IV
The poems above rendered are more than pictorial: they suggest something of emotion or sentiment. But there are thousands of pictorial poems that do not; and these would seem mere insipidities to a reader ignorant of their true purpose. When you learn that some exquisite text of gold means only, “Evening-sunlight on the wings of the water-fowl,”—or,”Now in my garden the flowers bloom, and the butterflies dance,”—then your first interest in decorative poetry is apt to wither away. Yet these little texts have a very real merit of their own, and an intimate relation to Japanese aesthetic feeling and experience. Like the pictures upon screens and fans and cups, they give pleasure by recalling impressions of nature, by reviving happy incidents of travel or pilgrimage, by evoking the memory of beautiful days. And when this plain fact is fully understood, the persistent attachment of modern Japanese poets—notwithstanding their University training—to the ancient poetical methods, will be found reasonable enough.
I need offer only a very few specimens of the purely pictorial poetry. The following—mere thumb-nail sketches in verse—are of recent date.
LONESOMENESS
Furu-dera ya:
Kané mono iwazu;
Sakura chiru.
—“Old temple: bell voiceless; cherry-flowers fall.”
MORNING AWAKENING AFTER A NIGHT’S REST IN A TEMPLE
Yamadera no
Shichō akéyuku:
Taki no oto.
—“In the mountain-temple the paper mosquito-curtain is lighted by the dawn: sound of water-fall.”
WINTER-SCENE
Yuki no mura;
Niwatori naité;
Aké shiroshi.
“Snow-village;—cocks crowing;—white dawn.”
Let me conclude this gossip on poetry by citing from another group of verses—also pictorial, in a certain sense, but chiefly remarkable for ingenuity—two curiosities of impromptu. The first is old, and is attributed to the famous poetess Chiyo. Having been challenged to make a poem of seventeen syllables referring to a square, a triangle, and a circle, she is said to have immediately responded,—
Kaya no té wo
Hitotsu hazushité,
Tsuki-mi kana!
—“Detaching one corner of the mosquito-net, lo! I behold the moon!” The top of the mosquito-net, suspended by cords at each of its four corners, represents the square;—letting down the net at one corner converts the square into a triangle;—and the moon represents the circle.
Square Triangle
The other curiosity is a recent impromptu effort to portray, in one verse of seventeen syllables, the last degree of devil-may-care-poverty,—perhaps the brave misery of the wandering student;—and I very much doubt whether the effort could be improved upon:—
Nusundaru
Kagashi no kasa ni
Amé kyū nari.
—“Heavily pours the rain on the hat that I stole from the scarecrow!”
Japanese Buddhist Proverbs
As representing that general quality of moral experience which remains almost unaffected by social modifications of any sort, the proverbial sayings of a people must always possess a special psychological interest for thinkers. In this kind of folklore the oral and the written literature of Japan is rich to a degree that would require a large book to exemplify. To the subject as a whole no justice could be done within the limits of a single essay. But for certain classes of proverbs and proverbial phrases something can be done within even a few pages; and sayings related to Buddhism, either by allusion or derivation, form a class which seems to me particularly worthy of study. Accordingly, with the help of a Japanese friend, I have selected and translated the following series of examples,—choosing the more simple and familiar where choice was possible, and placing the originals in alphabetical order to facilitate reference. Of course the selection is imperfectly representative; but it will serve to illustrate certain effects of Buddhist teaching upon popular thought and speech.
1.—Akuji mi ni tomaru.
All evil done clings to the body.[[1]]
[1] The consequence of any evil act or thought never,—so long as karma endures,—will cease to act upon the existence of the person guilty of it.
2.—Atama soru yori kokoro wo soré.
Better to shave the heart than to shave the head.[[2]]
[2] Buddhist nuns and priests have their heads completely shaven. The proverb signifies that it is better to correct the heart,—to conquer all vain regrets and desires,—than to become a religious. In common parlance the phrase “to shave the head” means to become a monk or a nun.
3.—Au wa wakaré no hajimé.
Meeting is only the beginning of separation.[[3]]
[3] Regret and desire are equally vain in this world of impermanency; for all joy is the beginning of an experience that must have its pain. This proverb refers directly to the sutra-text,—Shōja hitsumetsu é-sha-jori,—” All that live must surely die; and all that meet will surely part.”
4.—Banji wa yumé.
All things[[4]] are merely dreams.
[4] Literally, “ten thousand things.”
5.—Bonbu mo satoréba hotoké nari.
Even a common man by obtaining knowledge becomes a Buddha.[[5]]
[5] The only real differences of condition are differences in knowledge of the highest truth.
6.—Bonnō kunō.
All lust is grief.[[6]]
[6] All sensual desire invariably brings sorrow.
7—Buppō to wara-ya no amé, dété kiké.
One must go outside to hear Buddhist doctrine or the sound of rain on a straw roof.[[7]]
[7] There is an allusion here to the condition of the shukké (priest): literally, “one who has left his house.” The proverb suggests that the higher truths of Buddhism cannot be acquired by those who continue to live in the world of follies and desires.
8.—Busshō en yori okoru.
Out of karma-relation even the divine nature itself grows.[[8]]
[8] There is good as well as bad karma. Whatever hap-piness we enjoy is not less a consequence of the acts and thoughts of previous lives, than is any misfortune that comes to us. Every good thought and act contributes to the evolution of the Buddha-nature within each of us. Another proverb [No. 10],—En naki shujō wa doshi gatashi,—further illustrates the meaning of this one.
9.—Enkō ga tsuki wo toran to suru ga gotoshi.
Like monkeys trying to snatch the moon’s reflection on water.[[9]]
[9] Allusion to a parable, said to have been related by the Buddha himself, about some monkeys who found a well under a tree, and mistook for reality the image of the moon in the water. They resolved to seize the bright apparition. One monkey suspended himself by the tail from a branch overhanging the well, a second monkey clung to the first, a third to the second, a fourth to the third, and so on,—till the long chain of bodies had almost reached the water. Suddenly the branch broke under the unaccustomed weight; and all the monkeys were drowned.
10.—En naki shujō wa doshi gatashi.
To save folk having no karma-relation would be difficult indeed![[10]]
[10] No karma-relation would mean an utter absence of merit as well as of demerit.
11.—Fujō seppō suru hōshi wa, birataké ni umaru.
The priest who preaches foul doctrine shall be reborn as a fungus.
12.—Gaki mo ninzu.
Even gaki (prêtas) can make a crowd.[[11]]
[11] Literally: “Even gaki are a multitude (or, ‘population’).” This is a popular saying used in a variety of ways. The ordinary meaning is to the effect that no matter how poor or miserable the individuals composing a multitude, they collectively represent a respectable force. Jocosely the saying is sometimes used of a crowd of wretched or tired-looking people,—sometimes of an assembly of weak boys desiring to make some demonstration,—sometimes of a miserable-looking company of soldiers.—Among the lowest classes of the people it is not uncommon to call a deformed or greedy person a “gaki.”
13.—Gaki no mé ni midzu miézu.
To the eyes of gaki water is viewless.[[12]]
[12] Some authorities state that those prêtas who suffer especially from thirst, as a consequence of faults committed in former lives, are unable to see water.—This proverb is used in speaking of persons too stupid or vicious to perceive a moral truth.
14.—Goshō wa daiji.
The future life is the all-important thing.[[13]]
[13] The common people often use the curious expression “gosho-daiji” as an equivalent for “extremely important.”
15.—Gun-mō no tai-zō wo saguru ga gotoshi.
Like a lot of blind men feeling a great elephant.[[14]]
[14] Said of those who ignorantly criticise the doctrines of Buddhism.—The proverb alludes to a celebrated fable in the Avadânas, about a number of blind men who tried to decide the form of an elephant by feeling the animal. One, feeling the leg, declared the elephant to be like a tree; another, feeling the trunk only, declared the elephant to be like a serpent; a third, who felt only the side, said that the elephant was like a wall; a fourth, grasping the tail, said that the elephant was like a rope, etc.
16.—Gwai-men nyo-Bosatsu; nai shin nyo-Yasha.
In outward aspect a Bodhisattva; at innermost heart a demon.[[15]]
[15] Yasha (Sanscrit Yaksha), a man-devouring demon.
17.—Hana wa né ni kaeru.
The flower goes back to its root.[[16]]
[16] This proverb is most often used in reference to death,—signifying that all forms go back into the nothingness out of which they spring. But it may also be used in relation to the law of cause-and-effect.
18.—Hibiki no koë ni ozuru ga gotoshi.
Even as the echo answers to the voice.[[17]]
[17] Referring to the doctrine of cause-and-effect. The philosophical beauty of the comparison will be appreciated only if we bear in mind that even the tone of the echo repeats the tone of the voice.
19.—Hito wo tasukéru ga shukhé no yuku.
The task of the priest is to save mankind.
20.—Hi wa kiyurédomo tō-shin wa kiyédzu.
Though the flame be put out, the wick remains.[[18]]
[18] Although the passions may be temporarily overcome, their sources remain. A proverb of like meaning is, Bonnō no inu oëdomo sarazu: “Though driven away, the Dog of Lust cannot be kept from coming back again.”
21.—Hotoké mo motowa bonbu.
Even the Buddha was originally but a common man.
22.—Hotoké ni naru mo shami wo beru.
Even to become a Buddha one must first become a novice.
23.—Hotoké no kao mo sando.
Even a Buddha’s face,—only three times.[[19]]
[19] This is a short popular form of the longer proverb, Hotoké no kao mo sando nazuréba, hara wo tatsu: “Stroke even the face of a Buddha three times, and his anger will be roused.”
24.—Hotoké tanondé Jigoku é yuku.
Praying to Buddha one goes to hell.[[20]]
[20] The popular saying, Oni no Nembutsu,—“a devil’s praying,”—has a similar meaning.
25.—Hotoké tsukutté tamashii irédzu.
Making a Buddha without putting in the soul.[[21]]
[21] That is to say, making an image of the Buddha without giving it a soul. This proverb is used in reference to the conduct of those who undertake to do some work, and leave the most essential part of the work unfinished. It contains an allusion to the curious ceremony called Kai-gen, or “Eye-Opening.” This Kai-gen is a kind of consecration, by virtue of which a newly-made image is supposed to become animated by the real presence of the divinity represented.
26.—Ichi-ju no kagé, ichi-ga no nagaré, tashō no en.
Even [the experience of] a single shadow or a single flowing of water, is [made by] the karma-relations of a former life.[[22]]
[22] Even so trifling an occurrence as that of resting with another person under the shadow of a tree, or drinking from the same spring with another person, is caused by the karma-relations of some previous existence.
27.—Ichi-mō shū-mō wo hiku.
One blind man leads many blind men.[[23]]
[23] From the Buddhist work Dai-chi-dō-ron.—The reader will find a similar proverb in Rhys-David’s “Buddhist Suttas” (Sacred Books of the East), p. 173,—together with a very curious parable, cited in a footnote, which an Indian commentator gives in explanation.
28.—Ingwa na ko.
A karma-child.[[24]]
[24] A common saying among the lower classes in reference to an unfortunate or crippled child. Here the word ingwa is used especially in the retributive sense. It usually signifies evil karma; kwahō being the term used in speaking of meritorious karma and its results. While an unfortunate child is spoken of as “a child of ingwa,” a very lucky person is called a “kwahō-mono,”—that is to say, an instance, or example of kwahō.
29.—Ingwa wa, kuruma no wa.
Cause-and-effect is like a wheel.[[25]]
[25] The comparison of karma to the wheel of a wagon will be familiar to students of Buddhism. The meaning of this proverb is identical with that of the Dhammapada verse:—“If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him as the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the carriage.”
30.—Innen ga fukai.
The karma-relation is deep.[[26]]
[26] A saying very commonly used in speaking of the attachment of lovers, or of the unfortunate results of any close relation between two persons.
31.—Inochi wa fū-zen no tomoshibi.
Life is a lamp-flame before a wind.[[27]]
[27] Or, “like the flame of a lamp exposed to the wind.” A frequent expression in Buddhist literature is “the Wind of Death.”
32.—Issun no mushi ni mo, gobu no tamashii.
Even a worm an inch long has a soul half-an-inch long.[[28]]
[28] Literally, “has a soul of five bu,”—five bu being equal to half of the Japanese inch. Buddhism forbids all taking of life, and classes as living things (Ujō) all forms having sentiency. The proverb, however,—as the use of the word “soul” (tamashii) implies,—reflects popular belief rather than Buddhist philosophy. It signifies that any life, however small or mean, is entitled to mercy.
33.—Iwashi[[29]] no atama mo shinjin kara.
Even the head of an iwashi, by virtue of faith, [will have power to save, or heal].
[29] The iwashi is a very small fish, much resembling a sardine. The proverb implies that the object of worship signifies little, so long as the prayer is made with perfect faith and pure intention.
34.—Jigō-jitoku.[[30]]
The fruit of ones own deeds [in a previous state of existence].
[30] Few popular Buddhist phrases are more often used than this. Jigō signifies ones own acts or thoughts; jitoku, to bring upon oneself,—nearly always in the sense of misfortune, when the word is used in the Buddhist way. “Well, it is a matter of Jigō-jitoku,” people will observe on seeing a man being taken to prison; meaning, “He is reaping the consequence of his own faults.”
35.—Jigoku dé hotoké.
Like meeting with a Buddha in hell.[[31]]
[31] Refers to the joy of meeting a good friend in time of misfortune. The above is an abbreviation. The full proverb is, Jigoku dé hotoké hotoke ni ōta yo da.
36.—Jigoku Gokuraku wa kokoro ni ari.
Hell and Heaven are in the hearts of men.[[32]]
[32] A proverb in perfect accord with the higher Buddhism.
37.—Jigoku mo sumika.
Even Hell itself is a dwelling-place.[[33]]
[33] Meaning that even those obliged to live in hell must learn to accommodate themselves to the situation. One should always try to make the best of circumstances. A proverb of kindred signification is, Sumeba, Miyako: “Wheresoever ones home is, that is the Capital [or, imperial City].”
38.—Jigoku ni mo shiru bito.
Even in hell old acquaintances are welcome.
39.—Kagé no katachi ni shitagau gotoshi.
Even as the shadow follows the shape.[[34]]
[34] Referring to the doctrine of cause-and-effect. Compare with verse 2 of the Dhammapada.
40.—Kané wa Amida yori bikaru.
Money shines even more brightly than Amida.[[35]]
[35] Amitâbha, the Buddha of Immeasurable Light. His image in the temples is usually gilded from head to foot.—There are many other ironical proverbs about the power of wealth,—such as Jigoku no sata mo kané shidai: “Even the Judgments of Hell may be influenced by money.”
41.—Karu-toki no Jizō-gao; nasu-toki no Emma-gao.
Borrowing-time, the face of Jizō; repaying-time, the face of Emma.[[36]]
[36] Emma is the Chinese and Japanese Yama,—in Buddhism the Lord of Hell, and the Judge of the Dead. The proverb is best explained by the accompanying drawings, which will serve to give an idea of the commoner representations of both divinities.
Jizō
Emma Dai-ō
42.—Kiité Gokuraku, mité Jigoku.
Heard of only, it is Paradise; seen, it is Hell.[[37]]
[37] Rumor is never trustworthy.
43.—Kōji mon wo idézu: akuji sen ni wo hashiru.
Good actions go not outside of the gate: bad deeds travel a thousand ri.
44.—Kokoro no koma ni tadzuna wo yuru-suna.
Never let go the reins of the wild colt of the heart.
45.—Kokoro no oni ga mi wo séméru.
The body is tortured only by the demon of the heart.[[38]]
[38] Or “mind.” That is to say that we suffer only from the consequences of our own faults.—The demon-torturer in the Buddhist hell says to his victim:—“Blame not me!—I am only the creation of your own deeds and thoughts: you made me for this!”—Compare with No. 36.
46.—Kokoro no shi to wa naré; kokoro wo shi to sezaré.
Be the teacher of your heart: do not allow your heart to become your teacher.
47.—Kono yo wa kari no yado.
This world is only a resting-place.[[39]]
[39] “This world is but a travellers’ inn,” would be an almost equally correct translation. Yado literally means a lodging, shelter, inn; and the word is applied often to those wayside resting-houses at which Japanese travellers halt during a journey. Kari signifies temporary, transient, fleeting,—as in the common Buddhist saying, Kono yo kari no yo: “This world is a fleeting world.” Even Heaven and Hell represent to the Buddhist only halting places upon the journey to Nirvâna.
48.—Kori wo chiribamé; midzu ni égaku.
To inlay ice; to paint upon water.[[40]]
[40] Refers to the vanity of selfish effort for some merely temporary end.
49.—Korokoro to
Naku wa yamada no
Hototogisu,
Chichi nitéya aran,
Haha nitéya aran.
The bird that cries korokoro in the mountain rice-field I know to be a hototogisu;—yet it may have been my father; it may have been my mother.[[41]]
[41] This verse-proverb is cited in the Buddhist work Wōjō Yōshū, with the following comment:—“Who knows whether the animal in the field, or the bird in the mountain-wood, has not been either his father or his mother in some former state of existence?”—The hototogisu is a kind of cuckoo.
50.—Ko wa Sangai no kubikase.
A child is a neck-shackle for the Three States of Existence.[[42]]
[42] That is to say, The love of parents for their child may impede their spiritual progress—not only in this world, but through all their future states of being,—just as a kubikasé, or Japanese cangue, impedes the movements of the person upon whom it is placed. Parental affection, being the strongest of earthly attachments, is particularly apt to cause those whom it enslaves to commit wrongful acts in the hope of benefiting their offspring.—The term Sangai here signifies the three worlds of Desire, Form, and Formlessness,—all the states of existence below Nirvâna. But the word is sometimes used to signify the Past, the Present, and the Future.
51.—Kuchi wa wazawai no kado.
The mouth is the front-gate of all misfortune.[[43]]
[43] That is to say, The chief cause of trouble is unguarded speech. The word Kado means always the main entrance to a residence.
52.—Kwahō wa, nété maté.
If you wish for good luck, sleep and wait.[[44]]
[44] Kwahō, a purely Buddhist term, signifying good fortune as the result of good actions in a previous life, has come to mean in common parlance good fortune of any kind. The proverb is often used in a sense similar to that of the English saying: “Watched pot never boils.” In a strictly Buddhist sense it would mean, “Do not be too eager for the reward of good deeds.”
53.—Makanu tané wa haënu.
Nothing will grow, if the seed be not sown.[[45]]
[45] Do not expect harvest, unless you sow the seed. Without earnest effort no merit can be gained.
54.—Matéba, kanrō no hiyori.
If you wait, ambrosial weather will come.[[46]]
[46] Kanrō, the sweet dew of Heaven, or amrita. All good things come to him who waits.
55.—Meidō no michi ni Ō wa nashi.
There is no King on the Road of Death.[[47]]
[47] Literally, “on the Road of Meidō.” The Meidō is the Japanese Hades,—the dark under-world to which all the dead must journey.
56.—Mekura hebi ni ojizu.
The blind man does not fear the snake.[[48]]
[48] The ignorant and the vicious, not understanding the law of cause-and-effect, do not fear the certain results of their folly.
57.—Mitsuréba, hakuru.
Having waxed, wanes.[[49]]
[49] No sooner has the moon waxed full than it begins to wane. So the height of prosperity is also the beginning of fortunes decline.
58.—Mon zen no kozō narawanu kyō wo yomu.
The shop-boy in front of the temple-gate repeats the sutra which he never learned.[[50]]
[50] Kozō means “acolyte” as well as “shop-boy,”“errand-boy,” or “apprentice;” but in this case it refers to a boy employed in a shop situated near or before the gate of a Buddhist temple. By constantly hearing the sutra chanted in the temple, the boy learns to repeat the words. A proverb of kindred meaning is, Kangaku-In no suzumé wa, Mōgyū wo sayézuru: “The sparrows of Kangaku-In [an ancient seat of learning] chirp the Mōgyū,”—a Chinese text formerly taught to young students. The teaching of either proverb is excellently expressed by a third:—Narau yori wa naréro: “Rather than study [an art], get accustomed to it,”—that is to say, “keep constantly in contact with it.” Observation and practice are even better than study.
59.—Mujō no kazé wa, toki erabazu.
The Wind of Impermanency does not choose a time.[[51]]
[51] Death and Change do not conform their ways to human expectation.
60.—Neko mo Busshō ari.
In even a cat the Buddha-nature exists.[[52]]
[52] Notwithstanding the legend that only the cat and the mamushi (a poisonous viper) failed to weep for the death of the Buddha.
61.—Néta ma ga Gokuraku.
The interval of sleep is Paradise.[[53]]
[53] Only during sleep can we sometimes cease to know the sorrow and pain of this world. (Compare with No. 83.)
62.—Nijiu-go Bosatsu mo soré-soré no yaku.
Even each of the Twenty-five Bodhisattvas has his own particular duty to perform.
63.—Nin mité, hō toké.
[First] see the person, [then] preach the doctrine.[[54]]
[54] The teaching of Buddhist doctrine should always be adapted to the intelligence of the person to be instructed. There is another proverb of the same kind,—Ki ni yorité, hō wo toké: “According to the understanding [of the person to be taught], preach the Law.”
64.—Ninshin ukégataku Buppoō aigatashi.
It is not easy to be born among men, and to meet with [the good fortune of hearing the doctrine of] Buddhism.[[55]]
[55] Popular Buddhism teaches that to be born in the world of mankind, and especially among a people professing Buddhism, is a very great privilege. However miserable human existence, it is at least a state in which some knowledge of divine truth may be obtained; whereas the beings in other and lower conditions of life are relatively incapable of spiritual progress.
65.—Oni mo jiu-hachi.
Even a devil [is pretty] at eighteen.[[56]]
[56] There are many curious sayings and proverbs about the oni, or Buddhist devil,—such as Oni no mé ni mo namida, “tears in even a devil’s eyes;”—Oni no kakuran, “devil’s cholera” (said of the unexpected sickness of some very strong and healthy person), etc., etc.—The class of demons called Oni, properly belong to the Buddhist hells, where they act as torturers and jailers. They are not to be confounded with the Ma, Yasha, Kijin, and other classes of evil spirits. In Buddhist art they are represented as beings of enormous strength, with the heads of bulls and of horses. The bull-headed demons are called Go-zu; the horse-headed Mé-zu.
66.—Oni mo mi, narétaru ga yoshi.
Even a devil, when you become accustomed to the sight of him, may prove a pleasant acquaintance.
67.—Oni ni kanabō.
An iron club for a demon.[[57]]
[57] Meaning that great power should be given only to the strong.
68.—Oni no nyōbo ni kijin.
A devil takes a goblin to wife.[[58]]
[58] Meaning that a wicked man usually marries a wicked woman.
69.—Onna no ké ni wa dai-zō mo tsunagaru.
With one hair of a woman you can tether even a great elephant.
70.—Onna wa Sangai ni iyé nashi.
Women have no homes of their own in the Three States of Existence.
71.—Oya no ingwa ga ko ni mukuü.
The karma of the parents is visited upon the child.[[59]]
[59] Said of the parents of crippled or deformed children. But the popular idea here expressed is not altogether in accord with the teachings of the higher Buddhism.
72.—Rakkwa éda ni kaerazu.
The fallen blossom never returns to the branch.[[60]]
[60] That which has been done never can be undone: the past cannot be recalled.—This proverb is an abbreviation of the longer Buddhist text: Rakkwa éda ni kaerazu; ha-kyō futatabi terasazu: “The fallen blossom never returns to the branch; the shattered mirror never again reflects.”
73.—Raku wa ku no tané; ku wa raku no tané.
Pleasure is the seed of pain; pain is the seed of pleasure.
74.—Rokudō wa, mé no maë.
The Six Roads are right before your eyes.[[61]]
[61] That is to say, Your future life depends upon your conduct in this life; and you are thus free to choose for yourself the place of your next birth.
75.—Sangai mu-an.
There is no rest within the Three States of Existence.
76.—Sangai ni kaki nashi;—Rokudō ni hotori nashi.
There is no fence to the Three States of Existence;—there is no neighborhood to the Six Roads.[[62]]
[62] Within the Three States (Sangai), or universes, of Desire, Form, and Formlessness; and within the Six Worlds, or conditions of being,—Jigokudō (Hell), Gakidō (Pretas), Chikushōdō (Animal Life), Shuradō (World of Fighting and Slaughter), Ningendō (Mankind), Tenjōdō (Heavenly Spirits)—all existence is included. Beyond there is only Nirvâna. “There is no fence,” “no neighborhood,”—that is to say, no limit beyond which to escape,—no middle-path between any two of these states. We shall be reborn into some one of them according to our karma.—Compare with No. 74.
77.—Sangé ni wa sannen no tsumi mo hōrobu.
One confession effaces the sins of even three years.
78.—San nin yoréba, kugai.
Where even three persons come together, there is a world of pain.[[63]]
[63] Kugai (lit.: “bitter world”) is a term often used to describe the life of a prostitute.
79.—San nin yoréba, Monjū no chié.
Where three persons come together, there is the wisdom of Monjū.[[64]]
[64] Monjū Bosatsu [Mañdjus’ri Bodhisattva] figures in Japanese Buddhism as a special divinity of wisdom.—The proverb signifies that three heads are better than one. A saying of like meaning is, Hiza to mo dankō: “Consult even with your own knee;” that is to say, Despise no advice, no matter how humble the source of it.
80.—Shaka ni sekkyō.
Preaching to Sâkyamuni.
81.—Shami kara chōrō.
To become an abbot one must begin as a novice.
82.—Shindaréba, koso ikitaré.
Only by reason of having died does one enter into life.[[65]]
[65] I never hear this singular proverb without being re-minded of a sentence in Huxley’s famous essay, On the Physical Basis of Life:—“The living protoplasm not only ultimately dies and is resolved into its mineral and lifeless constituents, but is always dying, and, strange as the paradox may sound, could not live unless it died.”
83.—Shiranu ga, hotoké; minu ga, Gokuraku.
Not to know is to be a Buddha; not to see is Paradise.
84.—Shōbo ni kidoku nashi.
There is no miracle in true doctrine.[[66]]
[66] Nothing can happen except as a result of eternal and irrevocable law.
85.—Shō-chié wa Bodai no samatagé.
A little wisdom is a stumbling-block on the way to Buddhahood.[[67]]
[67] Bodai is the same word as the Sanscrit Bodhi, signifying the supreme enlightenment,—the knowledge that leads to Buddhahood; but it is often used by Japanese Buddhists in the sense of divine bliss, or the Buddha-state itself.
86.—Shōshi no kukai hetori nashi.
There is no shore to the bitter Sea of Birth and Death.[[68]]
[68] Or, “the Pain-Sea of Life and Death.”
87.—Sodé no furi-awasé mo tashō no en.
Even the touching of sleeves in passing is caused by some relation in a former life.
88.—Sun zen; shaku ma.
An inch of virtue; a foot of demon.[[69]]
[69] Ma (Sanscrit, Mârakâyikas) is the name given to a particular class of spirits who tempt men to evil. But in Japanese folklore the Ma have a part much resembling that occupied in Western popular superstition by goblins and fairies.
89.—Tanoshimi wa hanasimi no motoi.
All joy is the source of sorrow.
90.—Tondé hi ni iru natsu no mushi.
So the insects of summer fly to the flame.[[70]]
[70] Said especially in reference to the result of sensual indulgence.
91.—Tsuchi-botoké no midzu-asobi.
Clay-Buddha’s water-playing.[[71]]
[71] That is to say, “As dangerous as for a clay Buddha to play with water.” Children often amuse themselves by making little Buddhist images of mud, which melt into shapelessness, of course, if placed in water.
92.—Tsuki ni murakumo, hana ni kazé.
Cloud-wrack to the moon; wind to flowers.[[72]]
[72] The beauty of the moon is obscured by masses of clouds; the trees no sooner blossom than their flowers are scattered by the wind. All beauty is evanescent.
93.—Tsuyu no inochi.
Human life is like the dew of morning.
94.—U-ki wa, kokoro ni ari.
Joy and sorrow exist only in the mind.
95.—Uri no tsuru ni nasubi wa naranu.
Egg-plants do not grow upon melon-vines.
96.—Uso mo hōben.
Even an untruth may serve as a device.[[73]]
[73] That is, a pious device for effecting conversion. Such a device is justified especially by the famous parable of the third chapter of the Saddharma Pundarîka.
97.—Waga ya no hotoké tattoshi.
My family ancestors were all excellent Buddhas.[[74]]
[74] Meaning that one most reveres the hotoké—the spirits of the dead regarded as Buddhas—in one’s own household-shrine. There is an ironical play upon the word hotoké, which may mean either a dead person simply, or a Buddha. Perhaps the spirit of this proverb may be better explained by the help of another: Nigéta sakana ni chisai wa nai; shinda kodomo ni warui ko wa nai—“Fish that escaped was never small; child that died was never bad.”
98.—Yuki no haté wa, Nehan.
The end of snow is Nirvâna.[[75]]
[75] This curious saying is the only one in my collection containing the word Nehan (Nirvâna), and is here inserted chiefly for that reason. The common people seldom speak of Nehan, and have little knowledge of those profound doctrines to which the term is related. The above phrase, as might be inferred, is not a popular expression: it is rather an artistic and poetical reference to the aspect of a landscape covered with snow to the horizon-line,—so that beyond the snow-circle there is only the great void of the sky.
99.—Zen ni wa zen no mukui; aku ni wa aku no mukui.
Goodness [or, virtue] is the return for goodness; evil is the return for evil.[[76]]
[76] Not so commonplace a proverb as might appear at first sight; for it refers especially to the Buddhist belief that every kindness shown to us in this life is a return of kindness done to others in a former life, and that every wrong inflicted upon us is the reflex of some injustice which we committed in a previous birth.
100.—Zensé no yakusoku-goto.
Promised [or, destined] from a former birth.[[77]]
[77] A very common saying,—often uttered as a comment upon the unhappiness of separation, upon sudden misfortune, upon sudden death, etc. It is used especially in relation to shinjū, or lovers’ suicide. Such suicide is popularly thought to be a result of cruelty in some previous state of being, or the consequence of having broken, in a former life, the mutual promise to become husband and wife.
Suggestion
I had the privilege of meeting him in Tōkyō, where he was making a brief stay on his way to India;—and we took a long walk together, and talked of Eastern religions, about which he knew incomparably more than I. Whatever I could tell him concerning local beliefs, he would comment upon in the most startling manner,—citing weird correspondences in some living cult of India, Burmah, or Ceylon. Then, all of a sudden, he turned the conversation into a totally unexpected direction.
“I have been thinking,” he said, “about the constancy of the relative proportion of the sexes, and wondering whether Buddhist doctrine furnishes an explanation. For it seems to me that, under ordinary conditions of karma, human rebirth would necessarily proceed by a regular alternation.”
“Do you mean,” I asked, “that a man would be reborn as a woman, and a woman as a man?”
“Yes,” he replied, “because desire is creative, and the desire of either sex is towards the other.”
“And how many men,” I said, “would want to be reborn as women?”
“Probably very few,” he answered. “But the doctrine that desire is creative does not imply that the individual longing creates its own satisfaction,—quite the contrary. The true teaching is that the result of every selfish wish is in the nature of a penalty, and that what the wish creates must prove—to higher knowledge at least—the folly of wishing.”
“There you are right,” I said; “but I do not yet understand your theory.”
“Well,” he continued, “if the physical conditions of human rebirth are all determined by the karma of the will relating to physical conditions, then sex would be determined by the will in relation to sex. Now the will of either sex is towards the other. Above all things else, excepting life, man desires woman, and woman man. Each individual, moreover, independently of any personal relation, feels perpetually, you say, the influence of some inborn feminine or masculine ideal, which you call ‘a ghostly reflex of countless attachments in countless past lives.’ And the insatiable desire represented by this ideal would of itself suffice to create the masculine or the feminine body of the next existence.”
“But most women,” I observed, “would like to be reborn as men; and the accomplishment of that wish would scarcely be in the nature of a penalty.”
“Why not?” he returned. “The happiness or unhappiness of the new existence would not be decided by sex alone: it would of necessity depend upon many conditions in combination.”
“Your theory is interesting,” I said;—“but I do not know how far it could be made to accord with accepted doctrine…. And what of the person able, through knowledge and practice of the higher law, to remain superior to all weaknesses of sex?”
“Such a one,” he replied, “would be reborn neither as man nor as woman,—providing there were no pre-existent karma powerful enough to check or to weaken the results of the self-conquest.”
“Reborn in some one of the heavens?” I queried,—“by the
Apparitional Birth?”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “Such a one might be reborn in a world of desire,—like this,—but neither as man only, nor as woman only.”
“Reborn, then, in what form?” I asked.
“In that of a perfect being,” he responded. “A man or a woman is scarcely more than half-a-being,—because in our present imperfect state either sex can be evolved only at the cost of the other. In the mental and the physical composition of every man, there is undeveloped woman; and in the composition of every woman there is undeveloped man. But a being complete would be both perfect man and perfect woman, possessing the highest faculties of both sexes, with the weaknesses of neither. Some humanity higher than our own,—in other worlds,—might be thus evolved.”
“But you know,” I observed, “that there are Buddhist texts,—in the Saddharma Pundarîka, for example, and in the Vinayas,—which forbid….”
“Those texts,” he interrupted, “refer to imperfect beings—less than man and less than woman: they could not refer to the condition that I have been supposing…. But, remember, I am not preaching a doctrine;—I am only hazarding a theory.”
“May I put your theory some day into print?” I asked.
“Why, yes,” he made answer,—“if you believe it worth thinking about.”
And long afterwards I wrote it down thus, as fairly as I was able, from memory.
Ingwa-banashi[[1]]
[1] Lit., “a tale of ingwa.” Ingwa is a Japanese Buddhist term for evil karma, or the evil consequence of faults committed in a former state of existence. Perhaps the curious title of the narrative is best explained by the Buddhist teaching that the dead have power to injure the living only in consequence of evil actions committed by their victims in some former life. Both title and narrative may be found in the collection of weird stories entitled Hyaku-Monogatari.
The daimyō’s wife was dying, and knew that she was dying. She had not been able to leave her bed since the early autumn of the tenth Bunsei. It was now the fourth month of the twelfth Bunsei,—the year 1829 by Western counting; and the cherry-trees were blossoming. She thought of the cherry-trees in her garden, and of the gladness of spring. She thought of her children. She thought of her husband’s various concubines,—especially the Lady Yukiko, nineteen years old.
“My dear wife,” said the daimyō, “you have suffered very much for three long years. We have done all that we could to get you well,—watching beside you night and day, praying for you, and often fasting for your sake, But in spite of our loving care, and in spite of the skill of our best physicians, it would now seen that the end of your life is not far off. Probably we shall sorrow more than you will sorrow because of your having to leave what the Buddha so truly termed ‘this burning-house of the world. I shall order to be performed—no matter what the cost—every religious rite that can serve you in regard to your next rebirth; and all of us will pray without ceasing for you, that you may not have to wander in the Black Space, but may quickly enter Paradise, and attain to Buddha-hood.”
He spoke with the utmost tenderness, pressing her the while. Then, with eyelids closed, she answered him in a voice thin as the voice of in insect:—
“I am grateful—most grateful—for your kind words…. Yes, it is true, as you say, that I have been sick for three long years, and that I have been treated with all possible care and affection…. Why, indeed, should I turn away from the one true Path at the very moment of my death?… Perhaps to think of worldly matters at such a time is not right;—but I have one last request to make,—only one…. Call here to me the Lady Yukiko;—you know that I love her like a sister. I want to speak to her about the affairs of this household.”
Yukiko came at the summons of the lord, and, in obedience to a sign from him, knelt down beside the couch. The daimyō’s wife opened her eyes, and looked at Yukiko, and spoke:—“Ah, here is Yukiko!… I am so pleased to see you, Yukiko!… Come a little closer,—so that you can hear me well: I am not able to speak loud…. Yukiko, I am going to die. I hope that you will be faithful in all things to our dear lord;—for I want you to take my place when I am gone…. I hope that you will always be loved by him,—yes, even a hundred times more than I have been,—and that you will very soon be promoted to a higher rank, and become his honored wife…. And I beg of you always to cherish our dear lord: never allow another woman to rob you of his affection…. This is what I wanted to say to you, dear Yukiko…. Have you been able to understand?”
“Oh, my dear Lady,” protested Yukiko, “do not, I entreat you, say such strange things to me! You well know that I am of poor and mean condition:—how could I ever dare to aspire to become the wife of our lord!”
“Nay, nay!” returned the wife, huskily,—“this is not a time for words of ceremony: let us speak only the truth to each other. After my death, you will certainly be promoted to a higher place; and I now assure you again that I wish you to become the wife of our lord—yes, I wish this, Yukiko, even more than I wish to become a Buddha!… Ah, I had almost forgotten!—I want you to do something for me, Yukiko. You know that in the garden there is a yaë-zakura,[[2]] which was brought here, the year before last, from Mount Yoshino in Yamato. I have been told that it is now in full bloom;—and I wanted so much to see it in flower! In a little while I shall be dead;—I must see that tree before I die. Now I wish you to carry me into the garden—at once, Yukiko,—so that I can see it…. Yes, upon your back, Yukiko;—take me upon your back….”
[2] Yaë-zakura, yaë-no-sakura, a variety of Japanese cherry-tree that bears double-blossoms.
While thus asking, her voice had gradually become clear and strong,—as if the intensity of the wish had given her new force: then she suddenly burst into tears. Yukiko knelt motionless, not knowing what to do; but the lord nodded assent.
“It is her last wish in this world,” he said. “She always loved cherry-flowers; and I know that she wanted very much to see that Yamato-tree in blossom. Come, my dear Yukiko, let her have her will.”
As a nurse turns her back to a child, that the child may cling to it, Yukiko offered her shoulders to the wife, and said:—
“Lady, I am ready: please tell me how I best can help you.”
“Why, this way!”—responded the dying woman, lifting herself with an almost superhuman effort by clinging to Yukiko’s shoulders. But as she stood erect, she quickly slipped her thin hands down over the shoulders, under the robe, and clutched the breasts of the girl,, and burst into a wicked laugh.
“I have my wish!” she cried—“I have my wish for the cherry-bloom,[[3]]—but not the cherry-bloom of the garden!… I could not die before I got my wish. Now I have it!—oh, what a delight!”
[3] In Japanese poetry and proverbial phraseology, the physical beauty of a woman is compared to the cherry-flower; while feminine moral beauty is compared to the plum-flower.
And with these words she fell forward upon the crouching girl, and died.
The attendants at once attempted to lift the body from Yukiko’s shoulders, and to lay it upon the bed. But—strange to say!—this seemingly easy thing could not be done. The cold hands had attached themselves in some unaccountable way to the breasts of the girl,—appeared to have grown into the quick flesh. Yukiko became senseless with fear and pain.
Physicians were called. They could not understand what had taken place. By no ordinary methods could the hands of the dead woman be unfastened from the body of her victim;—they so clung that any effort to remove them brought blood. This was not because the fingers held: it was because the flesh of the palms had united itself in some inexplicable manner to the flesh of the breasts!
At that time the most skilful physician in Yedo was a foreigner,—a Dutch surgeon. It was decided to summon him. After a careful examination he said that he could not understand the case, and that for the immediate relief of Yukiko there was nothing to be done except to cut the hands from the corpse. He declared that it would be dangerous to attempt to detach them from the breasts. His advice was accepted; and the hands’ were amputated at the wrists. But they remained clinging to the breasts; and there they soon darkened and dried up,—like the hands of a person long dead.
Yet this was only the beginning of the horror.
Withered and bloodless though they seemed, those hands were not dead. At intervals they would stir—stealthily, like great grey spiders. And nightly thereafter,—beginning always at the Hour of the Ox,[[4]]—they would clutch and compress and torture. Only at the Hour of the Tiger the pain would cease.
[4] In ancient Japanese time, the Hour of the Ox was the special hour of ghosts. It began at 2 A.M., and lasted until 4 A.M.—for the old Japanese hour was double the length of the modern hour. The Hour of the Tiger began at 4 A.M.
Yukiko cut off her hair, and became a mendicant-nun,—taking the religious name of Dassetsu. She had an ihai (mortuary tablet) made, bearing the kaimyō of her dead mistress,—“Myō-Kō-In-Den Chizan-Ryō-Fu Daishi”;—and this she carried about with her in all her wanderings; and every day before it she humbly besought the dead for pardon, and performed a Buddhist service in order that the jealous spirit might find rest. But the evil karma that had rendered such an affliction possible could not soon be exhausted. Every night at the Hour of the Ox, the hands never failed to torture her, during more than seventeen years,—according to the testimony of those persons to whom she last told her story, when she stopped for one evening at the house of Noguchi Dengozayémon, in the village of Tanaka in the district of Kawachi in the province of Shimotsuké. This was in the third year of Kōkwa (1846). Thereafter nothing more was ever heard of her.
Story of a Tengu[[1]]
[1] This story may be found in the curious old Japanese book called Jikkun-Shō. The same legend has furnished the subject of an interesting Nō-play, called Dai-É (“The Great Assembly”).
In Japanese popular art, the Tengu are commonly represented either as winged men with beak-shaped noses, or as birds of prey. There are different kinds of Tengu; but all are supposed to be mountain-haunting spirits, capable of assuming many forms, and occasionally appearing as crows, vultures, or eagles. Buddhism appears to class the Tengu among the Mârakâyikas.
In the days of the Emperor Go-Reizei, there was a holy priest living in the temple of Saito, on the mountain called Hiyei-Zan, near Kyōto. One summer day this good priest, after a visit to the city, was returning to his temple by way of Kita-no-Ōji, when he saw some boys ill-treating a kite. They had caught the bird in a snare, and were beating it with sticks. “Oh, the, poor creature!” compassionately exclaimed the priest;—“why do you torment it so, children?” One of the boys made answer:—“We want to kill it to get the feathers.” Moved by pity, the priest persuaded the boys to let him have the kite in exchange for a fan that he was carrying; and he set the bird free. It had not been seriously hurt, and was able to fly away.
Happy at having performed this Buddhist act of merit, the priest then resumed his walk. He had not proceeded very far when he saw a strange monk come out of a bamboo-grove by the road-side, and hasten towards him. The monk respectfully saluted him, and said:—“Sir, through your compassionate kindness my life has been saved; and I now desire to express my gratitude in a fitting manner.” Astonished at hearing himself thus addressed, the priest replied:—“Really, I cannot remember to have ever seen you before: please tell me who you are.” “It is not wonderful that you cannot recognize me in this form,” returned the monk: “I am the kite that those cruel boys were tormenting at Kita-no-Ōji. You saved my life; and there is nothing in this world more precious than life. So I now wish to return your kindness in some way or other. If there be anything that you would like to have, or to know, or to see,—anything that I can do for you, in short,—please to tell me; for as I happen to possess, in a small degree, the Six Supernatural Powers, I am able to gratify almost any wish that you can express.” On hearing these words, the priest knew that he was speaking with a Tengu; and he frankly made answer:—“My friend, I have long ceased to care for the things of this world: I am now seventy years of age; neither fame nor pleasure has any attraction for me. I feel anxious only about my future birth; but as that is a matter in which no one can help me, it were useless to ask about it. Really, I can think of but one thing worth wishing for. It has been my life-long regret that I was not in India in the time of the Lord Buddha, and could not attend the great assembly on the holy mountain Gridhrakûta. Never a day passes in which this regret does not come to me, in the hour of morning or of evening prayer. Ah, my friend! if it were possible to conquer Time and Space, like the Bodhisattvas, so that I could look upon that marvellous assembly, how happy should I be!”
“Why,” the Tengu exclaimed, “that pious wish of yours can easily be satisfied. I perfectly well remember the assembly on the Vulture Peak; and I can cause everything that happened there to reappear before you, exactly as it occurred. It is our greatest delight to represent such holy matters…. Come this way with me!”
And the priest suffered himself to be led to a place among pines, on the slope of a hill. “Now,” said the Tengu, “you have only to wait here for awhile, with your eyes shut. Do not open them until you hear the voice of the Buddha preaching the Law. Then you can look. But when you see the appearance of the Buddha, you must not allow your devout feelings to influence you in any way;—you must not bow down, nor pray, nor utter any such exclamation as, ‘Even so, Lord!’ or ‘O thou Blessed One!’ You must not speak at all. Should you make even the least sign of reverence, something very unfortunate might happen to me.” The priest gladly promised to follow these injunctions; and the Tengu hurried away as if to prepare the spectacle.
The day waned and passed, and the darkness came; but the old priest waited patiently beneath a tree, keeping his eyes closed. At last a voice suddenly resounded above him,—a wonderful voice, deep and clear like the pealing of a mighty bell,—the voice of the Buddha Sâkyamuni proclaiming the Perfect Way. Then the priest, opening his eyes in a great radiance, perceived that all things had been changed: the place was indeed the Vulture Peak,—the holy Indian mountain Gridhrakûta; and the time was the time of the Sûtra of the Lotos of the Good Law. Now there were no pines about him, but strange shining trees made of the Seven Precious Substances, with foliage and fruit of gems;—and the ground was covered with Mandârava and Manjûshaka flowers showered from heaven;—and the night was filled with fragrance and splendour and the sweetness of the great Voice. And in mid-air, shining as a moon above the world, the priest beheld the Blessed One seated upon the Lion-throne, with Samantabhadra at his right hand, and Manjusri at his left,—and before them assembled—immeasurably spreading into Space, like a flood Of stars—the hosts of the Mahâsattvas and the Bodhisattvas with their countless following: “gods, demons, Nâgas, goblins, men, and beings not human.” Sâriputra he saw, and Kâsyapa, and Ânanda, with all the disciples of the Tathâgata,—and the Kings of the Devas,—and the Kings of the Four Directions, like pillars of fire,—and the great Dragon-Kings,—and the Gandharvas and Garudas,—and the Gods of the Sun and the Moon and the Wind,—and the shining myriads of Brahmâ’s heaven. And incomparably further than even the measureless circling of the glory of these, he saw—made visible by a single ray of light that shot from the forehead of the Blessed One to pierce beyond uttermost Time—the eighteen hundred thousand Buddha-fields of the Eastern Quarter with all their habitants,—and the beings in each of the Six States of Existence,—and even the shapes of the Buddhas extinct, that had entered into Nirvâna. These, and all the gods, and all the demons, he saw bow down before the Lion-throne; and he heard that multitude incalculable of beings praising the Sûtra of the Lotos of the Good Law,—like the roar of a sea before the Lord. Then forgetting utterly his pledge,—foolishly dreaming that he stood in the very presence of the very Buddha,—he cast himself down in worship with tears of love and thanksgiving; crying out with a loud voice, “O thou Blessed One!”…
Instantly with a shock as of earthquake the stupendous spectacle disappeared; and the priest found himself alone in the dark, kneeling upon the grass of the mountain-side. Then a sadness unspeakable fell upon him, because of the loss of the vision, and because of the thoughtlessness that had caused him to break his word. As he sorrowfully turned his steps homeward, the goblin-monk once more appeared before him, and said to him in tones of reproach and pain:—“Because you did not keep the promise which you made to me, and heedlessly allowed your feelings to overcome you, the Gohotendó, who is the Guardian of the Doctrine, swooped down suddenly from heaven upon us, and smote us in great anger, crying out, ‘How do ye dare thus to deceive a pious person?’ Then the other monks, whom I had assembled, all fled in fear. As for myself, one of my wings has been broken,—so that now I cannot fly.” And with these words the Tengu vanished forever.