CULTS AND SHRINES
"He that practiseth righteousness receiveth a blessing; it
cometh as surely as the shadow followeth the man."
The quotation at the head of this chapter is of especial interest,
because it reminds one so much of a precept from the Bible. It is taken
from a little Japanese text-book of ethics, which is ascribed to a
Buddhist abbot of the ninth century.
There are two distinct but perfectly harmonious forms of non-Christian
belief in Japan to-day--Shinto and Buddhism--which dovetail so well that
each one contributes something of value to the Japanese character. The
Confucian philosophy, also, had its share in developing _Bushido_, the
"Soul of the People."
Shinto is the native religion of Japan, and both because it is so little
known outside of that country and because a study of it goes so far to
explain many national characteristics, it seems worth while to consider
it at some length. The word Shinto may be translated as the Way of the
Gods, and defined in brief as a worship of ancestors, especially of the
Emperor and his forebears. Human beings are believed to be the children
of the sunshine, and sin is hardly recognized.
Shinto is a combination of primitive instincts. It is based on hero
worship, and it has myriads of deities, who live in every conceivable
object, from the spirit of the sewing-needle to the gods of thunder and
lightning, or of the sun, moon and stars. "The weakness of Shinto," says
Dr. Nitobe, the eloquent exponent of Japanese beliefs, "lies in the
non-recognition of human frailty, of sin." The sum total of its moral
teaching is this, "Be pure in heart and body."
The Shinto idea seems to be that it is only necessary to act out the
natural impulses of the heart in order to be pure. But where there is no
sense of sin, there can be no consciousness of need, no incentive to
higher things. Shinto lacks ideals. It allies itself with the practical
affairs of every-day life, inculcating industry and personal
cleanliness, some of its sects even prescribing mountain-climbing and
abdominal respiration as religious duties. But, as it has no theology,
it offers no explanation of the great problems of the universe; and,
having no sacred writings, it has no authority on which to base a system
of ethics. Theology and the spiritual element in religion came to Japan
with Buddhism; while ethics was the gift of Confucianism.
The first sign of a Shinto temple is the _torii_. This peculiar gateway,
though originally erected only by the Shintoists, has been adopted by
the Buddhists, who have changed it by turning up the corners of the top
beam and adding inscriptions and ornament. Passing under the _torii_ you
stand before the huge gate, generally painted red, guarded by wooden
figures, or keepers. These are supposed to be Ni-o--two gigantic and
fierce kings--and they occupy a sort of cage with wire in front, that
stands on either side of the entrance. Every worshipper makes a wish as
he enters the temple, and throws at the kings little wads of paper
precisely like the spitballs of school children. If the wads go through
the wire, the wishes are supposed to come true.
The temple itself stands in a courtyard inside the gate, and is rather
plain and undecorated, much like Japanese houses. A flight of steps
leads up to a balcony on the front, there is matting upon the floor
inside, and an altar in the centre supports a big bronze vase, which
usually contains pieces of gold paper, called _gohei_. A mirror is the
most important article in a Shinto shrine, the idea being that it is a
symbol of the human heart, which should reflect the image of Deity as
the glass reflects the face of the worshipper. The mirror is not found
in the temples of merely local divinities, but only in those sacred to
the Sun-Goddess herself, and even there is not exposed to view. Wrapped
in a series of brocade bags--another being added as each in turn wears
out--and kept in a box of cypress wood, which is enclosed in a wooden
cage under silken coverings, the mirror itself is never visible to the
eyes of the curious.
[Illustration: GRAND SHRINE OF ISE.]
Two famous Shinto shrines--at Ise and Kitzuki--are especially revered on
account of their great age. Kitzuki is so ancient that no one knows when
it was founded. According to tradition, the first temple was built by
direct command of the Sun-Goddess herself, in the days when none but
gods existed. The approach to the sacred enclosure is most imposing. A
beautiful avenue, shaded by huge trees and spanned by a series of
gigantic _torii_, leads from a magnificent bronze _torii_ at the
entrance to the massive wall that surrounds the temple courts. Within
are groves and courts and immense buildings. The people are not admitted
to the great shrine itself, but offer their petitions before the Haiden,
or Hall of Prayer. Each pilgrim throws money into the box before the
door, claps his hands four times, bows his head, and remains for a few
minutes, then passes out. So many thousands throng this court that--to
borrow Hearn's figure--the sound of their clapping is like the surf
breaking on the shore.
Although the shrine at Kitzuki is the oldest, the temples at Ise are
more venerated. The inner shrine itself is a plain wooden building set
within successive courts, but stately cryptomerias and the most
magnificent camphor groves in all Japan give the place an unusual air of
grandeur and sanctity.
Wedding and funeral customs are extremely interesting. They have both
the religious and the civil marriage in Japan. To make it legal, the
parents must sign in the register. Marriages in Shinto temples have been
unusual until recently, as they have generally taken place in the home.
The custom is changing now, and temple weddings are becoming more
frequent. Funeral customs are changing also. Formerly it was always the
Buddhist priest who conducted the burial service, now the aristocrats
are interred according to Shinto rites.
At a wedding that we witnessed in a Shinto temple the couple first
listened to a sermon by the priest, then they were given tapers at the
altar. The bride lighted her candle first, and the bridegroom lighted
his from hers. After this the two tapers were put together in such a way
that they burned as one, symbolizing the perfect unity of wedded life.
The bride was handsomely dressed--the _obis_ for these occasions
sometimes cost over one hundred dollars--and wore the headdress with
horns, half hidden by a veil called the "horn-hider." This name would
seem to refer to the Buddhist text, "A woman's exterior is that of a
saint, but her heart is that of a demon." After the marriage ceremony,
the bridal party was photographed in the temple courtyard in a decidedly
up-to-date fashion. At the house the bridal couple drank the nuptial
_saké_, which had been prepared by two girl friends of the bride. This
was poured from a gold lacquer vessel into one of silver lacquer--the
two representing husband and wife--then into a cup, which the master of
ceremonies handed to the bride and afterward to the groom, and from
which they both drank.
As Shinto is the faith of the reigning family, the funeral ceremony of a
prince throws a good deal of light upon the cult itself. I did not
witness such a ceremony myself, so I condense the vivid description
given by the Baroness d'Anethan, who, as wife of the Belgian Minister,
resided in Tokyo for many years.
The funeral procession was headed by over eighty bearers dressed in
white, the Japanese sign of mourning, each carrying a huge tower of
flowers. Following these were officers in uniform holding cushions, on
which rested the Prince's numerous grand crosses and orders. Next came
various persons surrounding a casket, which contained the favourite
food, the shoes for the journey (large wooden _geta_), the sword to
guard against evil spirits during the soul's fifty days' wanderings, and
the money to pay for the ferry-boat that crosses the river to Eternity.
Finally appeared a beautifully fabricated casket of pure white wood (the
Shinto sign of purity), embossed with the family arms in gold, in which
the body was arranged in a sitting position. The chief mourner, a young
prince, was dressed in the old-fashioned Court mourning, consisting of a
wide, full, black silk petticoat, covered partially by a short white
kimono, crowned by an unusual form of headdress, made of what looked
like stiff black muslin. The two princesses of the family also wore
ancient Court mourning--a greyish-brown _hakama_ (a kind of divided
skirt)--and had their black hair puffed out at the sides like great
wings and hanging down the back.
Arriving at the cemetery, the Corps Diplomatique walked up a path paved
in wood and bordered on each side by covered seats, at the end of which
were high trestles supporting the coffin. The service now began,
accompanied by weird funeral music. Low white wooden tables were placed
before the coffin, all sorts of objects being offered to the departed by
the priests. First was a long box, containing the name which His
Imperial Highness was to bear in the next world. After this followed a
repast of various kinds of fish, game, sweetmeats and fruit--the
favourite foods of the deceased. These articles were handed with great
ceremony from one priest to another. There were ten priests, and as each
one took the dish, which was placed on a stool of white wood, he clapped
his hands twice to call the gods, and the last priest, bowing very low,
finally set it on the table. After all the food had been deposited,
prayers were intoned from an immense scroll, the final ceremony being
that each member of the family, and after them, the Corps Diplomatique,
approached the coffin, carrying branches of some particular tree, from
which floated long papers inscribed with prayers. The actual interment
took place some hours later, and with the remains of the Prince were
buried the various articles of food and clothing.
Our visits to the cemeteries showed us the veneration of the Japanese
for their noble dead, and impressed us with the significance of ancestor
worship in the Shinto cult. The big graveyard in Tokyo, where Nogi and
his wife were buried, was most interesting. Modern cemeteries in Japan
are much like ours, each owner having an enclosed lot and misshapen
stones or stone lanterns to mark the graves, but they are not so well
kept up as in America. Attached to the fence surrounding the lot is a
wooden box, in which visitors leave their cards when calling at the
abode of the dead. The mourners sometimes burn incense and leave
branches of laurel, too. As we approached the resting-place of Nogi and
his wife, we saw crowds of people standing near, for although months had
passed since their dramatic death, the Japanese were still visiting
their graves in great numbers.
In many cemeteries are the statues of "The Six Jizo"--smiling, childish
figures about three feet high--bearing various Buddhist emblems. A bag
of pebbles hangs about the neck of each one, and little heaps of stones
are piled up at their feet and even laid upon their shoulders and their
knees. Jizo is the children's god. He is the protector of the little
souls who have gone from this world to the Sai-no-Kawara, the abode of
children after death, where they must pile up stones in penance for
their sins! When this task is done, the demons abuse them and throw down
their little towers; then the babies run to Jizo, who hides them in his
great sleeves, and drives the evil spirits away. Every stone that is
laid at the feet of Jizo is a help to some little one in working out its
long task.
Hearn gives an interesting account of a wonderful cave at Kaka, on the
wild western coast of Japan, which can be visited only when there is not
wind enough "to move three hairs," for the strongest boat could not live
in the surf that beats against the high cliffs and dashes into the
fissures in their sides. But let one make the journey safely, and he
shall find in this grotto an image of Jizo, and before it the tiny stone
heaps. Every night, it is said, baby souls make their way to the cavern,
and pile up the pebbles around their friend, and every morning the
prints of little bare feet--the feet of the baby ghosts--are seen in the
moist sand.
Buddhism has become so complicated and changed in the different
countries through which it has travelled since it originated in Southern
India, and there are to-day so many sects, that it is difficult to
define.
The Ikko sect undoubtedly holds the purest and loftiest form of this
faith. Its chief teaching is, that "man is to be saved by faith in the
merciful power of Amida, and not by works or vain repetition of prayers.
For this reason, and also because its priests are permitted to marry,
this body has sometimes been called the Protestantism of Japan."
All the followers of Buddha believe in reincarnation; they feel that
life is a struggle, which human beings must get through with as well as
they can, and that as they are frail, they return to this earth in
various forms in punishment for their sins, always toiling on, until at
last their purified souls merge in the Divine and realize calm. As an
old Japanese writer puts it, "Though growing in the foulest slime, the
flower remains pure and undefiled. And the soul of him who remains pure
in the midst of temptation is likened unto the lotus."
There have been many Buddhas, who have returned at different times to
this world, Yamisaki being the latest. Buddhism has degenerated in
Japan, having absorbed the Shinto gods, and as it is based on a
pessimistic view of life, it appears to be rather a depressing religion.
[Illustration: _Lacquer Work_]
Buddhist temples are adorned with wonderful carving and lacquer work,
and contain bronzes and golden Buddhas. One of the largest and most
magnificent in Japan, surrounded by gardens of great extent and beauty,
is the Eastern Hongwanji temple in Kyoto. The shrines of the Ikko sect
are called Hongwanji, meaning "Monastery of the Real Vow," from the vow
made by Amida that he would not become Buddha unless salvation was
granted to all who sincerely desired it and testified their wish by
calling upon his name ten times. There is no government fund for this
shrine, and it has no regular source of income, yet it has been the
recipient of munificent gifts from royal personages and men of wealth,
and has all the prestige that could come from temporal support and the
sanction of government.
When we visited this temple, we were ceremoniously received by the
priest in charge and a number of his confrères. The head priest, short,
fat and clean-shaven, who met us at the gate, grunted and drew the air
through his teeth in greeting us, as a symbol of great politeness and
respect. His costume was a black silk robe over a soft white
under-garment, and a gold brocade band about his neck.
As we passed into the building, we were told that the present structure,
which is said to have cost seven million _yen_ and was sixteen years in
building, was erected on the site of an ancient temple that had been
destroyed by fire. It is noteworthy that the new temple contains a
system of tile pipes in the roof and ceiling, from which, in case of
fire, water may be dropped over the entire area.
[Illustration: EASTERN HONGWANJI TEMPLE, KYOTO.]
Before the altar is a broad sweep of stone flooring, and in front of
that a railing, outside which the people come to worship. Several were
kneeling there as we passed, their palms together in the traditional
attitude of Christian prayer. Others were prone on the floor. The
ragged, the lame and the desolate, blind and deaf to the passing crowd,
knelt upon this bare stone pavement--separated from the altar by a
railing beyond which they might not pass--their hands lifted in
supplication or adoration, their heads bowed in humility. The scene
called to mind the legend of Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer, whose
mission Longfellow has so beautifully described. We looked at the silent
god standing within the lotus--sacred emblem of humanity--veiled by the
pervading incense, and we wondered how many of those unspoken prayers
penetrated to the mysterious depths where Buddha dwells.
To the left of the altar is a space reserved for the priesthood, where
Buddhist monks come daily to their morning devotions and religious
exercises. Although the priests do not live in the temple, they
sometimes pass the night here in meditation, seated on the long rows of
mats that we saw arranged in orderly fashion. About forty priests are
usually in attendance at the morning services, but on occasions of State
ceremony larger numbers gather from all parts of the Empire. On the
twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth of each month services are held in memory
of the founders of the temple.
The priests conducted us between the railing and the altar, bowing their
heads as they passed. A number of small coins were scattered on the
matting--these were offerings left by worshippers. Our hosts, who
treated us with unfailing courtesy, pointed out further details of the
building, and afterward took us to a room where we were served with tea
and small cakes. We were told that this apartment had been donated by
the present Emperor.
We followed one of the priests into the walled garden and through its
narrow paths. We crossed brooks on bamboo bridges, and looked into the
calm waters. Among the trees were small temples and tea-houses
overhanging the water, and curiously shaped stones and crooked pines.
Hongwanji garden has all the fascination of a true Japanese garden, and
has, besides, the additional charm of age, for it is over three hundred
years old. We sat in this ideal spot, in one of the pretty tea-houses
with its soft mats and lacquer and polished wood, and again drank tea
from wee porcelain cups and ate sugared cakes.
The memory of this temple garden clings to me still. I imagine the
priests sitting on the little covered wooden bridge gazing into the calm
water with the lotus flowers, while the crickets sing in the
silence--crickets who were perhaps once human, now doing penance for
their sins. I hear the priests murmur over and over _Namu Amida Butsu_,
the Japanese rendering of the Sanskrit invocation meaning "Hail to the
Eternal Splendour of Buddha!" I see them meditating on the unending life
that they believe to be in store for them, until evil shall have left
them, and they shall be absorbed into Nirvana, "as a dewdrop sinks into
the shining sea."
As we left the temple we were shown the great coil of ropes made of
human hair. There were originally twenty-nine of these cables, the
longest of which measured two hundred feet. It seems that at the time
when the old shrine was burned, and they wished to rebuild it, the
church had no funds. People came together from all over the Empire, and
set to work like beavers. The men gave what they could, in work and
money; the women had nothing, yet they, too, wished to help. In a frenzy
of religious zeal they cut off their hair--their most treasured
possession--and cast it at the foot of the shrine of Buddha. From their
offerings were woven the cables that hoisted the tiles to the roof and
lifted into place the great wooden pillars of the temple.
The temple of Buddha, with its unpainted exterior, its bare pillars in
their naked simplicity, its glint of gold, its magnificent carvings, the
delicate fragrance of burning incense, its candles, its wealth of
symbolism--all this is a fading memory; yet its fascination lingers. We
wonder how much of the temple of Buddha we really saw, how much we felt
the presence of that power which is so intimately linked with the spirit
of the East and with the genius of the Oriental peoples. We felt the
reverence--unexpressed in word or outward act--with which our hosts, the
priests, drew our attention to the inscription above the altar, painted
in golden Japanese characters by the hand of the late Emperor, which,
being interpreted, means, "See Truth."
The temples at Nikko, the finest in Japan, are part Shinto, part
Buddhist. A ceremony which we once witnessed there, in the mausoleum of
Iyeyasu, the great Shogun, was full of interest. After taking off our
shoes at the entrance, we wandered over the mats, looking at the
gloriously carved panels, till we were informed that all was ready and
were invited to enter an inner room. I was given a peach-coloured
brocade robe, which I threw over my shoulders, but was told that it was
not necessary to don the skirt, which forms the rest of the ceremonial
costume. They gave us two camp-chairs, as we preferred to sit on them
rather than on our heels, in Japanese fashion. On either side of us
squatted three priests in white and green robes with curious black
openwork hats on their heads. We faced the inner shrine, in which stood,
on a table, a vase containing the gold paper for purification, such as
is seen in Shinto shrines.
[Illustration: THE HONDEN, IYEYASU, NIKKO.]
Then began the most unearthly music that I have ever heard, made by the
three priests on L.'s side, who were musicians. One had a strange
instrument made of flutes put together, resembling a small organ, which
gave out a sound somewhat like a bagpipe. While this man played a weird
tune on his pipes, another with a different instrument made a most
unpleasant whistle, like that of a train, which continued throughout the
entire ceremony.
Besides the green-robed musicians there were on my side white-robed
priests with even quainter head-gear, who moved about on their knees and
presented food and drink before the altar with many bows and much
clapping of their hands. This service led to the opening of the door of
the inner shrine, into which we were afterward taken and served with
_saké_. Then we were conducted behind one beautiful set of painted
screens after another till we came into the innermost place, gloriously
decorated in lacquer and painting but in absolute darkness, except for
the glow of the lanterns which we took with us. On emerging from these
hidden recesses, we left the temple, with polite bows to the priests and
thanks for their courtesy. As we walked away from the building, we could
hear the screeching instruments, the priests going on with the service
as the offerings were brought out of the sacred place.
Just as we were departing, I was given this translation of the Precepts
of Iyeyasu, which I have been glad to preserve as a souvenir of
beautiful Nikko:
PRECEPTS OF IYEYASU
Life is like unto a long journey with a heavy load. Let thy
steps be slow and steady, that thou stumble not. Persuade
thyself that imperfection and inconvenience is the natural lot
of mortals, and there will be no room for discontent, neither
for despair. When ambitious desires arise in thy heart, recall
the days of extremity thou hast passed through. Forbearance is
the root of quietness and assurance for ever. Look upon wrath as
thy enemy. If thou knowest only what it is to conquer, and
knowest not what it is to be defeated, woe unto thee! it will
fare ill with thee. Find fault with thyself rather than with
others. Better the less than the more.
_Translated by Prof. K. Wadagaki,
of the Imperial University._
The Japanese, like Arabs and Hindoos, not content with worshipping at
near-by shrines, often make pilgrimages to holy places at a distance.
There are several of these resorts in the Empire, some of the most
famous being the temple of the Sun-Goddess at Ise, the holy mountain
Fuji, the monastery of Koya-san, and the lovely island of Miyajima, in
the Inland Sea. As most of the pilgrims belong to the artisan and
peasant classes, and have scarcely more than enough for their daily
needs, they have evolved a scheme for defraying the expenses of these
trips by forming a great number of associations, or brotherhoods, the
members of which contribute each a cent a month. At the proper season
for the pilgrimage certain members are chosen by lot to represent the
brotherhood at some shrine, and their expenses are paid out of the
common fund. No distinctive dress is worn by most of them, but those on
their way to Fuji and other mountains are attired in white garments and
broad straw hats.
[Illustration: OFF MIYAJIMA.]
These Japanese pilgrims are not only performing a pious duty, they are
also taking their summer vacation. After their prayers are said, as at
the various festivals I have described, they do not hesitate to join in
all the amusements that are provided. It makes little difference to the
mass of the common people whether they worship at a Shinto or a Buddhist
shrine, and the Government actually changed Kompira from Buddhist to
Shinto without in the least detracting from its popularity. The relics
guarded in these temples of Buddha remind us very much of the sacred
memorials cherished by the Roman Church--holy garments, holy swords,
pictures by famous saints, and bits of the cremated body of a Buddha.
It was from her religions that Japan drew her Knightly Code, _Bushido_,
obedience to which raised the _samurai_ from the mere brutal wielder of
swords to the chivalrous warrior. From Shinto he imbibed veneration for
his ancestors, the strongest possible sense of duty to his parents, and
the most self-sacrificing loyalty to the sovereign. Buddhism gave him a
stoical composure in the presence of danger, a contempt for life, and
"friendliness with death." It made him calm and self-contained. Finally,
the _samurai_ obtained from the teachings of Confucius his principles of
action toward his fellow men.
_Bushido_ is spoken of as "the Soul of the People." The Greeks of old
located the soul in the kidneys, the Romans in the heart, and it is only
in recent years that it has been described as in the head; even then the
soul at best is indefinable, so I am at a loss to tell exactly what
_Bushido_ means.
When I asked a Japanese to define _Bushido_, he answered, "Loyalty--the
loyalty of the servant to his master, of the son to his father. The
servant is willing to make any sacrifice for the master. The Forty-Seven
Ronins are an example of this. General Nogi is another instance of the
same thing. Nogi felt that his death would remind the younger generation
of the Spartan virtues of the older days, which they were forgetting,
and would be a good thing for the country. He also wished to die in
order that his master, the Emperor, might not be lonely."
The Japanese national hymn, as translated by Professor Chamberlain,
fitly embodies this sentiment of loyalty to the Emperor:
"A thousand years of happy reign be thine;
Rule on, my lord, till what are pebbles now
By age united, to mighty rocks shall grow,
Whose venerable sides the moss doth line."
"Among the rare jewels of race and civilization which have slowly grown
to perfection is the Japanese virtue of loyalty," writes Dr. W. E.
Griffis; "In supreme devotion, in utter consecration to his master, in
service, through life and death, a _samurai's_ loyalty to his lord knew
no equal.... Wife, children, fortune, health, friends, were as
naught--but rather to be trampled under foot, if necessary, in order to
reach that 'last supreme measure of devotion' which the _samurai_ owed
to his lord. The matchless sphere of rock crystal, flawless and perfect,
is the emblem of Japanese loyalty."
The material side of _Bushido_ is the fighting spirit, and the germ of
the spiritual side is the idea of fair play in fight--a germ which
developed into a lofty code of honour. In feudal times Japanese warriors
endured severe discipline. They were obliged to be expert with the
fencing-stick, skilled in _jiu-jutsu_, the aristocratic form of
wrestling, in archery, and in the use of the spear and the iron fan, as
well as the double sword. They felt that mastery of the art of battle
gave self-control and mental calm.
Mental exercises were practised more generally in olden times than they
are to-day. There are several cults for the training of the mind, such
as _Kiai_ and _Zen_, both Buddhist practices. The secret of _Kiai_
condensed is: "I make personality my magic power. I make promptitude my
limbs. I make self-protection my laws."
_Zen_ teaches: "Commit no evil, do only good, and preserve the purity of
your heart and will. If you keep aloof from mundane fame and the lusts
of the flesh, and are inspired by a firm resolve to attain the Great
Truth, the gates of Stoicism will be opened to you."
_Bushido_ is the foundation of the nation, built of rock. It is strong
and true, and whatever is built upon it in the future, even if it topple
and fall, can always be rebuilt again, for the rock is there for ever.
May they build something worthy to rise on such a firm foundation!