CHAPTER XXXVI

"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 (