heart.
The religions he knows are too superstitious and senseless to satisfy
the demands of his intellectually developed religious nature. He does
not recognize that his rejection of what he calls "religion" is a real
manifestation of his religious nature rather than the reverse.