"Sermons preached here on 8th, 18th, and 28th days of every month."
Such was the purport of a placard, which used to tempt me daily, as I
passed the temple Chô-ô-ji. Having ascertained that neither the
preacher nor his congregation would have any objection to my hearing
one of these sermons, I made arrangements to attend the service,
accompanied by two friends, my artist, and a scribe to take notes.
We were shown into an apartment adjoining a small chapel--a room
opening on to a tastily arranged garden, wealthy in stone lanterns and
dwarfed trees. In the portion of the room reserved for the priest
stood a high table, covered with a cloth of white and scarlet silk,
richly embroidered with flowers and arabesques; upon this stood a
bell, a tray containing the rolls of the sacred books, and a small
incense-burner of ancient Chinese porcelain. Before the table was a
hanging drum, and behind it was one of those high, back-breaking
arm-chairs which adorn every Buddhist temple. In one corner of the
space destined for the accommodation of the faithful was a low
writing-desk, at which sat, or rather squatted, a lay clerk, armed
with a huge pair of horn spectacles, through which he glared,
goblin-like, at the people, as they came to have their names and the
amount of their offerings to the temple registered. These latter must
have been small things, for the congregation seemed poor enough. It
was principally composed of old women, nuns with bald shiny pates and
grotesque faces, a few petty tradesmen, and half-a-dozen chubby
children, perfect little models of decorum and devoutness. One lady
there was, indeed, who seemed a little better to do in the world than
the rest; she was nicely dressed, and attended by a female servant;
she came in with a certain little consequential rustle, and displayed
some coquetry, and a very pretty bare foot, as she took her place,
and, pulling out a dandy little pipe and tobacco-pouch, began to
smoke. Fire-boxes and spittoons, I should mention, were freely handed
about; so that half-an-hour which passed before the sermon began was
agreeably spent. In the meanwhile, mass was being celebrated in the
main hall of the temple, and the monotonous nasal drone of the plain
chant was faintly heard in the distance. So soon as this was over, the
lay clerk sat himself down by the hanging drum, and, to its
accompaniment, began intoning the prayer, "Na Mu Miyô Hô Ren Go Kiyô,"
the congregation fervently joining in unison with him. These words,
repeated over and over again, are the distinctive prayer of the
Buddhist sect of Nichiren, to which the temple Chô-ô-ji is dedicated.
They are approximations to Sanscrit sounds, and have no meaning in
Japanese, nor do the worshippers in using them know their precise
value.
Soon the preacher, gorgeous in red and white robes, made his
appearance, following an acolyte, who carried the sacred book called
_Hokké_ (upon which the sect of Nichiren is founded) on a tray covered
with scarlet and gold brocade. Having bowed to the sacred picture
which hung over the _tokonoma_--that portion of the Japanese room
which is raised a few inches above the rest of the floor, and which is
regarded as the place of honour--his reverence took his seat at the
table, and adjusted his robes; then, tying up the muscles of his face
into a knot, expressive of utter abstraction, he struck the bell upon
the table thrice, burnt a little incense, and read a passage from the
sacred book, which he reverently lifted to his head. The congregation
joined in chorus, devout but unintelligent; for the Word, written in
ancient Chinese, is as obscure to the ordinary Japanese worshipper as
are the Latin liturgies to a high-capped Norman peasant-woman. While
his flock wrapped up copper cash in paper, and threw them before the
table as offerings, the priest next recited a passage alone, and the
lay clerk irreverently entered into a loud dispute with one of the
congregation, touching some payment or other. The preliminary
ceremonies ended, a small shaven-pated boy brought in a cup of tea,
thrice afterwards to be replenished, for his reverence's refreshment;
and he, having untied his face, gave a broad grin, cleared his throat,
swallowed his tea, and beamed down upon us, as jolly, rosy a priest as
ever donned stole or scarf. His discourse, which was delivered in the
most familiar and easy manner, was an _extempore_ dissertation on
certain passages from the sacred books. Whenever he paused or made a
point, the congregation broke in with a cry of "Nammiyô!" a corruption
of the first three words of the prayer cited above, to which they
always contrived to give an expression or intonation in harmony with
the preacher's meaning.
"It is a matter of profound satisfaction to me," began his reverence
Nichirin, smiling blandly at his audience, "to see so many gentlemen
and ladies gathered together here this day, in the fidelity of their
hearts, to do honour to the feast of Kishimojin."[84]
[Footnote 84: Kishimojin, a female deity of the Buddhists.]
"Nammiyô! nammiyô!" self-depreciatory, from the congregation.
"I feel certain that your piety cannot fail to find favour with
Kishimojin. Kishimojin ever mourns over the tortures of mankind, who
are dwelling in a house of fire, and she ever earnestly strives to
find some means of delivering them.
"Nammiyô! nammiyô!" grateful and reverential.
"Notwithstanding this, it is useless your worshipping Kishimojin, and
professing to believe in her, unless you have truth in your hearts;
for she will not receive your offerings. Man, from his very birth, is
a creature of requirements; he is for ever seeking and praying. Both
you who listen, and I who preach, have all of us our wants and wishes.
If there be any person here who flatters himself that he has no wishes
and no wants, let him reflect. Does not every one wish and pray that
heaven and earth may stand for ever, that his country and family may
prosper, that there may be plenty in the land, and that the people may
be healthy and happy? The wishes of men, however, are various and
many; and these wishes, numberless as they are, are all known to the
gods from the beginning. It is no use praying, unless you have truth
in your heart. For instance, the prayer _Na Mu_ is a prayer committing
your bodies to the care of the gods; if, when you utter it, your
hearts are true and single, of a surety your request will be granted.
Now, this is not a mere statement made by Nichiren, the holy founder
of this sect; it is the sacred teaching of Buddha himself, and may not
be doubted."
"Nammiyô! nammiyô!" with profound conviction.
"The heart of man is, by nature, upright and true; but there are seven
passions[85] by which it is corrupted. Buddha is alarmed when he sees
the fires by which the world is being consumed. These fires are the
five lusts of this sinful world; and the five lusts are, the desire
for fair sights, sweet sounds, fragrant smells, dainty meats, and rich
trappings. Man is no sooner endowed with a body than he is possessed
by these lusts, which become his very heart; and, it being a law that
every man follows the dictates of his heart, in this way the body, the
lusts of the flesh, the heart, and the dictates of the heart, blaze up
in the consuming fire. 'Alas! for this miserable world!' said the
divine Buddha."
[Footnote 85: The seven passions are joy, anger, sadness, fear, love,
hatred, and desire.]
"Nammiyô! nammiyô!" mournful, and with much head-shaking.
"There is not so foul thing under heaven as the human body. The body
exudes grease, the eyes distil gums, the nose is full of mucus, the
mouth of slobbering spittle; nor are these the most impure secretions
of the body. What a mistake it is to look upon this impure body as
clean and perfect! Unless we listen to the teachings of Buddha, how
shall we be washed and purified?"
"Nammiyô, nammiyô!" from an impure and very miserable sinner, under
ten years of age.
"The lot of man is uncertain, and for ever running out of the beaten
track. Why go to look at the flowers, and take delight in their
beauty? When you return home, you will see the vanity of your
pleasure. Why purchase fleeting joys of loose women? How long do you
retain the delicious taste of the dainties you feast upon? For ever
_wishing_ to do this, _wishing_ to see that, _wishing_ to eat rare
dishes, _wishing_ to wear fine clothes, you pass a lifetime in fanning
the flames which consume you. What terrible matter for thought is
this! In the poems of the priest Saigiyo it is written, 'Verily I have
been familiar with the flowers; yet are they withered and scattered,
and we are parted. How sad!' The beauty of the convolvulus, how bright
it is!--and yet in one short morning it closes its petals and fades.
In the book called _Rin Jo Bo Satsu_[86] we are told how a certain
king once went to take his pleasure in his garden, and gladden his
eyes with the beauty of his flowers. After a while he fell asleep; and
as he slumbered, the women of his train began pulling the flowers to
pieces. When the king awoke, of all the glory of his flowers there
remained but a few torn and faded petals. Seeing this, the king said,
'The flowers pass away and die; so is it with mankind: we are born, we
grow old, we sicken and die; we are as fleeting as the lightning's
flash, as evanescent as the morning dew.' I know not whether any of
you here present ever fix your thoughts upon death; yet it is a rare
thing for a man to live for a hundred years. How piteous a thing it is
that in this short and transient life men should consume themselves in
a fire of lust! and if we think to escape from this fire, how shall we
succeed save only by the teaching of the divine Buddha?"
[Footnote 86: One of the Buddhist classics.]
"Nammiyô! nammiyô!" meekly and entreatingly.
"Since Buddha himself escaped from the burning flames of the lusts of
the flesh, his only thought has been for the salvation of mankind.
Once upon a time there was a certain heretic, called Rokutsuponji, a
reader of auguries, cunning in astrology and in the healing art. It
happened, one day, that this heretic, being in company with Buddha,
entered a forest, which was full of dead men's skulls. Buddha, taking
up one of the skulls and tapping it thus" (here the preacher tapped
the reading-desk with his fan), "said, 'What manner of man was this
bone when alive?--and, now that he is dead, in what part of the world
has he been born again?' The heretic, auguring from the sound which
the skull, when struck, gave forth, began to tell its past history,
and to prophesy the future. Then Buddha, tapping another skull, again
asked the same question. The heretic answered--
"'Verily, as to this skull, whether it belonged to a man or a woman,
whence its owner came or whither he has gone, I know not. What think
you of it?"
"'Ask me not,' answered Buddha. But the heretic pressed him, and
entreated him to answer; then Buddha said, 'Verily this is the skull
of one of my disciples, who forsook the lusts of the flesh.'
"Then the heretic wondered, and said--
"'Of a truth, this is a thing the like of which no man has yet seen.
Here am I, who know the manner of the life and of the death even of
the ants that creep. Verily, I thought that no thing could escape my
ken; yet here lies one of your disciples, than whom there lives no
nobler thing, and I am at fault. From this day forth I will enter your
sect, praying only that I may receive your teaching.'
"Thus did this learned heretic become a disciple of Buddha. If such
an one as he was converted, how much the more should after-ages of
ordinary men feel that it is through. Buddha alone that they can hope
to overcome the sinful lusts of the flesh! These lusts are the desires
which agitate our hearts: if we are free from these desires, our
hearts will be bright and pure, and there is nothing, save the
teaching of Buddha, which can ensure us this freedom. Following the
commands of Buddha, and delivered by him from our desires, we may pass
our lives in peace and happiness."
"Nammiyô! nammiyô!" with triumphant exultation.
"In the sacred books we read of conversion from a state of sin to a
state of salvation. Now this salvation is not a million miles removed
from us; nor need we die and be born again into another world in order
to reach it. He who lays aside his carnal lusts and affections, at
once and of a certainty becomes equal to Buddha. When we recite the
prayer _Na Mu Miyô Hô Ren Go Kiyô_, we are praying to enter this state
of peace and happiness. By what instruction, other than that of
Nichiren, the holy founder of this sect, can we expect to attain this
end? If we do attain it, there will be no difference between our state
and that of Buddha and of Nichiren. With this view we have learnt from
the pious founder of our sect that we must continually and thankfully
repeat the prayer _Na Mu Miyô Hô Ren Go Kiyô_, turning our hearts away
from lies, and embracing the truth."
Such were the heads of the sermon as they were taken down by my
scribe. At its conclusion, the priest, looking about him smiling, as
if the solemn truths he had been inculcating were nothing but a very
good joke, was greeted by long and loud cries of "Nammiyô! nammiyô!"
by all the congregation. Then the lay clerk sat himself down again by
the hanging drum; and the service ended as it had begun, by prayer in
chorus, during which the priest retired, the sacred book being carried
out before him by his acolyte.
Although occasionally, as in the above instance, sermons are delivered
as part of a service on special days of the month, they are more
frequently preached in courses, the delivery occupying about a
fortnight, during which two sermons are given each day. Frequently the
preachers are itinerant priests, who go about the towns and villages
lecturing in the main hall of some temple or in the guest-room of the
resident priest.
There are many books of sermons published in Japan, all of which have
some merit and much quaintness: none that I have seen are, however, to
my taste, to be compared to the "Kiu-ô Dô-wa," of which the following
three sermons compose the first volume. They are written by a priest
belonging to the Shingaku sect--a sect professing to combine all that
is excellent in the Buddhist, Confucian, and Shin Tô teaching. It
maintains the original goodness of the human heart; and teaches that
we have only to follow the dictates of the conscience implanted in us
at our birth, in order to steer in the right path. The texts are
taken from the Chinese classical books, in the same way as our
preachers take theirs from the Bible. Jokes, stories which are
sometimes untranslatable into our more fastidious tongue, and pointed
applications to members of the congregation, enliven the discourses;
it being a principle with the Japanese preacher that it is not
necessary to bore his audience into virtue.