A Handbook of Modern Japan

by Ernest W. Clement

Shintō is a system in which the deification and worship of heroes, emperors, family ancestors, and forces of nature play an important part. It has no dogmas, no sacred books, no moral code, “no philosophy, no code of ethics, no metaphysics”; it sums up its theory of human duty in the following injunction: “Follow your natural impulses and obey the laws of the State.”[154] It requires of its adherents nothing except worship at certain temples or shrines on stated days. A “pure Shintō” temple is an exceedingly plain affair, in front of which, at a little distance, is invariably set a torii, or arch. Without idols, the temple contains, as emblems of Shintō, strips of paper hanging from a wand, together with a mirror. The form of ordinary worship is simple: it consists of washing the face, or hands, or both, with holy water; of ringing a bell, or clapping the hands, to call the god’s attention; of casting in a coin as an offering; of standing with clasped hands during a short prayer, and of making a farewell bow. This ceremony is sufficient to “cover a multitude of sins”! At the regular festivals there are special and elaborate services, at which the priests (often laymen) officiate. Pilgrimages to holy spots, usually “high places,” are important in Shintō.

But Shintō seems destined to decay as naturally as it developed. According to the best authorities, it was, in the original and purest form, ancestor-worship combined with the worship of nature. That is to say, it arose from the natural reverence paid to ancestors, whether individual or national, and from the awe inspired by the wonderful and frequently horrible forces of nature. In time these two elements became more or less confused, so that eventually, in some cases, national ancestors were identified with heavenly bodies, and the sun, for instance, worshipped as a goddess, was called the special ancestor of the Japanese nation. It seems proper, therefore, to call Shintō, so far as the word “religion” is applicable to it, a “natural religion” in more senses than one of the word “natural.”[155]

It has just been intimated that the word “religion” is not in all points applicable to Shintō. It has, for instance, no dogmas or creed, except the very simple and general injunction: “Follow your own natural impulses and obey the laws of the State.” Dr. Nitobe says, in his book entitled “Bushidō”: “The tenets of Shintōism cover the two predominating features of the emotional life of our race—patriotism and loyalty.” Its services are very simple, and consist of the presentation of offerings and the recital of formal addresses, which are partly praises and partly prayers. In one ritual, that of purification, it is true that there may be seen signs of moral instruction; but this is now a mere formal ceremony, performed, perhaps, only twice a year in some, not all, of the principal Shintō shrines. Certainly, in the sense that Christianity, with its creeds, whether simple or complex, its moral doctrines, its spiritual teachings, its outlook into the future life, its restraining and uplifting influence upon the individual and society, is called a religion, Shintō has no right to that appellation.

But as a system of national as well as of individual worship, including prayers to the deified ancestors or national heroes or to the personified and deified powers of nature, Shintō is properly a religion. And there can be no doubt that, in the eyes of the great mass of the people, it has all the force of a religion. One needs to stand but a few minutes in front of a Shintō shrine to observe that the mode of worship is practically the same as that before a Buddhist temple. This does not refer to the regular public ceremonies at stated times, but to the brief ordinary visits of the common people to the shrines and temples as they may be passing by. In their hearts there is apparently as much “worship” and “reverence” in one case as in the other. And this superstitious attitude of the people toward Shintō has been utilized on more than one occasion in political measures, so that Shintō has often been nothing but a political engine. “In its lower forms [it] is blind obedience to governmental and priestly dictates.” It has thus been unfairly used as a test of so-called patriotism, a kind of ecclesiastical patriotism, founded on mythology and superstition. Thus Shintō has been, as Sir Ernest Satow called it, “in a certain sense, a state religion, since its temples are maintained out of the imperial and local revenues, and the attendance of the principal officials is required by court etiquette at certain annual festivals which are celebrated at the palace.” Similarly, local officials are required to be present and “worship” on certain occasions at local shrines. As Dr. Griffis has remarked, “To those Japanese whose first idea of duty is loyalty to the Emperor, Shintō thus becomes a system of patriotism exalted to a religion.”

But the relation of the educated classes toward Shintō is quite different. A knowledge of science has shown the foolishness of personifying and deifying the forces of nature and of worshipping foxes, badgers, and other animals. Moreover, the scientific study of the Japanese annals has revealed the absurdities of much that had been accepted as real history, and has shown that the so-called historical foundation of Shintō is a mass of myths and legends. The well-educated Japanese do not believe the nonsense of the “Kojiki”[156] upon which the claim that the Emperor should be worshipped is based; but few, if any, dare to give public expression to their own private opinions, for they love life and reputation more than liberty of speech. And many of those who really know better not only will employ the old fictions in word of mouth or on the written page, but will even visit shrines and go perfunctorily through the forms of worship.

Now it is quite evident that, ever since the opening of Japan and the consequent spread of popular education, the diffusion of scientific knowledge, and the propagation of Christianity, Shintō as a religion has been doomed. Not merely monotheism, but also science, ridiculed the Shintō doctrine of myriads of gods; and even atheism and agnosticism, so heartily welcomed in Japan, would not lend any support to the superstitions of Shintō. Ever since the Restoration of 1868, which was, of course, a revival of pure political Shintō, frequent attempts have been made to have Shintō declared, in actual fact, by special enactment, the State religion of Japan. But religious Shintō has been suffering a gradual decline, as Dr. Griffis shows in “The Religions of Japan.” For a little while the council that had charge of Shintō matters “held equal authority with the great council of the government. Pretty soon the first step downward was taken, and from a supreme council it was made one of the ten departments of the government. In less than a year followed another retrograde movement, and the department was called a board. Finally, in 1877, the board became a bureau.” And, in the closing year of the nineteenth century, another step downward was taken by making a complete official demarcation between Shintō shrines and Buddhist temples. Hereafter Buddhist and Christian matters come under the charge of the Bureau of Religions; while Shintō affairs are entirely secularized and set apart under a Bureau of Shrines. This is the final step in the official disestablishment of Shintō. It is one of the greatest triumphs of civilization and Christianity in Japan, for it has evidently been made necessary by the spread of the gospel; and this move is fraught with deep significance, with great promise and encouragement.

Even before this official action had been taken, the necessity for completely secularizing Shintō had been fully recognized within its own circles. In 1899 the officials of the Great Shrine at Ise, in which are preserved the mirror, the sword, and the jewel, the three sacred treasures of Shintō, took the proper legal steps to become a secular organization. They asserted that Shintō is “merely a mechanism for keeping generations in touch with generations, and preserving the continuity of the nation’s veneration for its ancestors.” Shintō could never hope “to stand as a religion,” but it might stand “as the embodiment of a national sentiment.” According to the editor of the “Japan Mail,” the leaders of Shintō have “shown great astuteness” in taking that step; and others have even suggested that they have very shrewdly laid a most dangerous trap for Christians by attempting to deprive them of a valid reason for not participating in Shintō ceremonies.

And there is no doubt that there still remains an element of embarrassment to Christians. Nominally and theoretically, Shintō is no longer a religion; it is “merely a cult embodying the principle of veneration for ancestors, and having for its chief function the performance of rites in memory of the [so-called] divine ancestors of the empire’s sovereigns.” But the common people will continue to regard Shintō in the light of a religion, and to worship and pray at the shrines. Until, therefore, the masses are educated up to a knowledge of the distinctions between “human” and “divine,” “secular” and “religious,” “reverence” and “worship,” they will continue to bow their heads, clap their hands, and mumble their prayers at Shintō shrines. Christians, of course, ought not to indulge in such practices; but, because such things are done by those who do not know better, should they refrain entirely from participating in national celebrations and patriotic ceremonies? Or should they, regardless of what others may be doing, take part in whatever way their consciences will allow? Is this a case in which Paul’s instructions about eating meat and things offered to idols would be applicable?

This is really much the same question that arose some years ago with reference to bowing before the Emperor’s portrait. To that ceremony the common word for “worship” [reihai or hairei] was applied; and therefore many Christians conscientiously refused to perform it. Now, those Japanese words are composed of rei, a very common term indicating any polite act, and hai, which in its original ideographic form was written with a picture of two hands clasped, and therefore naturally indicates worship. But this word hai is an integral part of such words as haiken (a very polite expression for “please let me see”), haishaku (“please lend”), haikei (the humble phrase at the beginning of a letter). In all these cases the word hai expresses a humble request to a superior, originally made with clasped hands and bowed head. These words are in daily use by Christians, including missionaries, without conscientious scruples, because they are apparently cases of what rhetoricians call “fossil metaphors.” It would appear, then, that hai, which gives reihai its significance of “worship,” may have shades of meaning, just as we speak, not only of the “worship of the one, true God,” but also of “hero-worship.” It is, in fact, a question of terms in a language and among a people where such fine distinctions are not drawn between the secular and the religious, the common and the uncommon, the holy and the unholy. In a country where each person must humble himself before others and must express that humility in words and deeds that to Occidentals suggest Uriah Heep, and where profound bows are the most ordinary occurrence, bowing to the Emperor’s portrait is scarcely “worship.” It is no more “worship” or “idolatry” than baring the head when the United States flag was raised at San Juan de Porto Rico, or when the British sing “God Save the King,” or than standing with bared and bowed heads before an open grave. To repeat, the whole question is largely one of terms in a language undergoing great transitions and modifications through contact with Occidental thought and speech.

In this connection the whole subject of translation comes up. What Japanese words, for instance, shall be used for “God,” “spirit,” “love,” “home,” “worship,” “personal,” and many other terms? The ideas included in such words do not exist in the Japanese mind, and therefore there are no absolutely equivalent terms. Either old words of lower concepts must be used, or words must be coined; in either case the full idea of the original is not transferred to the Japanese mind without considerable explanation. But this is a digression.