Shades of the Past

by Harold Williams

  It might too have been decided by the Eminence who grants the reward—as has also often been done on this earthly globe—that woman's place is in the home and not gadding about on mountain tops. The opinion of many Buddhist ecclesiastics seemingly coincided with that of some other mortals on this point, because the presence of women in temples had long been discouraged. Indeed their presence was deemed so defiling that near the entrance of many temples there was a rest house beyond which no women could proceed. In fact there are some mountains they were not permitted to climb at all. The times—and the constitution—have changed, and that is now all a thing of the past, but it can be recalled by many that when the ban on women climbing the sacred mountain of Omine was raised not so many years ago, some adherents of the Faith were almost as belligerent as the Tibetan lamas who a year or so ago opposed the entry of the Japanese Himalayan Expedition to Manaslu.

  Although not apropos of the subject under discussion, it may be recalled here that women were not the only joys of life that were banned from the temples. Frequently the following warning was engraved in stone at the entrance:

  It is forbidden to carry stinking herbs and intoxicating drinks through this holy gate.

  Shallots, chives, garlic, and onions were considered as stinking herbs.

  Fish was permitted in some temples but not meat. However, some priests were willing and weak enough to partake of wild boar, if served under the name of yama kujira—mountain whale!

  Probably in few countries in the world is the tired—and the wayward—business man so well catered for as in Japan. He may spend a week end in a hotel room in Osaka, or some more romantic place, and yet, before returning to his waiting wife, purchase in the underground arcade near Osaka Station a specially wrapped and certified gift of the noted product of any prefecture in Japan, in proof of the deception that the week end was spent on business in that distant prefecture!

  The still more wayward business man may spend two weeks in the same hotel room, if he so desires and if his body and his purse will stand the strain, and yet return with a collection of temple "chops" purchased in Osaka in proof of the fiction that the two weeks were devoted to a very tiring but highly meritorious pilgrimage to the Thirty-three Holy Places! Those Thirty-three Temples of Kwannon are scattered over an area that extends from Himeji to near Gifu and from Wakayama to Ama-no-hashi-date. They are all well worthy of a visit by those who are interested in the past. There are other pilgrim circuits also, but this is the best known.

  The exceptionally devout and earnest pilgrims perform the pilgrimage on foot walking from one temple to the next along the valleys and over the mountains by the same route that others have trodden for many centuries, dressed in the traditional white clothes and with broad sloping straw hats, but they are comparatively few in number these days. They carry a wooden staff, the Buddhist bell, and a rosary. The route is marked by old stone direction posts, now lichen-covered and crumbling with age. The white clothes of these pilgrims, imprinted with the vermilion seals of the temples that have been visited, constitute proof of the pilgrimage and later may serve as burial shrouds. In addition the pilgrims may have the temple seals imprinted on scrolls and in books which they carry for that purpose.

  Those early pilgrims made their way leisurely from one temple to the next, They performed the penances peculiar to each, in some cases of walking around the main building a hundred times, mumbling the "Hail Buddha" continuously. They kept count of the number of turns by dropping a small bamboo stick into a receptacle at the completion of each circuit, much in the some way as tally clerks tally cargo on board ships.

  They spun the prayer-wheels—an invention of incalculable convenience to supplicants, and especially dumb mutes. One spin of the wheel is equivalent to reciting a whole prayer. The progenitor, as it were, of the tape-recorder. They turned the revolving libraries, a convenient device whereby the illiterate could with one twirl, and at no mental and little physical effort, do the equivalent of reading six thousand volumes of Buddhist lore.

  The majority of pilgrims in this modern age perform the pilgrimage dressed in ordinary clothes and travel in small groups or as members of a large party, each wearing a distinguishing rosette, so that the various parties may not become scrambled. They squeeze the pilgrimage into the short space of time available to them between crops or other duties, travelling by modern transportation systems, fast electric tramways, funicular railways, and motor buses. While there is much to be said for the services that these companies render to the pilgrims, and to their shareholders, it is to be doubted that the modern pilgrim who performs the pilgrimage at such high speed will attain Nirvana any more quickly than the pilgrim of bygone days who trod the narrow paths through the valleys and over the mountains.

  The modern pilgrim may spin the prayer-wheel, but he rarely has time to do the penances. The revolving libraries have mostly jammed with age, so in a sense it is fair to say that the moderns have read little Buddhist literature.

  It is also to be doubted whether the pilgrim of today travelling with excursionists on these modern conveyances is able to raise his thoughts from the mess of orange peels, the caramel cartons and empty bento boxes that litter the way, to an appropriate contemplation of the splendour of the Lotus, that dazzling symbol of Buddhism, that gorgeous flower that lifts its bud out of the slimy bottom of ponds, raises its unsoiled leaves and unfolds its immaculate petals without a trace of the mud from which it sprung—just as the souls of men, according to the Buddhist faith, rise from the mire of sin, advance little by little until they attain by their own efforts the blessings of Nirvana.

  The pilgrims, especially during rainy weather, would rest in the ex-voto halls attached to the temples and gaze at the collection of temple offerings. There were the widows' mites, the hair shorn from the heads of women who had foresworn worldly things on the death of their beloved husbands, the pitiful garments of infants who had died and whose little souls had gone to the Buddhist Styx where the demons torment them and force them to pile up heaps of stones which are torn down again as fast as the children pile them up. There were paintings, carvings and pictures of all description, some designed from thousands of old coins—the mon or coppers, with a square hole in the centre, of a hundred years or more ago. Finally there were the flamboyant offerings of sake brewers and others who combined piety with commercialism.

  The modern pilgrims still gaze at the same or similar types of offerings, and it can only be hoped that they note with anger how the old copper coins have largely disappeared—stolen by vandals, or removed during the war years in senseless collections of metal for machines of war, without a thought to the religious symbolism behind the coins—gifts to ease the way of wandering souls in the hereafter.

  Except where towns have grown up around the temples, most are located in delightful settings of reverent quietude, in sheltered valleys, or near the mountain tops. Far too often the neighbouring slopes have been bared by the woodmen's axes, and in almost all cases the temple buildings are crumbling away with age—sad evidence of a declining income and of the numbers of Japanese who have forsaken religion in the postwar period.

  The priests who in prewar days for a fee of ten sen would impress the seal of the temple on scrolls and in books, and with a writing brush would add an inscription as proof of the visit, were often master calligraphers who seemed to delight in their task. Nowadays the fee is still trifling, but the writing generally less skilful—indeed at some temples the inscription is imprinted with an ugly rubber stamp.

  At the main gates of the temples, are the huge wooden carvings, customarily set in cages, of the semi-nude and athletic-looking guardian gods, the Mio or two Deva kings of Indian mythology (Indra & Brama). They are usually painted vermilion, the conventional device adopted by the Japanese Buddhist artists to distinguish the dark-skinned Indian saints and disciples from the lighter-skinned Japanese.

  For ages the believers have pelted these guardian gods with spit-balls made from ch
ewed paper on which prayers have been written, confident that should the pellet adhere to the figure their prayer would be granted. When however the chewing-gum culture burst upon Japan, an unwholesome weapon was placed in the hands of those who would shoot at the gods for sport. Whereas the paper pellets dried out and eventually fell to the ground without much damage to the painted carvings, not so the nauseating chewing-gum. It remains as an unsightly mess firmly fixed on carvings that might even be listed as national treasures.

  While it is all too evident that some postwar visitors to temples must derive some queer satisfaction in aiming a well masticated piece of chewing-gum at the Indian kings and scoring a bull's eye, nothing to me is more disturbing than to see several lumps of bubble gum stuck firmly on the eyeballs of the guardian gods, thereby giving to them the grotesque appearance of winking broadly at each visitor who passes through the temple gate.

  One of the guardians is always depicted with his mouth open as if in the act of saying "Ah" and the other with lips tightly closed as if murmuring "Um." Their faces are the target for our modern young marksmen, who far too often succeed in plugging the open mouth of one and sealing the closed lips of the other with a much manducated mess of gum. It is any wonder that in these modern times we never meet anyone who has heard the one say "Ah," or the other murmur "Um?"

  GOLD,

  GOLD,

  GOLD

  Gold, Gold, Gold, Gold!

  Bright and yellow, hard and cold:

  Molten, graven, hammered, rolled,

  Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold

  Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled.

  TOM HOOD

  Following the introduction of Buddhism in the sixth century, gold was in great demand in Japan for the gilding of Buddhist images and temple ornamentations, but most of it had to be brought in from China and Korea.

  In 747 when the great Buddha—the Daibutsu—at Nara was cast, a considerable quantity of gold was needed and fortunately just at that time gold was discovered in Japan as was announced by the reigning emperor in the Todaiji Temple which houses the Daibutsu:

  In the land of Yamato since the beginning of Heaven and Earth, Gold, though it has been brought as an offering from other countries, was thought not to exist. But in the East of the land____Gold has been found....We will reward all those who found the gold.... even down to the peasants.

  Five centuries later, around 1295, Marco Polo's account of Japan, which he had obtained secondhand from travellers and others, was the first description of Japan to reach Europe;

  Zipangu is an Hand in the East.... the people white and faire, of gentle behaviour.... They have gold in great store.... and the King permits no exportation of it....the King's house is covered with gold....gilded Windows, Floores of Gold....

  It was reports such as this that helped stir the minds of Columbus and others to seek a new route to the East which in turn led to the discovery of America.

  In 1583, Master Fitch, a London merchant, after a voyage to the East Indies wrote:

  When the Portugals goe from Macao in China to Japon they carrie much white Silke, Gold, Muske and Porcelanes; and they bring from thence nothing but Silver.

  Japan had her counterpart of the Field of the Cloth of Gold when Hideyoshi in 1587 staged his famed Kitano Tea Party at Kyoto, a lavish fete that lasted ten days, followed a little later by a banquet to his more distinguished guests at which trays piled with gold and silver were given away as presents. In those early times gold was not, however, esteemed as highly in Japan as elsewhere. Except for gilding temple ornamentations and lacquer ware, and small quantities used in the weaving of brocades and in other of the arts, there was not as great a demand for it as in the world outside. The ladies did not use gold jewelery, earrings, brooches or rings, nor did the men wear gold chains, and gold was not used at banquets for plates or for drinking goblets. Those mining or holding gold as bullion could not put it to any important use, and therefore generally disposed of it eventually to the authorities at a fixed price, which was comparatively cheap in terms of the ruling price of silver in the western world.

  As late as about a hundred years ago when Town-send Harris came to Japan as Consul-General for the United States, one of the things which struck him most was the great simplicity of Japanese life. There was little to remind him of the splendour and glitter of European Courts. He saw no jewels, no diamond-hilted swords or crowns of gold.

  The Japanese had for centuries fixed the value of gold and silver on the basis that five parts of silver would buy one part of gold, whereas in the world outside, from which Japan had largely shut herself off for over two centuries, it required fifteen parts of silver to purchase one part of gold. When Japan was opened to foreigners about a century ago, the merchants quickly saw the possibility of profiting by bringing in silver Mexican dollars, purchasing gold and immediately shipping it abroad. Within a few years they had milked Japan of much of her gold reserves and at a tremendous profit.

  Japan's hands were largely tied under the treaties wherein it was provided that for one year the currency of the merchants (mainly Mexican silver dollars) would be exchangeable weight for weight into Japanese silver ichibu (the yen had not at that time been invented) which meant that 311 ichibu were obtained for 100 Mexican dollars. Those 311 ichibu could then be exchanged for gold coins (koban) at the cheap price prevailing in Japan and upon shipment abroad the gold realized several hundred Mexican dollars, thus returning a huge profit on the transaction, generally about 150%.

  Japan's monetary system was not however geared to meet this sudden demand for silver ichibu, and as there was not enough coinage available to satisfy the needs of the merchants, whether to buy gold or any other commodity, there developed an unseemly scramble for what was available. The place of exchange was at the Customs House located in a row of newly erected bungalows near the old fishing village of Yokohama.

  The procedure was for the foreign traders to apply for as large a quantity of ichibu as they had the audacity to ask for, some supplementing their applications with additional ones in fictitious names, often ribald and in bad taste.

  Such was the scramble for Japanese coinage that bribery and corruption at the Customs House were rife and great indignation was felt by the reputable foreign merchants at the activities of the carpetbagger types who had flooded into Japan. Furthermore it gave rise to much of the animosity with which the Japanese regarded the early foreign arrivals.

  Little wonder was it that Sir Rutherford Alcock, the British Minister, became so angered at this unseemly state of affairs that he referred to the foreign merchants in Yokohama as the "scum of the earth." The merchants in turn became angered and retaliated by barring Her Britannic Majesty's Minister and his entire staff from admission to the Yokohama Club, then deemed to be a rather exclusive affair.

  It was several years before Japan could increase her coinage and to correct this scramble for currency, but in the meantime a compromise was arrived at whereby the merchants had to buy ichibu in the open market, while the officials, such as the ministers, consuls, the legation guard, and the naval personnel, obtained the equivalent of their salaries at the rate of 311 ichibu for $100 Mex., which if exchanged back at the open market rate of 214 netted $145 Mex., or a profit of 45%. This privilege enjoyed by the diplomatic corps and officials, and much abused by some of the minor honorary consuls who were primarily merchants, added fuel to the feud between the merchants and the diplomatic corps, and was just another of the many growing pains experienced by the foreign communities. But in course of time all was forgotten and forgiven on both sides.

  It is to be noted that these traffickings in currency arose from the official rate of exchange for Japanese currency being set at a figure much below its real worth, whereas to-day it is more usual for currencies to be pegged at a figure above their real worth.

  Another currency problem arose as a result of the Chinese compradores and others bringing into Japan inferior Mexican dollars, light in weight
, un-chopped or cracked. Everybody, including the compradores at the banks and the Japanese Customs House endeavoured to pass these inferior coins and to retain the good ones. This gave rise to a curious happening in 1863 on the occasion on which Japan was required to pay an indemnity of $440,000 Mex., representing £110,000 sterling, for the murder of some English nationals and damage to property. The British Legation report reads: "At early dawn of the morning the cry of the coolies resounded through the streets as they dragged their heavy burdens from the treasury to the legation." All the Chinese shroffs in Yokohama—men employed by merchants and bankers to examine coin and see whether it was genuine—had been mobilized at the Legation to check the delivery. The Chinese sat on the floor of the Legation chancellery testing the coins by clinking them together, and after rejecting the bad coins, wrapped and then cased the good ones. The procedure occupied three days. The cases of coin were then loaded on board the British "Euryalus" for transportation to China. A few days later when that vessel was fired upon by Japanese coastal batteries, some time elapsed before she could return the fire, because, owing to the lack of cargo space, the door of the ammunition magazine had been obstructed by piles of these cases of dollars, all of which had to be moved before the door could be opened.

  In addition to the inferior Mexican dollars that were circulating in the treaty ports, a large amount of base coinage was circulating throughout Japan. Various gold coins that also served as bullion, and other mintages too, were issued by the various daimyo, some of which coins came to be accepted in the treaty ports as means of payment. Suddenly it was discovered that large quantities of golden ni-bu, paid by Japanese and received without suspicion by foreigners, were in fact made of a gilded base metal, and were practically worthless. Later complaints were made to the central government, and then in anticipation that some compensation would be paid to those holding counterfeits, a wild speculation on the part of foreign merchants and Japanese too in attempts to acquire those counterfeits at the best price possible, yet low enough to yield a profit on the hoped-for compensation.