"THEY FEEL THE MERCY OF THE SUN"
(GUMMA, KANAGAWA AND CHIBA)
I find the consolation of life in things with which Governments cannot
interfere, in the light and beauty the earth puts forth for her children.
If the universe has any meaning, it exists for the purposes of soul.--Æ
One December night there walked into my house a professor of
agricultural politics, clad in tweeds and an overcoat, and with him a
man who wore only a cotton kimono and a single under-garment. The
sunburnt forehead of this man showed that he was not in the habit of
wearing a hat. There is a smiling Japanese face which to many
foreigners is merely irritating. It is not less irritating when, as
often happens, it displays bad teeth ostentatiously gold-stopped. This
man's smile was sincere and he had beautiful teeth. His hands were
nervous and thin, his bearing was natural and his voice gentle. Here,
evidently, was an altruist, perhaps a zealot, probably a celibate. He
was introduced as a rural religionist from Gumma prefecture set on
reforming his countrymen. It is important to know the strength of the
reforming power which Japan is itself generating: here was a man who
for eight years had lived a life of poverty in remote regions and had
shaped his life by three heroes, "St. Francis, Tolstoy and Kropotkin."
He believed that the way to influence people was "to work with them."
He lived on his dole as a junior teacher in an elementary school. His
food, which he cooked himself, was chiefly rice and _miso_. He had
been a vegetarian for ten years. He was twenty-nine.
He said that as far as the people of his village--largely peasant
proprietors who hired additional land--were concerned, "It is happy
for them if they end the year without debt." I asked how the men in
the village who owned land but did not work it spent their time. The
reply was: "They are chattering of many things, very trivial things,
and they disturb the village. They drink too much and they have
concubines or women elsewhere."
"If an ordinary peasant went to the next town to see women there," the
speaker continued, "young men of the village would go and give him a
good knock. In former times 'waitresses' were highly spoken of in the
village, but not now. There are some young men who may go at night to
a house where there are young girls in the family and open the door.
Sometimes they bring cucumbers. Cucumbers are symbols. Some do this
out of fun and some sincerely to express their feelings. If the young
men who do such a thing do it out of fun they are given a good knock
by members of that house when discovered. If they are sincere the
members of the family will smile. There are in our village of 6,000
inhabitants only four illegitimate children."
As to the influences exerted for the betterment of the people the
follower of St. Francis was convinced that "when Buddhist influence,
Shintoism, Confucianism and the good customs of our race are all mixed
together so that you cannot discern one from the other we have some
living power." His own religion was "that of St. Francis combined with
Buddhism."
Speaking generally of rural people my visitor said: "They are falling
into miserable conditions, are in effect spending what was accumulated
by their ancestors. Their houses are not so practical and cost more.
They think they live better but their physical condition is not
better. The number who cannot earn much is increasing." I was told of
a growing habit among village boys of running off to Tokyo without
their parents' permission. And bands of girls came to the district to
help in the silk-worm season "often without their parents' approval."
Many villagers consulted my visitor on all sorts of subjects until he
had almost no leisure. Some wanted counsel about the future of their
children, some desired advice about the family debt, some wanted to
know how to put an end to quarrels and some asked "how a man will be
able to be easy-minded." The ordinary result of the primary school
system was "a mass of many informations in young brains and they
cannot tell wisdom from knowledge. The result is that they are
discontented with their hard lot. They grow up wishing to rob each
other within the bounds of the law. They want to live comfortably
without hard work. Good customs which were the crystallisation of the
experience of our race are dying away."
My visitor had met an old woman on the road clad miserably. She earned
as a labourer on a farm, beside her board and lodging, 25 sen daily.
Of this sum she handed to a fellow-villager whom she trusted 20 sen.
He gave away many clothes to the poor and her contribution was used
with the money he expended. "If," said she, "one shall give to God a
small thing in darkness then it is accepted to its full value, but, if
it be known, it is accepted only at a small value." She was "content
and quite happy."
This woman and many others in the district had a primitive kind of
religion. They observed the days called "waiting for the sun" and
"waiting for the moon." "The same-minded people gather. The one most
deeply experienced tells something to those assembled and they begin
to be imbued with the same spirit. It is some kind of transformed
worship of the sun god. They feel the mercy of the sun. They do not
worship the heavenly bodies but as the symbol of the merciful
universe. These people take meals together several times in a year.
They talk not only on spiritual but on common things and about the
news in the papers. It may seem to a stranger that what they talk is
foolish, but they have a wonderful power to attract the essential out
of those trifles."
"The fundamental power which made Japan what it is," the speaker went
on with animation, "is not institutions and statesmen, but those
primitive religious acts. The people strongly resembling the old woman
I spoke of may be only 1 per cent., but almost all villagers are
imbued with such religious notions and feel thankfulness, and on rare
occasions a latent sentiment springs from their hearts. Their religion
may be connected with Buddhism or Shintoism; it is not Buddhism or
Shintoism, however, but a primitive belief which in its manifestation
varies much in different villages. For example, in one village the
good deeds of an ancient sage are told. The time when that priest
lived and particulars about him are getting dimmer and dimmer, but his
influence is still considerable. Though many people are worshipped in
national and prefectural shrines the influence of those enshrined is
small compared with the influence of a man or woman of the past who
was not much celebrated but was thought to be good by the rustic
people.
"Think of the way in which the memory of the maid-servant Otake is
worshipped by the peasants through one-half of Japan. That was a pious
and illuminated person who worked very hard. As her _uta_ (poem) says,
'Though hands and feet are very busy at work, still I can praise and
follow God always because my mind and heart are not occupied by
worldly things.' She ate poor food and gave her own food to beggars.
So when a countryman wastes the bounty of nature he is still
reprimanded by the example of that maid-servant. She is more respected
than many great men."
My visitor thought a religious revival might happen under the
leadership of a Christian or of a Buddhist, or of a man who "united
Buddhism and Christianity" or "developed the primitive form of faith
among the lower people." He thought there were "already men in the
country who might be these leaders." He said that much might happen in
ten years. "Materialism is prevalent everywhere, but people will begin
to feel difficulties in following their materialism. When they cannot
go any further with it they will begin to be awakened."
And then this young man who sincerely desires to do something with his
life and has at any rate made a beginning went his way. Up and down
Japan I met several single-hearted men not unlike him.
One day I made an excursion from Tokyo and came on an extraordinary
avenue of small wooden red painted _torii_, gimcracky things made out
of what a carpenter would call "two by two stuff." By the time I got
to the shrine to which the _torii_ led I must have passed a thousand
of these erections. In one spot there was a stack of _torii_ lying on
their sides. The shrine was in honour of the fox god and there was a
curious story behind it. Twenty years before a man interested in the
"development" of the district had caused it to be given out that
foxes, the messengers of the god Inari, had been seen on this spot in
the vicinity of a humble shrine to that divinity. The farmers were
continually questioned about the matter. It was suggested that the god
was manifesting his presence. In the end more and more worshippers
came, and, with the liberal assistance of the speculator, a fine new
shrine was erected in place of the shabby one. His hand was also seen
in the building of a big burrow--of concrete--for the comfort of the
god's messenger. The top of the burrow also furnished an excellent
view of the surrounding district, and teahouses were built in the
vicinity. Indeed in a year or two quite a village of teahouses came
into existence. The place, which was on the sea-coast, had become a
kind of Southend or Coney Island, and attracted thousands of visitors.
A large proportion of these teahouses would have great difficulty in
establishing a claim to respectability. Numbers of lamps which crowded
the space before the shrine were the gifts of women of bad character
and the inscriptions on these gifts bore the _addresses and
profession_ of the donors. The final irony was the provision of a tram
service for the convenience of those who wished to worship at another
altar than that of the fox god. Although most of the visitors found
the chief attraction of the place in the teahouses,[221] they were
none the less devout. Every visitor to the teahouses worshipped at the
shrine.
What do those who bow their heads and throw their Coppers in the
treasury pray for? "Well-being to my family and prosperity to my
business" was, I was told, a common form of invocation. Even among not
a few reasonably well educated people there is a conviction that
prayers made at the altar of the fox god are peculiarly efficacious.
Kanzō Uchimura, who accompanied me on this trip, improved the occasion
by saying in his vigorous English: "You in the West have some
difficulty, no doubt, in understanding the fierceness of the
indignation with which Old Testament prophets denounce heathen gods.
When you behold such an exhibition as this you may be helped to
understand. Here is impurity under divine protection, and this place
may fairly be called a fashionable shrine. The visitor to Japan often
vaunts himself on being broadminded. He regards heathendom as only
another sect and he desires to be respectful to it. But I want to show
you that it is not a case of only another sect but often a case of
gross and demoralising superstition and priestly countenancing of
immorality. Heaven forbid that I should deny the beauty of the idea of
the foxes being the messengers of divinity or that I should suggest
that some religious feelings may not inspire and some religious
feeling may not reward the sincere devotion of the countryman to his
fox god, but how much does it amount to in sum?"
I thought of what Uchimura had said when one day, in the course of a
walk with his critic, Yanagi (Chapter XI), I was shown a shrine
pitifully bedizened by the _waraji_ (straw sandals) and _ema_[222] of
a thousand or more pilgrims who were suffering or had recovered from
syphilis.[223]
During our conversation Yanagi said: "Shintoism is not of course a
religion at all. It draws great strength from the national instinct
for cleanliness manifested by people living in a hot climate. The
religion of poor people is largely custom; I complain of educated
people not that they are sceptical but that they are not sceptical
enough. They simply don't care. According to Mr. Uchimura, there is
only one way to God and that is through Christianity. But there are
many ways. A personal religion like Christianity is more effective
than Buddhism, but it does not follow that Christianity is better than
Buddhism. I find I get to like Mr. Uchimura more and more and his
views less and less. It is not his theoretical Christianity but his
courageous spirit which attracts. He is a courageous man and we have
very great need of morally courageous men. Although Christianity is
impossible without Christ, Buddhism is possible without Buddha. A
variety of religions is not harmful, and we have to take note of the
Christian temperament and the Buddhistic temperament. Orientals can
only be appealed to by an Oriental religion. Christianity is an
Oriental religion no doubt, but it has been Westernised. It must
always be borne in mind that Buddhistic literature is in a special
language and that it is difficult for most people to get a general
view of Buddhism."
In further talk the speaker said that in Japan the individual had not
been separated from the mass. But it was difficult to exaggerate the
swiftness of the national development. The newer Russian writers were
"certainly as well known in England, possibly better known." As to
Tolstoy alone, there were at least fifty books about him. But it had
to be admitted that, generally speaking, the Japanese development
though rapid had not gone deep. In painting there was dexterity and
technique but few men knew where they were going. Their work was
"surface beautiful." They had not passed the stage of Zorn.
We spoke of conscription and I said that it had not escaped my
attention that many young men showed an increasing desire to avoid
military service. From a single person I had heard of youths who had
escaped by looking ill--through a week's fasting--by impairing their
eyesight by wearing strong glasses for a few weeks, by contriving to
be examined in a fishing village where the standard of physique was
high, or by shamming Socialist.[224] Many Japanese bear
uncomplainingly the heavy burden of the military system. But the
others are to be reckoned with.
Said one of these to me: "We Japanese are not inherently a warlike
people and have no desire to be militarists; but we are suffering from
German influence not only in the army but through the middle-aged
legal, scientific and administrative classes who were largely educated
in Germany or influenced by German teaching. This German influence may
have been held in check to some extent, perhaps, by the artistic
world, which has certainly not been German, except in relation to
music, and after all that is the best part of Germany. Many young
people have taken their ideas largely from Russia; more from the
United States and Great Britain. But Germany will always make her
appeal on account of her reputation with us for system, order,
industry, depth of knowledge, persistence and nationalism."
On the family system, the study of which was more than once urged upon
me in connection with the rural problem, this statement was made to me
by an agricultural expert: "I will tell you the story of an official
whose salary was that of a Governor. His father was a farmer. The
farmer borrowed money to educate his son. When the son became an
official he paid the money back, but on the small salaries he received
this repayment was a strain. Then two brothers came to his house
frequently for money, and when they received it spent it in ridiculous
ways. This begging has gone on for nine years. My friend has to live
not like an Excellency but like a _gunchō_. He cannot treat his wife
and children fairly. But of the money he gives to his brothers he
says, 'It is my family expense.'"
I also heard this story: "A married B. B died without having any
children. A next married B's sister, C. Then, because of the necessity
of having a male heir for the maintenance of his family, and because
he thought it was unlikely that his wife C would have children as her
dead sister B had had none, he adopted his wife's younger brother, D.
But the wife C did have children. Consequently, not only is A's wife
his sister-in-law and his eldest 'son' his wife's brother, but his
children are his eldest 'son's' nephews. The eldest of these children,
E, is legally the younger son. He says, 'I am glad that instead of an
uncle I have an elder brother. I am much attached to him and he is
attached to me. I am not sorry to be younger instead of elder brother,
for when my father dies my adopted brother will become head of the
family and he must then bring up his younger brothers and sisters,
manage the family fortunes, bear the family troubles and keep all the
cousins and uncles in good humour by inviting them occasionally and at
other times by visiting them and giving them presents.'[225]
"It is obvious that our family system, for speaking in criticism of
which officials have been dismissed from their posts, puts too much
stress on the family and too little on the individual. The family is
the unit of society. Any member of it is only a fraction of that unit.
For the sake of the family every member of it must sacrifice almost
everything.[226] Sometimes the development of the individual character
and individual initiative is checked by the family system. An eldest
son is often required to follow his father's calling irrespective of
his tastes. Nowadays some eldest sons go abroad, but their departure
attracts attention and you seldom find such a thing happening among
farmers. The family system, by which all is subordinated to family, is
convenient to farmers for it means increased labour and economy of
living. Sometimes there may be two married sons living at home and
then there is often strife. Generally speaking, the family system at
one and the same time keeps young men from striking out in the world
and compels their early marriage so that the helping hands to the
family may be more numerous. The family system concentrates the
attention on the family and not on society. There is no energy left
for society.
"Again, the family system gives too much power to relatives and leads
to disagreeable interference. In the case of a marriage being proposed
between family A and family B, the families related to A or B who will
be brought into closer connection by the marriage may object. On the
other hand, the family system has the advantage that the relatives who
interfere may also be looked upon for help. Not a few people are all
for maintaining the family system. But the spirit of individualism is
entering into some families and here and there children are beginning
to claim their rights and to act against relatives' wishes. One hears
of farmers sending boys, even elder sons, to the towns, and for their
equipment borrowing from the prefectural agricultural bank instead of
spending on the development of their business."
At a Christmas-day luncheon I met four students of rural problems, two
of whom were peers, one a governor of an important prefecture, and a
fourth a high official in the agricultural world. One man, speaking of
the family system, said "the success of agriculture depends on it."
"In my opinion," someone remarked, "the foundation of the family
system is common production and common consumption, so when these
things go there must be a gradual disappearance of the family system."
"No," came the rejoinder, "the only enemy of the family system is
Western influence." "Yes," the fourth speaker added, "an enemy whose
blows have told."
Someone suggested that the Japanese rural emigrant always hoped to
return home, that is if he could return with dignity--does not the
proverb speak of the desirability of returning home in good clothes?
One of the company said that he had seen in Kyushu rows of
white-washed slated houses which had been erected by returned
emigrants. "But they were successful prostitutes. Often, however,
these girls invest their money unwisely and have to go abroad again."
Everybody at table agreed that there was in the villages a slow if
steady slackening of "the power of the landlord, of the authorities
and of religion," and a development of a desire and a demand for
better conditions of life. One who proclaimed himself a conservative
urged that changes of form were too readily confounded with changes of
spirit. The change in thought in Japan, he said, was slow, and some
occurrences might be easily misjudged. I said that that very day I had
heard from my house the drone of an aeroplane prevail over the sound
of a temple bell, happening to speak of _The Golden Bough_, I asked my
neighbour, who had read it, if to a Japanese who got its penetrating
view some things could ever be the same again. He answered frankly,
"There are things in our life which are too near to criticise. Do you
know that there are parts of Japan where folklore is still being
made?"
I was invited one evening to dinner to meet a dozen men conspicuous in
the agricultural world. Priests were apologised for because most of
them were "very poor men and also poorly educated." Very few had been
even to a middle school. Many priests read Chinese scriptures aloud
but they did not understand what they were reading.
One man reported that an old farmer had said to him that paddy-field
labour was harder than dry-land labour, but young men did not go off
to Tokyo because of the severity of the work; they went away because
of "the bondage of rural life."
How much has the economic stress affected old convictions? How general
and how eager is the Japanese resolution to Westernise farther? None
of the rural sociologists had given any thought apparently to a new
factor in the rural problem: the way in which compulsory military
service, in taking farmers' sons to the cities as soldiers and
bluejackets, is giving them an acquaintance with neo-Malthusianism. In
Tokyo and other large cities certain articles are prominently
advertised on the hoardings. It is of some importance to consider what
will be the effect of this knowledge in competition with the national
appreciation of large families.[227] Is it likely that an intensely
"practical" people, which has bolted so much of European and American
"civilisation," will be wholly uninfluenced by the Western practice of
limitation of offspring? What is to-day the actual strength of the
social needs which have produced the large Japanese family?[228]
Whatever middle-aged Japanese may think, the matter is not in their
hands, but in the hands of the younger generation. Most Western
economists would no doubt argue that if fewer babies arrived in Japan
there would not be so many farmers' boys and university graduates bent
on emigrating.
Without the voluntary limitation of families, however, the number of
children born is likely to be diminished by the increased cost of
living and by the postponement of marriage. I know Japanese men who
were married before they were twenty; the younger generation of my
friends is marrying nearer thirty.[229]
There is reason to believe that the population has not increased of
recent years at the old rate.[230] A responsible authority expressed
the opinion to me that the necessities of the population are unlikely
to overtake the means of production in the near future.[231]
The Japanese are intensely practical, but they have, as we have seen,
another side. If that other side is not "spiritual," in the sense in
which the word is largely used in the West, it is at least regardful
of other considerations than the "practical." It is with thoughts of
that vital side of the national character that I recall a story told
me by Dr. Nitobe of the last days of the Forty-seven Ronin. It is well
authenticated. When the Ronin had slain their dead lord's persecutor
and had given themselves up to the authorities, they were found worthy
of death. But the Shogun was in some anxiety as to what might justly
be done. He sent privily to a famous abbot saying that it was at all
times the duty of the Shogun to condemn to death men who had committed
murder. Yet it was the privilege of a priest to ask for mercy, and in
the matter of the lives of the Ronin the Shogun would not be unwilling
to listen to a plea for mercy. The abbot answered that he sympathised
deeply with the Ronin, but because he so sympathised with them he was
unwilling to take any steps which might hinder the carrying out of the
sentence. It was true, he said, that there were old men among the
Ronin, but many, of them were young men--one was only fifteen--and it
had to be borne in mind that if they escaped death at the hands of the
law it was hardly likely that during the whole course of their
after-lives they could hope to escape committing sin of some sort or
another. At the moment they had reached a pinnacle of nobility which
they could never pass and it was a thing to be desired for them that
they should die now, when they would live to all posterity as heroes.
The happiest fate for the Ronin was a righteous death, and as their
admiring sympathiser the abbot expressed his unwillingness to do
anything which might have the effect of saving them from so glorious
an end.
FOOTNOTES:
[221] Someone said to me, "I have in mind one village where there is a
poorly cared-for school and a score of teahouses giving employment to
nearly two hundred people."
[222] "Small boards with crude designs painted on them. They may be
prayers, thank-offerings or protective charms. A shrine where many
thanks _ema_ have been left is clearly that of a god ready to hear and
answer prayer. Worshippers flock to the place and the accumulation of
painted boards--whether prayers or thanks--increases."--FREDERICK
STARR, _Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan_, vol. xlviii.
[223] The percentage in conscripts in 1918 was 2.2 per cent, against
2.5 per cent, in 1917 and 2.7 per cent, in 1916. ("Not less than 10
per cent. of the population of our large towns are infected with
syphilis and a much larger proportion with gonorrhœa."--SIR JAMES
CRICHTON-BROWNE.) The figures for the general population of Japan must
be higher.
[224] See Appendix LXIII.
[225] It sometimes happens that an adopted son is dismissed with "a
sufficient monetary compensation" when a real son is born.
[226] I met a fine ex-daimyo, who after the Restoration had served as
a prefectural governor. He was so generous in giving money to public
objects in his prefecture that his family compelled him to resign
office.
[227] See Appendix XXX.
[228] It is only within the last quarter of a century that the
authorities have taken a stand against infanticide. There is no
traditional dislike of an artificial diminution of progeny, for many
of the fathers and grandfathers of the present generation practised
it. Methods of procuring abortion were also common. A certain plant
has a well-known reputation as an abortifacient. A young peer and his
wife are now conducting a campaign on behalf of smaller families, and
the discussion has advanced far enough for a magazine to invite Dr.
Havelock Ellis to express his views.
[229] According to the 1918 figures the ages at which men and women
married were as follows per 1,000: before 20, m. 37.6, w. 259.0;
20-25, m. 304.9, w. 434.8; 26-30, m. 347.9, w. 159.4; 31-35, m. 145.1,
w. 67.3; 36-40, m. 70.0, w. 37.1; 41-45, m. 41.8, w. 21.4; 46-50, m.
22.8, w. 10.5; 51-55, m. 14.7, w. 6.0; 56-60, m. 7.3, w. 2.5; 61 and
upwards, m. 7.9, w. 2.
[230] See Appendix XXX.
[231] See Appendices XXV and LXXX; also page 363 for the reasons
operating against emigration. Mr. J. Russell Kennedy, of
Kokusai-Reuter, declared (1921) that it was "a myth that Japan must
find an outlet for surplus population; Japan has plenty of room within
her own border," that is, including Korea and Formosa as well as
Hokkaido in Japan. Mr. S. Yoshida, Secretary of the Japanese Embassy
in London, in an address also delivered in 1921, stressed the value of
the fishing-grounds and the mercantile marine as openings for an
increased population. "The resources of the sea," he said, "give Japan
more room for her population than appears."
REFLECTIONS IN HOKKAIDO