The Literature of the Dead
Shindaréba koso ikitaré.
“Only because of having died, does one enter into life.”
—Buddhist proverb.
I
Behind my dwelling, but hidden from view by a very lofty curtain of trees, there is a Buddhist temple, with a cemetery attached to it. The cemetery itself is in a grove of pines, many centuries old; and the temple stands in a great quaint lonesome garden. Its religious name is Ji-shō-in; but the people call it Kobudera, which means the Gnarled, or Knobby Temple, because it is built of undressed timber,—great logs of hinoki, selected for their beauty or strangeness of shape, and simply prepared for the builder by the removal of limbs and bark. But such gnarled and knobby wood is precious: it is of the hardest and most enduring, and costs far more than common building-material,—as might be divined from the fact that the beautiful alcoves and the choicest parts of Japanese interiors are finished with wood of a similar kind. To build Kobudera was an undertaking worthy of a prince; and, as a matter of history, it was a prince who erected it, for a place of family worship. There is a doubtful tradition that two designs were submitted to him by the architect, and that he chose the more fantastic one under the innocent impression that undressed timber would prove cheap. But whether it owes its existence to a mistake or not, Kobudera remains one of the most interesting temples of Japan. The public have now almost forgotten its existence;—but it was famous in the time of Iyemitsu; and its appellation, Ji-shō-in, was taken from the kaimyō of one of the great Shogun’s ladies, whose superb tomb may be seen in its cemetery. Before Meiji, the temple was isolated among woods and fields; but the city has now swallowed up most of the green spaces that once secluded it, and has pushed out the ugliest of new streets directly in front of its gate.
Gate of Kobudera
This gate—a structure of gnarled logs, with a tiled and tilted Chinese roof—is a fitting preface to the queer style of the temple itself. From either gable-end of the gate-roof, a demon-head, grinning under triple horns, looks down upon the visitor.[16] Within, except at the hours of prayer, all is green silence. Children do not play in the court—perhaps because the temple is a private one. The ground is everywhere hidden by a fine thick moss of so warm a color, that the brightest foliage of the varied shrubbery above it looks sombre by contrast; and the bases of walls, the pedestals of monuments, the stonework of the bell-tower, the masonry of the ancient well, are muffled with the same luminous growth. Maples and pines and cryptomerias screen the façade of the temple; and, if your visit be in autumn, you may find the whole court filled with the sweet heavy perfume of the mokusei[17]-blossom. After having looked at the strange temple, you would find it worth while to enter the cemetery, by the black gate on the west side of the court.
I like to wander in that cemetery,—partly because in the twilight of its great trees, and in the silence of centuries which has gathered about them, one can forget the city and its turmoil, and dream out of space and time,—but much more because it is full of beauty, and of the poetry of great faith. Indeed of such poetry it possesses riches quite exceptional. Each Buddhist sect has its own tenets, rites, and forms; and the special character of these is reflected in the iconography and epigraphy of its burial-grounds,—so that for any experienced eye a Tendai graveyard is readily distinguishable from a Shingon graveyard, or a Zen graveyard from one belonging to a Nichiren congregation. But at Kobudera the inscriptions and the sculptures peculiar to several Buddhist sects can be studied side by side. Founded for the Hokké, or Nichiren rite, the temple nevertheless passed, in the course of generations, under the control of other sects—the last being the Tendai;—and thus its cemetery now offers a most interesting medley of the emblems and the epitaphic formularies of various persuasions. It was here that I first learned, under the patient teaching of an Oriental friend, something about the Buddhist literature of the dead.
No one able to feel beauty could refuse to confess the charm of the old Buddhist cemeteries,—with their immemorial trees, their evergreen mazes of shrubbery trimmed into quaintest shapes, the carpet-softness of their mossed paths, the weird but unquestionable art of their monuments. And no great knowledge of Buddhism is needed to enable you, even at first sight, to understand something of this art. You would recognize the lotos chiselled upon tombs or water-tanks, and would doubtless observe that the designs of the pedestals represent a lotos of eight petals,—though you might not know that these eight petals symbolize the Eight Intelligences. You would recognize the manji, or svastika, figuring the Wheel of the Law,—though ignorant of its relation to the Mahâyâna philosophy. You would perhaps be able to recognize also the images of certain Buddhas,—though not aware of the meaning of their attitudes or emblems in relation to mystical ecstasy or to the manifestation of the Six Supernatural Powers. And you would be touched by the simple pathos of the offerings,—the incense and the flowers before the tombs, the water poured out for the dead,—even though unable to divine the deeper pathos of the beliefs that make the cult. But unless an excellent Chinese scholar as well as a Buddhist philosopher, all book-knowledge of the great religion would still leave you helpless in a world of riddles. The marvellous texts,—the exquisite Chinese scriptures chiselled into the granite of tombs, or limned by a master-brush upon the smooth wood of the sotoba,—will yield their secrets only to an interpreter of no common powers. And the more you become familiar with their aspect, the more the mystery of them tantalizes,—especially after you have learned that a literal translation of them would mean, in the majority of cases, exactly nothing!
What strange thoughts have been thus recorded and yet concealed? Are they complex and subtle as the characters that stand for them? Are they beautiful also like those characters,—with some undreamed-of, surprising beauty, such as might inform the language of another planet?
II
As for subtlety and complexity, much of this mortuary literature is comparable to the Veil of Isis. Behind the mystery of the text—in which almost every character has two readings—there is the mystery of the phrase; and again behind this are successions of riddles belonging to a gnosticism older than all the wisdom of the Occident, and deep as the abysses of Space. Fortunately the most occult texts are also the least interesting, and bear little relation to the purpose of this essay. The majority are attached, not to the sculptured, but to the written and impermanent literature of cemeteries,—not to the stone monuments, but to the sotoba: those tall narrow laths of unpainted wood which are planted above the graves at fixed, but gradually increasing intervals, during a period of one hundred years.[18]
Sotoba in Kobudera Cemetery
(The upper characters are “Bonti”—modified Sanskrit)
The uselessness of any exact translation of these inscriptions may be exemplified by a word-for-word rendering of two sentences written upon the sotoba used by the older sects. What meaning can you find in such a term as “Law-sphere-substance-nature-wisdom,” or such an invocation as “Ether, Wind, Fire, Water, Earth!”—for an invocation it really is? To understand these words one must first know that, in the doctrine of the mystical sects, the universe is composed of Five Great Elements which are identical with Five Buddhas; that each of the Five Buddhas contains the rest; and that the Five are One by essence, though varying in their phenomenal manifestations. The name of an element has thus three significations. The word Fire, for example, means flame as objective appearance; it means flame also as the manifestation of a particular Buddha; and it likewise means the special quality of wisdom or power attributed to that Buddha. Perhaps this doctrine will be more easily understood by the help of the following Shingon classification of the Five Elements in their Buddhist relations:—
I. Hō-kai-tai-shō-chi
(Sansc. Dhârma-dhâtu-prakrit-gñâna), or “Law-sphere-substance-nature-wisdom,”—signifying the wisdom that becomes the substance of things. This is the element Ether. Ether personified is Dai-Nichi-Nyōrai, the “Great Sun-Buddha” (Mahâvairokana Tathâgata), who “holds the seal of Wisdom.”
II. Dai-en-kyō-chi
(Âdarsana-gñâna), or “Great-round-mirror-wisdom,”—that is to say the divine power making images manifest. This is the element Earth. Earth personified is Ashuku Nyōrai, the “Immovable Tathâgata” (Akshobhya).
III. Byō-dō-shō-chi
(Samatâ-gñâna), “Even-equal-nature-wisdom,”—that is, the wisdom making no distinction of persons or of things. The element Fire. Personified, Fire is Hō-shō Nyōrai, or “Gem-Birth” Buddha (Ratnasambhava Tathâgata), presiding over virtue and happiness.
IV. Myō-kwan-zatsu-chi
(Pratyavekshana-gñâna), “Wondrously-observing-considering-wisdom;”—that is, the wisdom distinguishing clearly truth from error, destroying doubts, and presiding over the preaching of the Law. The element Water. Water personified is Amida Nyōrai, the Buddha of Immeasurable Light (Amitâbha Tathâgata).
V. Jō-shō-sa-chi
(Krityânushthâna-gñâna), the “Wisdom-of-accomplishing-what-is-to-be-done;”—that is to say, the divine wisdom that helps beings to reach Nirvana. The element Air. Air personified is Fu-kū-jō-ju, the “Unfailing-of-Accomplishment,”—more commonly called Fuku-Nyōrai (Amoghasiddhi, or Sâkyamuni).[19]
Now the doctrine that each of the Five Buddhas contains the rest, and that all are essentially One, is symbolized in these texts by an extraordinary use of characters called Bon-ji,—which are recognizably Sanscrit letters. The name of each element can be written with any one of four characters,—all having for Buddhists the same meaning, though differing as to sound and form. Thus the characters standing for Fire would read, according to Japanese pronunciation, Ra, Ran, Raän, and Raku;—and the characters signifying Ether, Kya, Ken, Keën, and Kyaku. By different combinations of the twenty characters making the five sets, different supernatural powers and different Buddhas are indicated; and the indication is further helped by an additional symbolic character, called Shū-ji or “seed-word,” placed immediately after the names of the elements. The reader will now comprehend the meaning of the invocatory “Ether, Wind, Fire, Water, Earth!” and of the strange names of divine wisdom written upon sotoba; but the enigmas offered by even a single sotoba may be much more complicated than the foregoing examples suggest. There are unimaginable acrostics; there are rules, varying according to sect, for the position of texts in relation to the points of the compass; and there are kabalisms based upon the multiple values of certain Chinese ideographs. The whole subject of esoteric inscriptions would require volumes to explain; and the reader will not be sorry, I fancy, to abandon it at this point in favor of texts possessing a simpler and a more humane interest.
The really attractive part of Buddhist cemetery-literature mostly consists of sentences taken from the sûtras or the sastras; and the attraction is due not only to the intrinsic beauty of the faith which these sentences express, but also to the fact that they will be found to represent, in epitome, a complete body of Buddhist doctrine. Like the mystical inscriptions above-mentioned, they belong to the sotoba, not to the gravestones; but, while the invocations usually occupy the upper and front part of the sotoba, these sutra-texts are commonly written upon the back. In addition to scriptural and invocatory texts, each sotoba bears the name of the giver, the kaimyō of the dead, and the name of a commemorative anniversary. Sometimes a brief prayer is also inscribed, or a statement of the pious purpose inspiring the erection of the sotoba. Before considering the scripture-texts proper, in relation to their embodiment of doctrine, I submit examples of the general character and plan of sotoba inscriptions. They are written upon both sides of the wood, be it observed; but I have not thought it necessary to specify which texts belong to the front, and which to the back of the sotoba,—since the rules concerning such position differ according to sect:—
I.—Sotoba of the Nichiren Sect.
(Invocation.)
Ether, Wind, Fire, Water, Earth!—Hail to the Sutra of the Lotos of the Good Law!
(Commemorative text.)
To-day, the service of the third year has been performed in order that our lay-brother [kaimyō] may be enabled to cut off the bonds of illusion, to open the Eye of Enlightenment, to remain free from all pain, and to enter into bliss.
(Sastra text.)
Myō-hō-kyō-riki-soku-shin-jō-butsu!
Even this body [of flesh] by the virtue of the Sutra of the Excellent Law, enters into Buddhahood.
II.—Sotoba of the Nichiren Sect.
(Invocation.)
Hail to the Sutra of the Lotos of the Good Law!
(Commemorative text.)
The rite of feeding the hungry spirits having been fulfilled, and the service for the dead having been performed, this sotoba is set up in commemoration of the service and the offerings made with prayer for the salvation of Buddha on behalf of—(kaimyō follows).
(Prayer—with English translation.)
Gan i shi kudoku
Fu-gyū o issai
Gatō yo shujō
Kai-gu jō butsudo.
By virtue of this good action I beseech that the merit of it may be extended to all, and that we and all living beings may fulfil the Way of Buddha.[20]
The fifth day of the seventh month of the thirtieth year of Meiji, by —— ——, this sotoba has been set up.
III.—Sotoba of the Jōdo Sect.
(Invocation.)
Hail to the Buddha Amida!
(Commemorative mention.)
This for the sake of—(here kaimyō follows).
(Sutra text.)
The Buddha of the Golden Mouth, who possesses the Great-Round-Mirror-Wisdom,[21] has said: “The glorious light of Amida illuminates all the worlds of the Ten Directions, and takes into itself and never abandons all living beings who fix their thoughts upon that Buddha!”
IV.—Sotoba of the Zen Sect.
(Sastra text.)
The Dai-en-kyō-chi-kyō declares:—“By entering deeply into meditation, one may behold the Buddhas of the Ten Directions.”
(Commemorative text.)
That the noble Elder Sister[22] Chi-Shō-In-Kō-Un-Tei-Myō,[23] now dwelling in the House of Shining Wisdom, may instantly attain to Bodhi.[24]
(Prayer.)
Let whomsoever looks upon this sotoba be forever delivered from the Three Evil Ways.[25]
(Record.)
In the thirtieth year of Meiji, on the first day of the fifth month, by the house of Inouyé, this sotoba has been set up.
The foregoing will doubtless suffice as specimens of the ordinary forms of inscription. The Buddha praised or invoked is always the Buddha especially revered by the sect from whose sutra or sastra the quotation is chosen;—sometimes also the divine power of a Bodhisattva is extolled, as in the following Zen inscription:—
“The Sutra of Kwannon says:—‘In all the provinces of all the countries in the Ten Directions, there is not even one temple where Kwannon is not self-revealed.’”
Sometimes the scripture text more definitely assumes the character of a praise-offering, as the following juxtaposition suggests:—
“The Buddha of Immeasurable Light illuminates all worlds in the Ten Directions of Space.”
This for the sake of the swift salvation into Buddhahood of our lay-brother named the Great-Secure-Retired-Scholar.
Sometimes we also find a verse of praise or an invocation addressed to the apotheosized spirit of the founder of the sect,—a common example being furnished by the sotoba of the Shingon rite:—
“Hail to the Great Teacher Haijō-Kongō!”[26]
Rarely the little prayer for the salvation of the dead assumes, as in the following beautiful example, the language of unconscious poetry:—
“This for the sake of our noble Elder Sister ----. May the Lotos of Bliss by virtue of these prayers be made to bloom for her, and to bear the fruit of Buddhahood!”[27]
But usually the prayers are of the simplest, and differ from each other only in the use of peculiar Buddhist terms:—
—“This for the sake of the true happiness of our lay-brother—[kaimyō],—that he may obtain the Supreme Perfect Enlightenment.”
—“This tower is set up for the sake of ——, that he may obtain complete Sambodhi.”[28]
—“This precious tower and these offerings for the sake of —— ——,—that he may obtain the Anattra-Sammyak-Sambodhi.”[29]
One other subject of interest belonging to the merely commemorative texts of sotoba remains to be mentioned,—the names of certain Buddhist services for the dead. There are two classes of such services: those performed within one hundred days after death, and those celebrated at fixed intervals during a term of one hundred years,—on the 1st, 2d, 7th, 13th, 17th, 24th, 33d, 50th, and 100th anniversaries of the death. In the Zen rite these commemorative services—(perhaps we might call them masses)—have singular mystical names by which they are recorded upon the sotoba of the sect,—such as Lesser Happiness, Greater Happiness, Broad Repose, The Bright Caress, and The Great Caress.
But we shall now turn to the study of the scripture-texts proper,—those citations from sûtra or sastra which form the main portion of a sotoba-writing; expounding the highest truth of Buddhist belief, or speaking the deepest thought of Eastern philosophy.
III
At the beginning of my studies in the Kobudera cemetery, I was not less impressed by the quiet cheerfulness of the sotoba-texts, than by their poetry and their philosophy. In none did I find even a shadow of sadness: the greater number were utterances of a faith that seemed to me wider and deeper than our own,—sublime proclamations of the eternal and infinite nature of Thought, the unity of all mind, and the certainty of universal salvation. And other surprises awaited me in this strange literature. Texts or fragments of texts, that at first rendering appeared of the simplest, would yield to learned commentary profundities of significance absolutely startling. Phrases, seemingly artless, would suddenly reveal a dual suggestiveness,—a two-fold idealism,—a beauty at once exoteric and mystical. Of this latter variety of inscription the following is a good example:—
“The flower having bloomed last night, the World has become fragrant.”[30]
In the language of the higher Buddhism, this means that through death a spirit has been released from the darkness of illusion, even as the perfume of a blossom is set free at the breaking of the bud, and that the divine Absolute, or World of Law, is refreshed by the new presence, as a whole garden might be made fragrant by the blooming of some precious growth. But in the popular language of Buddhism, the same words signify that in the Lotos-Lake of Paradise another magical flower has opened for the Apparitional Rebirth into highest bliss of the being loved and lost on earth, and that Heaven rejoices for the advent of another Buddha.
But I desire rather to represent the general result of my studies, than to point out the special beauties of this epitaphic literature: and my purpose will be most easily attained by arranging and considering the inscriptions in a certain doctrinal order.
A great variety of sotoba-texts refer, directly or indirectly, to the Lotos-Flower Paradise of Amida,—or, as it is more often called, the Paradise of the West. The following are typical:—
“The Amida-Kyō says:—‘All who enter into that country enter likewise into that state of virtue from which there can be no turning back.’”[31]
“The Text of Gold proclaims:—‘In that world they receive bliss only: therefore that world is called Gokuraku,—exceeding bliss.’”[32]
“Hail unto the Lord Amida Buddha! The Golden Mouth has said,—‘All living beings that fix their thoughts upon the Buddha shall be received and welcomed into his Paradise;—never shall they be forsaken.’”[33]
But texts like these, though dear to popular faith, make no appeal to the higher Buddhism, which admits heaven as a temporary condition only, not to be desired by the wise. Indeed, the Mahâyâna texts, describing Sukhâvatî, themselves suggest its essentially illusive character,—a world of jewel-lakes and perfumed airs and magical birds, but a world also in which the voices of winds and waters and singers perpetually preach the unreality of self and the impermanency of all things. And even the existence of this Western Paradise might seem to be denied in other sotoba-texts of deeper significance,—such as this:—
“Originally there is no East or West: where then can South or North be?”[34]
“Originally,”—that is to say, in relation to the Infinite. The relations and the ideas of the Conditioned cease to exist for the Unconditioned. Yet this truth does not really imply denial of other worlds of relation,—states of bliss to which the strong may rise, and states of pain to which the weak may descend. It is a reminder only. All conditions are impermanent, and so, in the profounder sense, unreal. The Absolute,—the Supreme Buddha,—is the sole Reality. This doctrine appears in many sotoba-inscriptions:—
“The Blue Mountain of itself remains eternally unmoved: the White Clouds come of themselves and go.”[35]
By “the Blue Mountain” is meant the Sole Reality of Mind;—by “the White Clouds,” the phenomenal universe. Yet the universe exists but as a dream of Mind:—
“If any one desire to obtain full knowledge of all the Buddhas of the past, the present, and the future, let him learn to comprehend the true nature of the World of Law. Then will he perceive that all things are but the production of Mind.”[36]
“By the learning and the practice of the True Doctrine, the Non-Apparent becomes [for us] the only Reality.”[37]
The universe is a phantom, and a phantom likewise the body of man, together with all emotions, ideas, and memories that make up the complex of his sensuous Self. But is this evanescent Self the whole of man’s inner being? Not so, proclaim the sotoba:—
“All living beings have the nature of Buddha. The Nyōrai,[38] eternally living, is alone unchangeable.”[39]
“The Kegon-Kyō[40] declares:—‘In all living creatures there exists, and has existed from the beginning, the Real-Law Nature: all by their nature contain the original essence of Buddha.’”
Sharing the nature of the Unchangeable, we share the Eternal Reality. In the highest sense, man also is divine:—
“The Mind becomes Buddha: the Mind itself is Buddha.”[41]
“In the Engaku-Kyō[42] it is written: ‘Now for the first time I perceive that all living beings have the original Buddha-nature,—wherefore Birth and Death and Nirvana have become for me as a dream of the night that is gone.’”
Yet what of the Buddhas who successively melt into Nirvana, and nevertheless “return in their order”? Are they, too, phantoms?—is their individuality also unreal? Probably the question admits of many different answers,—since there is a Buddhist Realism as well as a Buddhist Idealism; but, for present purposes, the following famous text is a sufficient reply:—
Namu itsu shin san-zé shō butsu!
“Hail to all the Buddhas of the Three Existences,[43] who are but one in the One Mind!”[44]
In relation to the Absolute, no difference exists even between gods and men:—
“The Golden Verse of the Jō-sho-sa-chi[45] says:—‘This doctrine is equal and alike for all; there is neither superior nor inferior, neither above nor below.’”
Nay, according to a still more celebrated text, there is not even any difference of personality:—
Ji ta hō kai byō dō ri yaku.
“The ‘I’ and the ‘Not-I’ are not different in the World of Law: both are favored alike.”[46]
And a still more wonderful text—(to my thinking, the most remarkable of all Buddhist texts)—declares that the world itself, phantom though it be, is yet not different from Mind:—
Sō moku koku dō shitsu kai jō butsu.
“Grass, trees, countries, the earth itself,—all these shall enter wholly into Buddhahood.”[47]
Literally, “shall become Buddha;” that is, they shall enter into Buddhahood or Nirvana. All that we term matter will be transmuted therefore into Mind,—Mind with the attributes of Infinite Sentiency, Infinite Vision, and Infinite Knowledge. As phenomenon, matter is unreal; but transcendentally it belongs by its ultimate nature to the Sole Reality.
Such a philosophical position is likely to puzzle the average reader. To call matter and mind but two aspects of the Ultimate Reality will not seem irrational to students of Herbert Spencer. But to say that matter is a phenomenon, an illusion, a dream, explains nothing;—as phenomenon it exists, and having a destiny attributed to it, must be considered objectively. Equally unsatisfying is the statement that phenomena are aggregates of Karma. What is the nature of the particles of the aggregate? Or, in plainest language, what is the illusion made of?
Not in the original Buddhist scriptures, and still less in the literature of Buddhist cemeteries, need the reply be sought. Such questions are dealt with in the sastras rather than in the sûtras;—also in various Japanese commentaries upon both. A friend has furnished me with some very curious and unfamiliar Shingon texts containing answers to the enigma.
The Shingon sect, I may observe, is a mystical sect, which especially proclaims the identity of mind and substance, and boldly carries out the doctrine to its furthest logical consequences. Its founder and father Kū-kai, better known as Kōbōdaishi, declared in his book Hizōki that matter is not different in essence from spirit. “As to the doctrine of grass, trees, and things non-sentient becoming Buddhas” he writes, “I say that the refined forms [ultimate nature] of spiritual bodies consist of the Five Great Elements; that Ether[48] consists of the Five Great Elements; and that the refined forms of bodies spiritual, of ether, of plants, of trees, consequently pervade all space. This ether, these plants and trees, are themselves spiritual bodies. To the eye of flesh, plants and trees appear to be gross matter. But to the eye of the Buddha they are composed of minute spiritual entities. Therefore, even without any change in their substance, there can be no error or impropriety in our calling them Buddhas.”
The use of the term “non-sentient” in the foregoing would seem to involve a contradiction; but this is explained away by a dialogue in the book Shi-man-gi:—
Q.—Are not grass and trees sometimes called sentient?
A.—They can be so called.
Q.—But they have also been called non-sentient: how can they be called sentient?
A.—In all substance from the beginning exists the impress of the wisdom-nature of the Nyōrai (Tathâgata): therefore to call such things sentient is not error.
“Potentially sentient,” the reader might conclude; but this conclusion would be wrong. The Shingon thought is not of a potential sentiency, but of a latent sentiency which although to us non-apparent and non-imaginable, is nevertheless both real and actual. Commenting upon the words of Kōbōdaishi above cited, the great priest Yū-kai not only reiterates the opinion of his master, but asserts that it is absurd to deny that plants, trees, and what we call inanimate objects, can practise virtue! “Since Mind,” he declares, “pervades the whole World of Law, the grasses, plants, trees, and earth pervaded by it must all have mind, and must turn their mind to Buddhahood and practise virtue. Do not doubt the doctrine of our sect, regarding the Non-Duality of the Pervading and the Pervaded, merely because of the distinction made in common parlance between Matter and Mind.” As for how plants or stones can practise virtue, the sûtras indeed have nothing to say. But that is because the sûtras, being intended for man, teach only what man should know and do.
The reader will now, perhaps, be better able to follow out the really startling Buddhist hypothesis of the nature of matter to its more than startling conclusion. (It must not be contemned because of the fantasy of five elements; for these are declared to be only modes of one ultimate.) All forms of what we call matter are really but aggregates of spiritual units; and all apparent differences of substance represent only differences of combination among these units. The differences of combination are caused by special tendencies and affinities of the units;—the tendency of each being the necessary result of its particular evolutional history—(using the term “evolutional” in a purely ethical sense). All integrations of apparent substance,—the million suns and planets of the universe,—represent only the affinities of such ghostly ultimates; and every human act or thought registers itself through enormous time by some knitting or loosening of forces working for good or evil.
Grass, trees, earth, and all things seem to us what they are not, simply because the eye of flesh is blind. Life itself is a curtain hiding reality,—somewhat as the vast veil of day conceals from our sight the countless orbs of Space. But the texts of the cemeteries proclaim that the purified mind, even while prisoned within the body, may enter for moments of ecstasy into union with the Supreme:—
“The One Bright Moon illuminates the mind in the meditation called Zenjō.”[49]
The “One Bright Moon” is the Supreme Buddha. By the pure of heart He may even be seen:—
“Hail unto the Wondrous Law! By attaining to the state of single-mindedness we behold the Buddha.”[50]
Greater delight there is none:—
“Incomparable the face of the Nyōrai,—surpassing all beauty in this world!”[51]
But to see the face of one Buddha is to see all:—
“The Dai-en-kyō-chi-kyō[52] says:—‘By entering deeply into the meditation Zenjō, one may see all the Buddhas of the Ten Directions of Space.’”
“The Golden Mouth has said:—‘He whose mind can discern the being of one Buddha, may easily behold three, four, five Buddhas,—nay, all the Buddhas of the Three Existences.’”[53]
Which mystery is thus explained:—
“The Myō-kwan-satsu-chi-kyō[54] has said:—‘The mind that detaches itself from all things becomes the very mind of Buddha.’”[55]
Visitors to the older Buddhist temples of Japan can scarcely fail to notice the remarkable character of the gilded aureoles attached to certain images. These aureoles, representing circles, disks, or ovals of glory, contain numbers of little niches shaped like archings or whirls of fire, each enshrining a Buddha or a Bodhisattva. A verse of the Amitâyur-Dhyâna Sûtra might have suggested this symbolism to the Japanese sculptors:—“In the halo of that Buddha there are Buddhas innumerable as the sands of the Ganga.”[56] Icon and verse alike express that doctrine of the One in Many suggested by the foregoing sotoba-texts; and the assurance that he who sees one Buddha can see all, may further be accepted as signifying that he who perceives one great truth fully, will be able to perceive countless truths.
But even to the spiritually blind the light must come at last. A host of cemetery texts proclaim the Infinite Love that watches all, and the certainty of ultimate and universal salvation:—
“Possessing all the Virtues and all the Powers, the Eyes of the Infinite Compassion behold all living creatures.”[57]
“The Kongō-takara-tō-mei[58] proclaims:—‘All living beings in the Six States of Existence[59] shall be delivered from the bonds of attachment; their minds and their bodies alike shall be freed from desire; and they shall obtain the Supreme Enlightenment.’”
“The Sûtra says:—‘Changing the hearts of all beings, I cause them to enter upon the Way of Buddhahood.’”[60]
Yet the supreme conquest can be achieved only by self-effort:—
“Through the destruction of the Three Poisons[61] one may rise above the Three States of Existence.”
The Three Existences signify time past, present, and future. To rise above—(more literally, to “emerge from”)—the Three Existences means therefore to pass beyond Space and Time,—to become one with the Infinite. The conquest of Time is indeed possible only for a Buddha; but all shall become Buddhas. Even a woman, while yet a woman, may reach Buddhahood, as this Nichiren text bears witness, inscribed above the grave of a girl:—
Kai yo ken pi ryō-nyō jō butsu.
“All beheld from afar the Dragon Maiden become a Buddha.”
The reference is to the beautiful legend of Sâgara, the daughter of the Nâga-king, in the Myō-hō-rengé-kyō.[62]
IV
Though not representing, nor even suggesting, the whole range of sotoba-literature, the foregoing texts will sufficiently indicate the quality of its philosophical interest. The inscriptions of the haka, or tombs, have another kind of interest; but before treating of these, a few words should be said about the tombs themselves. I cannot attempt detail, because any description of the various styles of such monuments would require a large and profusely illustrated volume; while the study of their sculptures belongs to the enormous subject of Buddhist iconography,—foreign to the purpose of this essay.
There are hundreds,—probably thousands,—of different forms of Buddhist funeral monuments,—ranging from the unhewn boulder, with a few ideographs scratched on it, of the poorest village-graveyard, to the complicated turret (kagé-kio) enclosing a shrine with images, and surmounted with a spire of umbrella-shaped disks or parasols (Sanscrit: tchâtras),—possibly representing the old Chinese stûpa. The most common class of haka are plain. A large number of the better class have lotos-designs chiselled upon some part of them:—either the pedestal is sculptured so as to represent lotos-petals; or a single blossom is cut in relief or intaglio on the face of the tablet; or—(but this is rare)—a whole lotos-plant, leaves and flowers, is designed in relief upon one or two sides of the monument. In the costly class of tombs symbolizing the Five Buddhist Elements, the eight-petalled lotos-symbol may be found repeated, with decorative variations, upon three or four portions of their elaborate structure. Occasionally we find beautiful reliefs upon tombstones,—images of Buddhas or Bodhisattvas; and not unfrequently a statue of Jizō may be seen erected beside a grave. But the sculptures of this class are mostly old;—the finest pieces in the Kobudera cemetery, for example, were executed between two and three hundred years ago. Finally I may observe that the family crest or mon of the dead is cut upon the front of the tomb, and sometimes also upon the little stone tank set before it.
The inscriptions very seldom include any texts from the holy books. On the front of the monument, below the chiselled crest, the kaimyō is graven, together, perhaps, with a single mystical character—Sanscrit or Chinese; on the left side is usually placed the record of the date of death; and on the right, the name of the person or family erecting the tomb. Such is now, at least, the ordinary arrangement; but there are numerous exceptions; and as the characters are most often disposed in vertical columns, it is quite easy to put all the inscriptions upon the face of a very narrow monument. Occasionally the real name is also cut upon some part of the stone,—together, perhaps, with some brief record of the memorable actions of the dead. Excepting the kaimyō, and the sect-invocation often accompanying it, the inscriptions upon the ordinary class of tombs are secular in character; and the real interest of such epigraphy is limited to the kaimyō. By kai-myō (sîla-name) is meant the Buddhist name given to the spirit of the dead, according to the custom of all sects except the Ikkō or Shinshū. In a special sense the term kai, or sîla, refers to precepts of conduct[63]; in a general sense it might be rendered as “salvation by works.” But the Shinshū allows no kai to any mortal; it does not admit the doctrine of immediate salvation by works, but only by faith in Amida; and the posthumous appellations which it bestows are therefore called not kai-myō, but hō-myō, or “Law-names.”
Before Meiji the social rank occupied by any one during life was suggested by the kaimyō. The use, with a kaimyō, of the two characters reading in den, and signifying “temple-dweller,” or “mansion-dweller,”—or of the more common single character in, signifying “temple” or “mansion,” was a privilege reserved to the nobility and gentry. Class-distinctions were further indicated by suffixes. Koji,—a term partly corresponding to our “lay-brother,”—and Daishi, “great elder-sister,” were honorifically attached to the kaimyō of the samurai and the aristocracy; while the simpler appellations of Shinshi and Shinnyo, respectively signifying “faithful [believing] man,” “faithful woman,” followed the kaimyō of the humble. These forms are still used; but the distinctions they once maintained have mostly passed away, and the privilege of the knightly “in den,” and its accompaniments, is free to any one willing to pay for it. At all times the words Dōji and Dōnyo seem to have been attached to the kaimyō of children. Dō, alone, means a lad, but when combined with ji or nyo it means “child” in the adjectival sense;—so that we may render Dōji as “Child-son,” and Dōnyo as “Child-daughter.” Children are thus called who die before reaching their fifteenth year,—the majority-year by the old samurai code; a lad of fifteen being deemed fit for war-service. In the case of children who die within a year after birth, the terms Gaini and Gainyo occasionally replace Dōji and Dōnyo. The syllable Gai here represents a Chinese character meaning “suckling.”
Different Buddhists sects have different formulas for the composition of the kaimyō and its addenda;—but this subject would require a whole special treatise; and I shall mention only a few sectarian customs. The Shingon sect sometimes put a Sanscrit character—the symbol of a Buddha—before their kaimyō;—the Shin head theirs with an abbreviation of the holy name Sakyamuni;—the Nichiren often preface their inscriptions with the famous invocation, Namu myō hō rengé kyō (“Hail to the Sutra of the Lotos of the Good Law!”),—sometimes followed by the words Senzo daidai (“forefathers of the generations”);—the Jōdo, like the Ikkō, use an abbreviation of the name Sakyamuni, or, occasionally, the invocation Namu Amida Butsu!—and they compose their four-character kaimyō with the aid of two ideographs signifying “honour” or “fame;”—the Zen sect contrive that the first and the last character of the kaimyō, when read together, shall form a particular Buddhist term, or mystical phrase,—except when the kaimyō consists of only two characters.
Probably the word “mansion” in kaimyō-inscriptions would suggest to most Western readers the idea of heavenly mansions. But the fancy would be at fault. The word has no celestial signification; yet the history of its epitaphic use is curious enough. Anciently, at the death of any illustrious man, a temple was erected for the special services due to his spirit, and also for the conservation of relics or memorials of him. Confucianism introduced into Japan the ihai, or mortuary tablet, called by the Chinese shin-shu;[64] and a portion of the temple was set apart to serve as a chapel for the ihai, and the ancestral cult. Any such memorial temple was called in, or “mansion,”—doubtless because the august spirit was believed to occupy it at certain periods;—and the term yet survives in the names of many celebrated Buddhist temples,—such as the Chion-In, of Kyōtō. With the passing of time, this custom was necessarily modified; for as privileges were extended and aristocracies multiplied, the erection of a separate temple to each notable presently became impossible. Buddhism met the difficulty by conferring upon every individual of distinction the posthumous title of in-den,—and affixing to this title the name of an imaginary temple or “mansion.” So to-day, in the vast majority of kaimyō, the character in refers only to the temple that would have been built had circumstance permitted, but now exists only in the pious desire of those who love and reverence the departed.
Tomb in Kobudera Cemetery
(The relief represents Seishi Bosatsu—Bodhisattva Mahâsthâma—in meditation. It is 187 years old. The white patches on the surface are lichen growths)
Nevertheless the poetry of these in-names does possess some real meaning. They are nearly all of them names such as would be given to real Buddhist temples,—names of virtues and sanctities and meditations,—names of ecstasies and powers and splendors and luminous immeasurable unfoldings,—names of all ways and means of escape from the Six States of Existence and the sorrow of “peopling the cemeteries again and again.”
The general character and arrangement of kaimyō can best be understood by the aid of a few typical specimens. The first example is from a beautiful tomb in the cemetery of Kobudera, which is sculptured with a relief representing the Bodhisattva Mahâsthâma (Seishi Bosatsu) meditating. All the text in this instance has been cut upon the face of the monument, to left and right of the icon. Transliterated into Romaji it reads thus:—
(Kaimyō.)
Tei-Shō-In, Hō-sō Myō-shin, Daishi.
(Record.)
—Shōtoku Ni, Jin shin Shimotsuki, jiu-ku nichi.
[Translation:—
—Great Elder-Sister, Wonderful-Reality-Appearing-at-the-Window-of-Law, dwelling in the Mansion of the Pine of Chastity.
—The nineteenth day of the Month of Frost,[65] second year of Shōtoku,[66]—the year being under the Dragon of Elder Water.]
For the sake of clearness, I have printed the posthumous name proper (Hō-sō Myō-shin) in small capitals, and the rest in italics. The first three characters of the inscription,—Tei-Shō-In,—form the name of the temple, or “mansion.” The pine, both in religious and secular poetry, is a symbol of changeless conditions of good, because it remains freshly-green in all seasons. The use of the term “Reality” in the kaimyō indicates the state of unity with the Absolute;—by “Window-of-Law” (Law here signifying the Buddha-state) must be understood that exercise of virtue through which even in this existence some perception of Infinite Truth may be obtained. I have already explained the final word, Daishi (“great elder-sister”).
Less mystical, but not less beautiful, is this Nichiren kaimyō sculptured upon the grave of a young samurai:
Ko-shin In, Ken-dō Nichi-ki, Koji.
[Koji,—
Bright-Sun-on-the-Way-of-the-Wise, in the Mansion of Luminous Mind.][67]
On the same stone is carven the kaimyō of the wife:—
Shin-kyō In, Myō-en Nichi-ko, Daishi.
[Daishi,—
Spherically-Wondrous-Sunbeam, in the Mansion of the Mirror of the Heart.]
Perhaps the reader will now be able to find interest in the following selection of kaimyō, translated for me by Japanese scholars. The inscriptions are of various rites and epochs; but I have arranged them only by class and sex:—
[Masculine Kaimyō.]
Koji,—
Law-Nature-Eternally-Complete, in the Mansion of the Mirror of Light.
Koji,—
Lone-Moon-above-Snowy-Peak, in the Mansion of Quiet Light.
Koji,—
Wonderful-Radiance-of-Luminous-Sound, in the Mansion of the Day-dawn of Mind.
Koji,—
Pure-Lotos-bloom-of-the-Heart, in the Mansion of Shining Beginnings.
Koji,—
Real-Earnestness-Self-sufficing-within, in the Mansion of Mystery-Penetration.
Koji,—
Wonderful-Brightness-of-the-Clouds-of-Law, in the Mansion of Wisdom-Illumination.
Koji,—
Law-Echo-proclaiming-Truth, in the Mansion of Real Zeal.
Koji,—
Ocean-of-Reason-Calmly-Full, in the Mansion of Self-Nature.
Koji,—
Effective-Benevolence-Hearing-with-Pure-Heart-the-Supplications-of-the-Poor,—dwelling in the Mansion of the Virtue of Pity.
Koji,—
Perfect-Enlightenment-beaming-tranquil-Glory,—in the Mansion of Supreme Comprehension.
Koji,—
Autumnal-Prospect-Clear-of-Cloud,—of the Household of Sakyamuni,—in the Mansion of the Obedient Heart.
Koji,—
Illustrious-Brightness,—of the Household of the Buddha,—in the Mansion of Conspicuous Virtue.
Koji,—
Daily-Peace-Home-Prospering, in the Mansion of Spherical Completeness.
Shinshi,—
Prosperity-wide-shining-as-the-Moon-of-Autumn.
Shinshi,—
Vow-abiding-wondrously-without-fault.
Shinshi,—
Vernal-Mountain-bathed-in-the-Light-of-the-Law.
Shinshi,—
Waking-to-Dhyâna-at-the-Bell-Peal-of-the-Wondrous-Dawn.
Shinshi,—
Winter-Mountain-Chastity-Mind.[68]
[Feminine Kaimyō]
Daishi,—
Moon-Dawn-of-the-Mountain-of-Light, dwelling in the August Mansion of Self-witness.[69]
Daishi,—
Wondrous-Lotos-of-Fleckless-Light, in the Mansion of the Moonlike Heart.
Daishi,—
Wonderful-Chastity-Responding-with-Pure-Mind-to-the-Summons-of-Duty,—in the Mansion of the Great Sea of Compassion.
Daishi,—
Lotos-Heart-of-Wondrous-Apparition,—in the Mansion of Luminous Perfume.
Daishi,—
Clear-Light-of-the-Spotless-Moon, in the Mansion of Spring-time-Eve.
Kaishi,—
Pure-Mind-as-a-Sun-of-Compassion, in the Mansion of Real Light.
Daishi,—
Wondrous-Lotos-of-Fragrance-Etherial, in the Mansion of Law-Nature.
Shinnyo,—
Rejoicing-in-the-Way-of-the-Infinite.
Shinnyo,—
Excellent-Courage-to-follow-Wisdom-to-the-End.
Shinnyo,—
Winter-Moon-shedding-purest-Light.
Shinnyo,—
Luminous-Shadow-in-the-Plumflower-Chamber.
Shinnyo,—
Virtue-fragrant-as-the-Odor-of-the-Lotos.
[Children’s Kaimyō.—Male.]
Dai-Dōji,[70]—
Instantly-Attaining-to-the-Perfect-Peace, dwelling in the August Mansion of Purity.
Dai-Dōji,[71]—
Permeating-Lucidity-of-the-Pure-Grove, dwelling in the August Mansion of Blossom-Fragrance.
Gaini,—
Frost-Glimmer.
Dōji,—
Dewy-Light.
Dōji,—
Dream-of-Spring.
Dōji,—
Spring-Frost.
Dōji,—
Ethereal-Nature.
Dōji,—
Rain-of-the-Law-from-translucent-Clouds.
[Children’s Kaimyō.—Female.]
Dai-Dōnyo,[72]—
Bright-Shining-Height-of-Wisdom, dwelling in the August Mansion of Fragrant Trees.
Gainyo,—
Snowy-Bubble.
Gainyo,—
Shining-Phantasm.
Dōnyo,—
Plumflower-Light.
Dōnyo,—
Dream-Phantasm.
Dōnyo,—
Chaste-Spring.
Dōnyo,—
Wisdom-Mirror-of-Flawless-Appearing.
Dōnyo,—
Wondrous-Excellence-of-Fragrant-Snow.
After having studied the sotoba-texts previously cited, the reader should be able to divine the meaning of most of the kaimyō above given. At all events he will understand such frequently-repeated terms as “Moon,” “Lotos,” “Law.” But he may be puzzled by other expressions; and some further explanation will, perhaps, not be unwelcome.
Besides expressing a pious hope for the higher happiness of the departed, or uttering some assurance of special conditions in the spiritual world, a great number of kaimyō also refer, directly or indirectly, to the character of the vanished personality. Thus a man of widely-recognized integrity and strong moral purpose, may—like my dead friend—be not unfitly named: “Bright-Sun-on-the-Way-of-the-Wise.” The child-daughter or the young wife, especially remembered for sweetness of character, may be commemorated by some such posthumous name as “Plumflower-Light,” or “Luminous-Shadow-of-the-Plumflower-Chamber;”—the word “plumflower” in either case at once suggesting the quality of the virtue of the dead, because this blossom in Japan is the emblem of feminine moral charm,—more particularly faithfulness to duty and faultless modesty. Again, the memory of any person noted for deeds of charity may be honoured by such a kaimyō as, “Effective-Benevolence-Listening-with-Pure-Heart-to-the-Supplications-of-the-Poor.” Finally I may observe that the kaimyō-terms expressing altitude, luminosity, and fragrance, have most often a moral-exemplary signification. But in all countries epitaphic literature has its conventional hypocrisies or extravagances. Buddhist kaimyō frequently contain a great deal of religious flattery; and beautiful posthumous names are often given to those whose lives were the reverse of beautiful.
When we find among feminine kaimyō such appellations as “Wondrous-Lotos,” or “Beautiful-as-the-Lotos-of-the-Dawn,” we may be sure in the generality of cases that the charm, to which reference is so made, was ethical only. Yet there are exceptions; and the more remarkable of these are furnished by the kaimyō of children. Names like “Dream-of-Spring,” “Radiant-Phantasm,” “Snowy-Bubble,” do actually refer to the lost form,—or at least to the supposed parental idea of vanished beauty and grace. But such names also exemplify a peculiar consolatory application of the Buddhist doctrine of Impermanency. We might say that through the medium of these kaimyō the bereaved are thus soothed in the loftiest language of faith:—“Beautiful and brief was the being of your child,—a dream of spring, a radiant passing vision,—a snowy bubble. But in the order of eternal law all forms must pass; material permanency there is none: only the divine Absolute dwelling in every being,—only the Buddha in the heart of each of us,—forever endures. Be this great truth at once your comfort and your hope!”
Extraordinary examples of the retrospective significance sometimes given to posthumous names, are furnished by the kaimyō of the Forty-Seven Rōnin buried at Sengakuji in Tōkyō. (Their story is now well-known to all the English-reading world through Mitford’s eloquent and sympathetic version of it in the “Tales of Old Japan.”) The noteworthy peculiarity of these kaimyō is that each contains the two words, “dagger” and “sword,”—used in a symbolic sense, but having also an appropriate military suggestiveness. Ōïshi Kuranosuké Yoshiwo, the leader, is alone styled Koji;—the kaimyō of his followers have the humbler suffix Shinshi. Ōïshi’s kaimyō reads:—“Dagger-of-Emptiness-and-stainless-Sword, in the Mansion of Earnest Loyalty.” I need scarcely call attention to the historic meaning of the mansion-name. Three of the kaimyō of his followers will serve as examples of the rest. That of Masé Kyudayu Masaake is:—“Dagger-of-Fame-and-Sword-of-the-Way [or Doctrine.]” The kaimyō of Ōïshi Sezayémon Nobukiyo is:—“Dagger-of-Magnanimity-and-Sword-of-Virtue.” And the kaimyō of Horibei Yasubei is:—“Dagger-of-Cloud-and-Sword-of-Brightness.”
The first and the last of these four kaimyō will be found obscure; and several more of the forty-seven inscriptions are equally enigmatic at first sight. Usually in a kaimyō the word “Emptiness,” or “Void,” signifies the Buddhist state of absolute spiritual purity,—the state of Unconditioned Being. But in the kaimyō of Ōïshi Kuranosuké the meaning of it, though purely Buddhist, is very different. By “emptiness” here, we must understand “illusion,” “unreality,”—and the full meaning of the phrase “dagger-emptiness” is:—“Wisdom that, seeing the emptiness of material forms, pierces through illusion as a dagger.” In Horibei Yasubei’s kaimyō we must similarly render the word “cloud” by illusion; and “Dagger-of-Cloud” should be interpreted, “Illusion-penetrating Dagger of Wisdom.” The wisdom that perceives the emptiness of phenomena, is the sharply-dividing, or distinguishing wisdom,—is Myō-kwan-zatsu-chi (Pratyavekshana-gñâna).
V
Possibly I have presumed too much upon the patience of my readers; yet I feel that these studies can yield scarcely more than the glimpse of a subject wide and deep as a sea. If they should arouse any Western interest in the philosophy and the poetry of Buddhist epitaphic literature, then they will certainly have accomplished all that I could reasonably hope.
Not improbably I shall be accused, as I have been on other occasions, of trying to make Buddhist texts “more beautiful than they are.” This charge usually comes from persons totally ignorant of the originals, and betrays a spirit of disingenuousness with which I have no sympathy. Whoever confesses religion to have been a developing influence in the social and moral history of races,—whoever grants that respect is due to convictions which have shaped the nobler courses of human conduct for thousands of years,—whoever acknowledges that in any great religion something of eternal truth must exist,—will hold it the highest duty of a translator to interpret the concepts of an alien faith as generously as he would wish his own thoughts or words interpreted by his fellow-men. In the rendering of Chinese sentences this duty presents itself under a peculiar aspect. Any attempt at literal translation would result in the production either of nonsense, or of a succession of ideas totally foreign to far-Eastern thought. The paramount necessity in treating such texts is to discover and to expound the thought conveyed to Oriental minds by the original ideographs,—which are very different things indeed from “written words.” The translations given in this essay were made by Japanese scholars, and, in their present form, have the approval of competent critics.
As I write these lines a full moon looks into my study over the trees of the temple-garden, and brings me the recollection of a little Buddhist poem:—
“From the foot of the mountain, many are the paths ascending in shadow; but from the cloudless summit all who climb behold the self-same Moon.”
The reader who knows the truth shrined in this little verse will not regret an hour passed with me among the tombs of Kobudera.