小泉八雲 神國日本 戸川明三譯 附原文 附やぶちゃん注（１７） 組合の祭祀（Ⅳ） ／ 組合の祭祀～了

　さて社會の感情を代表する人としての神道の神官の權威に關する問題に戾つて見よう――この權威は常に偉大なものであつたと私は信ずる。社會が誤りをなしたるその所屬の人々の上に被らせる罰は、もと守護神の名を以つて被らされたものであるといふ事の、著しい證據は、恁ういふ事實に依つてよく解る、則ち社會の嫌悪の表現は、今でも幾多の地方にあつては、宗教上の性質を取つて顯はれるといふ一事に依つて解る。私はこの種の表現を實見した、そして私はそれが今なほ大抵の地方に行はれて居ると信じて居る。併しこの古い慣習の殘つて居るのを尤もよく見うるのは、古の傳統が殆ど變はらずに、そのまま殘つて居る邊陬の田舍の町或は寂しい村落に於てである。斯樣な場所に於ては、各住者の行爲は、精細に注目され、人々に依つて嚴格に判斷されるのである。併し地方の神道大祭――守護神の例年の祭――の時までは些細な非行に就いては、殆ど何事も口外されない。其時（祭日）になつて、社會はその誓戒を與へ、或はその罰を加へる、かくの如きは少くとも地方の道德に反いた行爲のあつた場合にする事である。此祭の機會に、神は氏子の住居を見に來ると考へられて居る、そしてその移動させうる神殿（御輿）――三十人或は四十人に依つて擔はれる重い構造物――が主なる街路を通つて運ばれる。それを擔ふ人々は、神の意志に從つて働くので、――則ち神の靈の彼等を向かはしめる方向に進んで行くのだと考へられで居る。私は或る海岸の村で、一度ならず、幾度も見たその行列の事件を記述して見ようと思ふ。

［やぶちゃん注：「被らされた」「こうむらされた」と訓じているものと思われる。

「邊陬」「へんすう」と読む。中央から遠く離れた土地。片田舎。僻地（「陬」も片隅。片田舎の意）。］

　行列に先き立つて、若い男の一群が、飛び跳ね、環を描いて、無闇に躍りながら進んで行く、此若者達は道を淸め拂ふのである、そのもの達の近くを通るのは、險難である、何となれば彼等は狂亂のやうな動き方をして、ぐるぐるまはつて行くからである……。私が始めて恁ういふ躍りをする一群を見た時、何となく古いデイオニソスの饗宴を見て居るやうな氣がした――彼等の烈しい旋轉運動は、たしかにギリシヤ古代の神聖なる狂熱の記事を實現したものであつた。實際を言へば、ギリシヤ風の頭は見られない、併し腰卷と草鞋とを外にしては、すべで裸體な、そして極めて彫刻的な筋肉をした靑銅色の、しなやかな姿は、躍つて居る牧羊神を顯はす水盤かなにかの意匠に用ひたら良からうと思はせるものであつた。この神の乘り移つた踊り手――その通過は群集を左右に散らして街路を拂ひ淸めたのであるが、――について、乙女の祭司が白衣を着て、面を蔽ひ馬に乘つて來、それにつづいて幾人かの乘馬の祭司が、これも白衣で儀式上の高い黒い帽を被つてやつて來る。その背後に大きな重さうな神殿が、それを擔ふ人々の頭の上で、恰も暴風に玩ばれたる船のやうに、搖れ動いて進んで來る。幾多の筋肉逞しい腕がそれを右手の方につきやると、また同樣な澤山の腕が左手の方にそれをつきかへす、前にも、うしろにも、亦烈しく押したり、引いたりする、そして何かを呼び立てる聲の唸りは、全く他の聲を聞こえなくしてしまふ。極々古くからの慣習に依つてすべての家の二階は固く鎖ざされる。かかる際に節穴からでも、神樣を見下すやうな不敬な所業をして居る處を見つけられた、あのゴダイヴアの姿をのぞいたやうな男があつたら、その者は禍なる哉……。

［やぶちゃん注：「古いデイオニソスの饗宴」原文“old Dionysiac revel” ディオニソス（Dionȳsos）は、ギリシア神話の「豊穣とブドウ酒と酩酊の神」。本来、この名は「若いゼウス」の意味であった（「ゼウス」又は「ディオス」は元来はギリシア語で「神」の意）。別名のバッコス（バッカス：Bakkhos）の方が日本人には馴染みかも知れない。但し、小泉八雲が具体にイメージしているのはギリシャ神話の祖先に相当するエーゲ文明での「奔放と狂乱と陶酔を象徴する神」により近いものと思われる。

「ギリシヤ風の頭は見られない」というのは、その祭りを読者が想起するに際して、そこにはしかし――ギリシャ彫刻のような長身の彫りの深い顔立ち――の群集がいるわけではなく、ちんちくりんの反っ歯の日本人の男の群れなのではあるが、「併し腰卷と草鞋とを外にしては、すべで裸體な、そして極めて彫刻的な筋肉をした靑銅色の、しなやかな姿は、躍つて居る牧羊神を顯はす水盤かなにかの意匠に用ひたら」まさに、かの牧神らの饗宴に見紛う図像となりほどに酷似している、というのである。

「儀式上の高い黒い帽」烏帽子。

「ゴダイヴアの姿をのぞいたやうな男」原文ではこの男は“the Peeping Tom”となっている。知られた「出歯亀（でばがめ）」の英語版「ピーピング・トム（覗き屋トム）」のこと。ウィキの「ゴダイヴァ夫人」から引く。ゴダイヴァ夫人（Lady Godiva　九九〇年頃～一〇六七年）は、十一世紀に実在した『イングランドの女性。マーシア伯レオフリックの夫人で、自身も後に領主となった。夫レオフリックの圧政を諌めるためコヴェントリーの街を裸で行進したという有名な伝説が残っているが、中世を専門とする歴史家の見解は、これは史実ではないことで一致している』。偽書とされる「イングルフの年代記」に『よれば、ゴダイヴァは「美しいかぎりの、聖い心もちの女性」であったといわれる』。『英米で広く信じられている漠然とした伝説は、領民に対して情けぶかい夫人が、理不尽な夫に難癖をつけられ』、『素裸で長髪をなびかせ』、『馬に乗って町内を横断する羽目になり、町人は夫人に恩義を感じて目をそむけ』、『野次馬を差し控えたのだが、ただ一人、トムという男が盗み見たため、以来、ピーピング・トムといえば覗き見をする人間の代名詞となった、というものである』。『この伝説については、ロジャー・オブ・ウェンドーヴァー』（Roger of Wendover　？～一二三六年没）の書いた年代記“Flowers of History”（「歴史の花」）が最も『簡素かつ最古とされる典拠で』、『伯爵夫人ゴダイヴァは聖母の大そうな敬愛者で、コヴェントリーの町を重税の苦から解放せんと欲し、たびたび夫に対して祈願して（減税を）迫った』。『伯爵はいつもきつく叱りつけ、二度とその話はせぬようと』たしなめたが、『（それでもなお粘るので）ついに「馬にまたがり、民衆の皆がいるまえで、裸で乗りまわせ。町の市場をよぎり、端から端まで渡ったならば、お前の要求はかなえてやろう」と言った。ゴダイヴァは「では私にその意があればお許し頂けますのですね？」念をおしたが、「許す」という。さすれば神に愛されし伯爵夫人は、髪を解きほどき、髪の房を垂らして、全身をヴェールのように覆わせた。そして馬にまたがり二人の騎士を供につけ、市場を駆けてつっきったが、その美しいおみ足以外は誰にも見られなかった。そして道程を完走すると、彼女は喜々として驚愕する夫のところに舞い戻り、先の要求を叶えた。レオフリク伯は、コヴェントリーの町を前述の役から免じ、勅令（憲章）によってこれを認定した』。後の別な一書では、『伯爵はすでに市民に対し免税優遇策を施してはいたが、ただ「馬税」だけがいまだ徴収されていたので、妻のゴダイヴァ （Godiva）が、更にその撤廃を嘆願した。ゴダイヴァは、裸で馬乗りすることを命じられた日を指定して、町内中の役人に通知すると、役人たちは彼女の意を汲み、町民たちに命じて、「その日は家にこもって戸も窓も締め切るように」と言いつけた』という。『また、「裸で」という言葉の解釈にも諸説あり、「長い髪が効果的に体を隠していた」「下着のようなものは身に着けていた」「貴族の象徴である装飾や宝石類を外した格好だったことを『裸で』と言い表した」など複数の説がある。ただし、彼女の時代の』“naked”『という語は「いかなる衣服も身につけず」という文字通りの意味であり、それ以上の比喩的な使い方があったわけではなく、後付的な解釈である感も否めない。』一方、それを覗いた男、『町衆みんなが守った礼儀にさからって、一糸まとわぬゴダイヴァ夫人をただひとり覗き見したというピーピング・トム伝説は、文学作品から広まった形跡はない。これは』十七世紀以降に『コヴェントリー地域の巷に出現した伝説である』。一八二六 年に投稿された W. Reader という『地元通の記事によれば、夫人をのぞき見した仕立屋がいたという伝説はそのころすでに定着しており、町をあげての恒例の祭り』（Trinity Great Fair：現在名：Godiva Festival）では、『ゴダイヴァ夫人に扮した人が行列に参列し（Godiva processions）、街角には「ピーピング・トム」と呼ばれる木像が置かれるしきたりであった』（引用元にその木像の絵が載る）。『同記事の筆者は、この木像の甲冑・異称などから、それが』チャールズ二世（一六八五年没）『時代頃のものと推定する。また、古物収集家ウィリアム・ダグデール』（一六八六年没）なる博覧強記の人物が、その大著の『なかで「のぞき野郎」のことにひとことも触れていないことから、伝説の発祥はその後と結論した』とある。『文献における「覗き男」登場の経緯はどうかというと、これは英国人物事典』に詳しく、まず『歴史家ポール・ド・ラパン＝トワラ』（一七三二年）『がルポタージュする地元事情によれば、戸窓を閉めきって見るな、死罪に処すぞ、ときついお達しがあったのにのぞき見した男がおり、そいつは命で償ったというのが町の言い伝えであり、町ではこの故事を記念し、男の像が一軒の家の窓から外を覗くように飾ってあると報告する』。次にトマス・ペナント「チェスターからロンドン」（一七八二 年）によると、『のぞき見したのは』、『とある仕立屋だったとし、ゴダイヴァ夫人の行進では、ゴダイヴァ役が、むろん全裸ではないが、四肢にぴったり合わせた純白の絹衣をまとうとしている』とあるという。さらに同書では、『「ピーピング・トム」が名指しで文書に登場する最古例はコヴェントリー市の公式年代記』（一七七三年六月十一日付）『で、木偶に新しいかつらと塗料が支給された記録である』。『このほか、覗き男の名がアクティオン』という名で『あったという』千七百年以前の『書簡があるという』。『トム（トーマス）という名はアングロサクソン名ではないので、実在のゴダイヴァ夫人の時代の領民の名としてはありえないことが指摘されている。またトーマスは』この後（のち）、『天罰がくだって盲目にされた、あるいは住民によって視力を奪われてしまったとも伝えられる』とある。］

　私の言つた通り、神輿を擔ふ人々は、神の靈に依つて動かされて居ると考へられて居る、――（神道の神はいろいろな性情をもつて居るから、多分その暴い靈に依つて、動かされて居るのであらう）それでこのつき進み、引きかへし、またそれを搖る事は、只だ前後左右の家を神が檢査するの意である。神はその禮拜者の心が、果たして純眞であるかを知らうと見まはして居り、またそれに警告を與へ、或は罰を加へる必要があるかどうかを決めようとして居るのである。擔ふ人々は何方へでも神の欲する方に、その神をもつて行くのである、――必要とあれば固い壁を通してでも。それで若し神殿（神輿）が、或る一軒の家にぶつかるとすれば――ただその家の暖簾にあたつてすらも――それは神樣がその家の人々に對して立腹して居られる徴となるのである。若し神樣が家の一部で破壞する事があれば、それこそ重大な警告である。併し神樣が家の中に入る事を望まれる事もある――その一行く道をさへぎるものを毀しても。さうなるとその家の人々は、すぐに裏口から逃げなければ、大變な事になる、そして亂暴な行列は、雷のやうな音を出して入り込んで來る、神樣がまた進んで巡囘する事を承諾されるまでは、その家の内のあらゆるものを砕き、裂き、破り、押しつぶしてしまふであらう。

［やぶちゃん注：「暴い靈」「あらいれい」。荒ぶる神。神道でいう「荒御魂（あらみたま）」のこと。

「暖簾」原文は“an awning”でこれは「天幕」の意もあるが、ここは「廂・軒」の意であろう。平井呈一氏も『――ほんの軒先へ当たっただけでも――』と訳しておられる。］

　私は二箇處の破壞の跡を見たが、その理由を尋ねて、始めて、組合の見解から言つて、兩度の侵入は共に道德上正常と認むべきものであつた事をよく知る事を得た。則ち第一の場合には欺僞が行はれたのであり、他の場合には水に溺れたものの一族に救助を與へなかつたといふのである。則ち一つの犯罪は、法律上のであり、他のは道德上の犯罪であつた。田舍の社會は放火、殺人、竊盜、その他の重大な犯罪の場合でなけれぱ、その犯罪人を警察に渡す事をしない。田舍では法律を恐れて居る、故に他の方法に依つてきめられるものなら、決して法律を呼び起こす事をしない。かくの如きはまた古代の規約であつて、封建の政府はさういふ慣習の維持を奬勵したものである。併し守護の神が立腹されると、その犯罪者の處罰、若しくは排斥を主張される。さうなると封建の慣習に從つて、その犯罪者の全家族が責任をもたせられる事になる。この被害者は、若しさういふ氣があるならば、新しい法律に訴へる事も出來る。そして自分の家を破壞したものを、法廷に引き出し損害や陪償させる事も出來る。何となれば近代の警察廷は、神道に依つて左右されて居ないのであるから。併し餘程の向う見ずでなければ、社會の判斷に對して、新しい法律に訴へるやうな事はしまい、何となればさういふ行動その事が、すでに甚だしい慣習の破壞として非難されるからである。社會は、その協議會に依つて、冤罪であつた事が證明される場合には、いつも直に公明な判斷を下すに吝ではない。併し責を負ふべき名のとして訴へられたその・罪惡を實際犯して居た者が、宗教に依らない法律に訴へて、復讐をしようと試みるやうな事があれば、さういふ者はなるべく早く自分と、自分の家族の居處を、何處か遠い所に移すが上策であらうと考へられる。

［やぶちゃん注：「警察廷」「けいさつてい」。法廷警察権を持つ警察と司法。

「吝かではない」「やぶさかではない」。ある判断及びそれに対する処置を行うことについて概ね積極的な意思をもって対処するに抵抗はない、の意。］

　舊日本に於ては、個人の生命は二種の宗教的支配の下にあつた事を吾々は觀た。則ちすべて個人の行動は、一家の若しくは社會の祭祀から來た傳統に從つて定められて居た。而してかくの如き狀態は、一定した文化の成立と共に始まつたものである事を知つた。吾々はまた社會の宗教が、家の宗教の遵奉を勵行する勞を取った事と知つた。この事實は、若し吾々がこの兩祭祀（社會と家族との）基本となつて居る考へ――卽ち生者の幸福は死者の幸福に依るといふ考へ――は同一なものである事を記憶して置くならば、決して不思議とは思はれないであらう。家族の祭祀を閑却する事は、靈の惡意を起こさせるものと信ぜられて居た。而して靈の惡意は公共の不幸を齎すのである。祖先の亡靈は自然を支配して居た、――火災、出水、疫病、飢饉等は、報復の手段として、亡靈の自由に用ひ得たものであつた。故に村に於ける不信心の一所業は、全村の上に不幸を齎す事があつたかも知れないのである。而して一社會（組合若しくは一地方）は、各家庭に孝道を維持する事に關して、死者に對し責任をもつて居ると考へられて居た。

The Communal Cult

AS by the religion of the household each individual was ruled in every action of domestic life, so, by the religion of the village or district the family was ruled in all its relations to the outer world. Like the religion of the home, the religion of the commune was ancestor-worship. What the household shrine represented to the family, the Shintō parish-temple represented to the community; and the deity there worshipped as tutelar god was called Ujigami, the god of the Uji, which term originally signified the patriarchal family or gens, as well as the family name.

Some obscurity still attaches to the question of the original relation of the community to the Uji-god. Hirata declares the god of the Uji to have been the common ancestor of the clan-family,—the ghost of the first patriarch; and this opinion (allowing for sundry exceptions) is almost certainly correct. But it is difficult to decide whether the Uji-ko, or "children of the family" (as Shintō parishioners are still termed) at first included only the descendants of the clan-ancestor, or also the whole of the inhabitants of the district ruled by the clan. It is certainly not true at the present time that the tutelar deity of each Japanese district represents the common ancestor of its inhabitants,—though, to this general rule, there might be found exception in some of the remoter provinces. Most probably the god of the Uji was first worshipped by the people of the district rather as the spirit of a former ruler, or the patron-god of a ruling family, than as the spirit of a common ancestor. It has been tolerably well proved that the bulk of the Japanese people were in a state of servitude from before the beginning of the historic period, and so remained until within comparatively recent times. The subject-classes may not have had at first a cult of their own: their religion would most likely have been that of their masters. In later times the vassal was certainly attached to the cult of the lord. But it is difficult as yet to venture any general statement as to the earliest phase of the communal cult in Japan; for the history of the Japanese nation is not that of a single people of one blood, but a history of many clan-groups, of different origin, gradually brought together to form one huge patriarchal society.

   However, it is quite safe to assume, with the best native authorities, that the Ujigami were originally clan-deities, and that they were usually, though not invariably, worshipped as clan-ancestors. Some Ujigami belong to the historic period. The war god Hachiman, for example,—to whom parish-temples are dedicated in almost every large city,—is the apotheosized spirit of the Emperor Ojin, patron of the famed Minamoto clan. This is an example of Ujigami worship in which the clan-god is not an ancestor. But in many instances the Ujigami is really the ancestor of an Uji; as in the case of the great deity of Kasuga, from whom the Fujiwara clan claimed descent. Altogether there were in ancient Japan, after the beginning of the historic era, 1182 clans, great and small; and these appear to have established the same number of cults. We find, as might be expected, that the temples now called Ujigami—which is to say, Shintō parish-temples in general—are always dedicated to a particular class of divinities, and never dedicated to certain other gods. Also, it is significant that in every large town there are Shintō temples dedicated to the same Uji-gods,—proving the transfer of communal worship from its place of origin. Thus the Izumo worshipper of Kasuga-Sama can find in Osaka, Kyōto, Tōkyō, parish-temples dedicated to his patron: the Kyuūshū worshipper of Hachiman-Sama can place himself under the protection of the same deity in Musashi quite as well as in Higo or Bungo. Another fact worth observing is that the Ujigami temple is not necessarily the most important Shintō temple in the parish: it is the parish-temple, and important to the communal worship; but it may be outranked and overshadowed by some adjacent temple dedicated to higher Shintō gods. Thus in Kitzuki of Izumo, for example, the great Izumo temple is not the Ujigami,—not the parish-temple; the local cult is maintained at a much smaller temple …. Of the higher cults I shall speak further on; for the present let us consider only the communal cult, in its relation to communal life. From the social conditions represented by the worship of the Ujigami to-day, much can be inferred as to its influence in past times.

   Almost every Japanese village has its Ujigami; and each district of every large town or city also has its Ujigami. The worship of the tutelar deity is maintained by the whole body of parishioners, the Ujiko, or children of the tutelar god. Every such parish-temple has its holy days, when all Ujiko are expected to visit the temple, and when, as a matter of fact, every household sends at least one representative to the Ujigami. There are great festival-days and ordinary festival-days; there are processions, music, dancing, and whatever in the way of popular amusement can serve to make the occasion attractive. The people of adjacent districts vie with each other in rendering their respective temple-festivals (matsuri) enjoyable: every household contributes according to its means. The Shintō parish-temple has an intimate relation to the life of the community as a body, and also to the individual existence of every Ujiko. As a baby he or she is taken to the Ujigami—(at the expiration of thirty-one days after birth if a boy, or thirty-three days after birth if a girl)—and placed under the protection of the god, in whose supposed presence the little one's name is recorded. Thereafter the child is regularly taken to the temple on holy days, and of course to all the big festivals, which are made delightful to young fancy by the display of toys on sale in temporary booths, and by the amusing spectacles to be witnessed in the temple grounds,—artists forming pictures on the pavement with coloured sands,—sweetmeat-sellers moulding animals and monsters out of sugar-paste,—conjurors and tumblers exhibiting their skill…. Later, when the child becomes strong enough to run about, the temple gardens and groves serve for a playground. School-life does not separate the Ujiko from the Ujigami (unless the family should permanently leave the district); the visits to the temple are still continued as a duty. Grown-up and married, the Ujiko regularly visits the guardian-god, accompanied by wife or husband, and brings the children to pay obeisance. If obliged to make a long journey, or to quit the district forever, the Ujiko pays a farewell visit to the Ujigami, as well as to the tombs of the family ancestors; and on returning to one's native place after prolonged absence, the first visit is to the god …. I have more than once been touched by the spectacle of soldiers at prayer before lonesome little temples in country places,—soldiers but just returned from Korea, China, or Formosa: their first thought on reaching home was to utter their thanks to the god of their childhood, whom they believed to have guarded them in the hour of battle and the season of pestilence.

   The best authority on the local customs and laws of Old Japan, John Henry Wigmore, remarks that the Shintō cult had few relations with local administration. In his opinion the Ujigami were the deified ancestors of certain noble families of early times; and their temples continued to be in the patronage of those families. The office of the Shintō priest, or "god-master" (kannushi) was, and still is, hereditary; and, as a rule, any kannushi can trace back his descent from the family of which the Ujigami was originally the patron-god. But the Shintō priests, with some few exceptions, were neither magistrates nor administrators; and Professor Wigmore thinks that this may have been "due to the lack of administrative organization within the cult itself."¹ This would be an adequate explanation. But in spite of the fact that they exercised no civil function, I believe it can be shown that Shintō priests had, and still have, powers above the law. Their relation to the community was of an extremely important kind: their authority was only religious but it was heavy and irresistible.

   ¹ The vague character of the Shintō hierarchy is probably best explained by Mr. Spencer in Chapter VIII of the third volume of Principles of Sociology: "The establishment of an ecclesiastical organization separate from the political organization, but akin to it in its structure, appears to be largely determined by the rise of a decided distinction in thought between the affairs of this world and those of a supposed other world. Where the two are conceived as existing in continuity, or as intimately related, the organizations appropriate to their respective administrations remain either identical or imperfectly distinguished …. if the Chinese are remarkable for the complete absence of a priestly caste, it is because, along with their universal and active ancestor-worship, they have preserved that inclusion of the duties of priest in the duties of ruler, which ancestor-worship in its simple form shows us." Mr. Spencer remarks in the same paragraph on the fact that in ancient Japan "religion and government were the same." A distinct Shintō hierarchy was therefore never evolved.

To understand this, we must remember that the Shintō priest represented the religious sentiment of his district. The social bond of each community was identical with the religious bond,—the cult of the local tutelar god. It was to the Ujigami that prayers were made for success in all communal undertakings, for protection against sickness, for the triumph of the lord in time of war, for succour in the season of famine or epidemic. The Ujigami was the giver of all good things,—the special helper and guardian of the people. That this belief still prevails may be verified by any one who studies the peasant-life of Japan. It is not to the Buddhas that the farmer prays for bountiful harvests, or for rain in time of drought; it is not to the Buddhas that thanks are rendered for a plentiful rice-crop—but to the ancient local god. And the cult of the Ujigami embodies the moral experience of the community,—represents all its cherished traditions and customs, its unwritten laws of conduct, its sentiment of duty …. Now just as an offence against the ethics of the family must, in such a society, be regarded as an impiety towards the family-ancestor, so any breach of custom in the village or district must be considered as an act of disrespect to its Ujigami. The prosperity of the family depends, it is thought, upon the observance of filial piety, which is identified with obedience to the traditional rules of household conduct; and, in like manner, the prosperity of the commune is supposed to depend upon the observance of ancestral custom,—upon obedience to those unwritten laws of the district, which are taught to all from the time of their childhood. Customs are identified with morals. Any offence against the customs of the settlement is an offence against the gods who protect it, and therefore a menace to the public weal. The existence of the community is endangered by the crime of any of its members: every member is therefore held accountable by the community for his conduct. Every action must conform to the traditional usages of the Ujiko: independent exceptional conduct is a public offence.

   What the obligations of the individual to the community signified in ancient times may therefore be imagined. He had certainly no more right to himself than had the Greek citizen three thousand years ago,—probably not so much. To-day, though laws have been greatly changed, he is practically in much the same condition. The mere idea of the right to do as one pleases (within such limits as are imposed on conduct by English and American societies, for example) could not enter into his mind. Such freedom, if explained to him, he would probably consider as a condition morally comparable to that of birds and beasts. Among ourselves, the social regulations for ordinary people chiefly settle what must not be done. But what one must not do in Japan—though representing a very wide range of prohibition means much less than half of the common obligation: what one must do, is still more necessary to learn …. Let us briefly consider the restraints which custom places upon the liberty of the individual.

   First of all, be it observed that the communal will reinforces the will of the household,—compels the observance of filial piety. Even the conduct of a boy, who has passed the age of childhood, is regulated not only by the family, but by the public. He must obey the household; and he must also obey public opinion in regard to his domestic relations. Any marked act of disrespect, inconsistent with filial piety, would be judged and rebuked by, all. When old enough to begin work or study, a lad's daily conduct is observed and criticised; and at the age when the household law first tightens about him, he also commences to feel the pressure of common opinion. On coming of age, he has to marry; and the idea of permitting him to choose a wife for himself is quite out of the question: he is expected to accept the companion selected for him. But should reasons be found for humouring him in the event of an irresistible aversion, then he must wait until another choice has been made by the family. The community would not tolerate insubordination in such matters: one example of filial revolt would constitute too dangerous a precedent. When the young man at last becomes the head of a household, and responsible for the conduct of its members, he is still constrained by public sentiment to accept advice in his direction of domestic affairs. He is not free to follow his own judgment, in certain contingencies. For example, he is bound by custom to furnish help to relatives; and he is obliged to accept arbitration in the event of trouble with them. He is not permitted to think of his own wife and children only,—such conduct would be deemed intolerably selfish: he must be able to act, to outward seeming at least, as if uninfluenced by paternal or marital affection in his public conduct. Even supposing that, later in life, he should be appointed to the position of village or district headman, his right of action and judgment would be under just as much restriction as before. Indeed, the range of his personal freedom actually decreases in proportion to his ascent in the social scale. Nominally he may rule as headman: practically his authority is only lent to him by the commune, and it will remain to him just so long as the commune pleases. For he is elected to enforce the public will, not to impose his own,—to serve the common interests, not to serve his own,—to maintain and confirm custom, not to break with it. Thus, though appointed chief, he is only the public servant, and the least free man in his native place. Various documents translated and published by Professor Wigmore, in his "Notes on Land Tenure and Local Institutions in Old Japan," give a startling idea of the minute regulation of communal life in country-districts during the period of the Tokujawa Shoguns. Much of the regulation was certainly imposed by higher authority; but it is likely that a considerable portion of the rules represented old local custom. Such documents were called Kumi-chō or "Kumi¹-enactments": they established the rules of conduct to be observed by all the members of a village-community, and their social interest is very great. By personal inquiry I have learned that in various parts of the country, rules much like those recorded in the Kumi-cho, are still enforced by village custom. I select a few examples from Professor Wigmore's translation:—

   ¹ Down to the close of the feudal period, the mass of the population throughout the country, in the great cities as well as in the villages, was administratively ordered by groups of families, or rather of households, called Kumi, or "companies." The general number of households in a Kumi was five; but there were in some provinces Kumi consisting of six, and of ten, households. The heads of the households composing a Kumi elected one of their number as chief,—who became the responsible representative of all the members of the Kumi. The origin and history of the Kumi-system is obscure: a similar system exists in China and in Korea. (Professor Wigmore's reasons for doubting that the Japanese Kumi-system had a military origin, appear to be cogent.) Certainly the system greatly facilitated administration. To superior authority the Kumi was responsible, not the single household.

   "If there be any of our number who are unkind to parents, or neglectful or disobedient, we will not conceal it or condone it, but will report it …."

   "We shall require children to respect their parents, servants to obey their masters, husbands and wives and brothers and sisters to live together in harmony, and the younger people to revere and to cherish their elders …. Each kumi [group of five households] shall carefully watch over the conduct of its members, so as to prevent wrongdoing."

   "If any member of a kumi, whether farmer, merchant, or artizan, is lazy, and does not attend properly to his business, the ban-gashira [chief officer] will advise him, warn him, and lead him into better ways. If the person does not listen to this advice, and becomes angry and obstinate, he is to be reported to the toshiyori [village elder] …."

   "When men who are quarrelsome and who like to indulge in late hours away from home will not listen to admonition, we will report them. If any other kumi neglects to do this, it will be part of our duty to do it for them …."

   "All those who quarrel with their relatives, and refuse to listen to their good advice, or disobey their parents, or are unkind to their fellow-villagers, shall be reported [to the village officers] …."

   "Dancing, wrestling, and other public shows shall be forbidden. Singing and dancing-girls and prostitutes shall not be allowed to remain a single night in the mura [village]."

   "Quarrels among the people shall be forbidden. In case of dispute the matter shall be reported. If this is not done, all parties shall be indiscriminately punished …."

   "Speaking disgraceful things of another man, or publicly posting him as a bad man, even if he is so, is forbidden."

   "Filial piety and faithful service to a master should be a matter of course; but when there is any one who is especially faithful and diligent in these things, we promise to report him … for recommendation to the government …."

   "As members of a kumi we will cultivate friendly feeling even more than with our relatives, and will promote each other's happiness, as well as share each other's griefs. If there is an unprincipled or lawless person in a kumi, we will all share the responsibility for him."¹

   ¹ "Notes on Land Tenure and Local Institutions in Old Japan" (Transactions Asiatic Society of Japan, Vol. XIX, Part I) I have chosen the quotations from different kumi-cho, and arranged them illustratively.

   The above are samples of the moral regulations only: there were even more minute regulations about other duties.—for instance:—

   "When a fire occurs, the people shall immediately hasten to the spot, each bringing a bucketful of water, and shall endeavour, under direction of the officers, to put the fire out …. Those who absent themselves shall be deemed culpable.

   "When a stranger comes to reside here, enquiries shall be made as to the mura whence he came, and a surety shall be furnished by him …. No traveller shall lodge, even for a single night, in a house other than a public inn.

   "News of robberies and night attacks shall be given by the ringing of bells or otherwise; and all who hear shall join in pursuit, until the offender is taken. Any one wilfully refraining, shall, on investigation, be punished."

From these same Kumi-cho, it appears that no one could leave his village even for a single night, without permission,—or take service elsewhere, or marry in another province, or settle in another place. Punishments were severe,—a terrible flogging being the common mode of chastisement by the higher authority…. To-day, there are no such punishments; and, legally, a man can go where he pleases. But as a matter of fact he can nowhere do as he pleases; for individual liberty is still largely restricted by the survival of communal sentiment and old-fashioned custom. In any country community it would be unwise to proclaim such a doctrine as that a man has the right to employ his leisure and his means as he may think proper. No man's time or money or effort can be considered exclusively his own,—nor even the body that his ghost inhabits. His right to live in the community rests solely upon his willingness to serve the community; and whoever may need his help or sympathy has the privilege of demanding it. That "a man's house is his castle" cannot be asserted in Japan—except in the case of some high potentate. No ordinary person can shut his door to lock out the rest of the world. Everybody's house must be open to visitors: to close its gates by day would be regarded as an insult to the community,—sickness affording no excuse. Only persons in very great authority have the right of making themselves inaccessible. And to displease the community in which one lives,—especially if the community be a rural one,—is a serious matter. When a community is displeased, if acts as an individual. It may consist of five hundred, a thousand, or several thousand persons; but the thinking of all is the thinking of one. By a single serious mistake a man may find himself suddenly placed in solitary opposition to the common will,—isolated, and most effectively ostracized. The silence and the softness of the hostility only render it all the more alarming. This is the ordinary form of punishment for a grave offence against custom: violence is rare, and when resorted to is intended (except in some extraordinary cases presently to be noticed) as a mere correction, the punishment of a blunder. In certain rough communities, blunders endangering life are immediately punished by physical chastisement,—not in anger, but on traditional principle. Once I witnessed at a fishing-settlement, a chastisement of this kind. Men were killing tunny in the surf; the work was bloody and dangerous; and in the midst of the excitement, one of the fishermen struck his killing-spike into the head of a boy. Everybody knew that it was a pure accident; but accidents involving danger to life are rudely dealt with, and this blunderer was instantly knocked senseless by the men nearest him,—then dragged out of the surf and flung down on the sand to recover himself as best he might. No word was said about the matter; and the killing went on as before. Young fishermen, I am told, are roughly handled by their fellows on board a ship, in the case of any error involving risk to the vessel. But, as I have already observed, only stupidity is punished in this fashion; and ostracism is much more dreaded than violence. There is, indeed, only one yet heavier punishment than ostracism—namely, banishment, either for a term of years or for life.

   Banishment must in old feudal times have been a very serious penalty; it is a serious penalty even to-day, under the new order of things. In former years the man expelled from his native place by the communal will—cast out from his home, his clan, his occupation —found himself face to face with misery absolute. In another community there would be no place for him, unless he happened to have relatives there; and these would be obliged to consult with the local authorities, and also with the officials of the fugitive's native place, before venturing to harbour him. No stranger was suffered to settle in another district than his own without official permission. Old documents are extant which record the punishments inflicted upon households for having given shelter to a stranger under pretence of relationship. A banished man was homeless and friendless. He might be a skilled craftsman; but the right to exercise his craft depended upon the consent of the guild representing that craft in the place to which he might go; and banished men were not received by the guilds. He might try to become a servant; but the commune in which he sought refuge would question the right of any master to employ a fugitive and a stranger. His religious connexions could not serve him in the least: the code of communal life was decided not by Buddhist, but by Shintō ethics. Since the gods of his birthplace had cast him out, and the gods of any other locality had nothing to do with his original cult, there was no religious help for him. Besides, the mere fact of his being a refugee was itself proof that he must have offended against his own cult. In any event no stranger could look for sympathy among strangers. Even now to take a wife from another province is condemned by local opinion (it was forbidden in feudal times): one is still expected to live, work, and marry in the place where one has been born,—though, in certain cases, and with the public approval of one's own people, adoption into another community is tolerated. Under the feudal system there was incomparably less likelihood of sympathy for the stranger; and banishment signified hunger, solitude, and privation unspeakable. For be it remembered that the legal existence of the individual, at that period, ceased entirely outside of his relation to the family and to the commune. Everybody lived and worked for some household; every household for some clan; outside of the household, and the related aggregate of households, there was no life to be lived—except the life of criminals, beggars, and pariahs. Save with official permission, one could not even become a Buddhist monk. The very outcasts—such as the Eta classes—formed self-governing communities, with traditions of their own, and would not voluntarily accept strangers. So the banished man was most often doomed to become a hinin,—one of that wretched class of wandering pariahs who were officially termed "not-men," and lived by beggary, or by the exercise of some vulgar profession, such as that of ambulant musician or mountebank. In more ancient days a banished man could have sold himself into slavery; but even this poor privilege seems to have been withdrawn during the Tokugawa era.

   We can scarcely imagine to-day the conditions of such banishment: to find a Western parallel we must go back to ancient Greek and Roman times long preceding the Empire. Banishment then signified religious excommunication, and practically expulsion from all civilized society,—since there yet existed no idea of human brotherhood, no conception of any claim upon kindness except the claim of kinship. The stranger was everywhere the enemy. Now in Japan, as in the Greek city of old time, the religion of the tutelar god has always been the religion of a group only, the cult of a community: it never became even the religion of a province. The higher cults, on the other hand, did not concern themselves with the individual: his religion was only of the household and of the village or district; the cults of other households and districts were entirely distinct; one could belong to them only by adoption, and strangers, as a rule, were not adopted. Without a household or a clan-cult, the individual was morally and socially dead; for other cults and clans excluded him. When cast out by the domestic cult that regulated his private life, and by the local cult that ordered his life in relation to the community, he simply ceased to exist in relation to human society.

   How small were the chances in past times for personality to develop and assert itself may be imagined from the foregoing facts. The individual was completely and pitilessly sacrificed to the community. Even now the only safe rule of conduct in a Japanese settlement is to act in all things according to local custom; for the slightest divergence from rule will be observed with disfavour. Privacy does not exist; nothing can be hidden; everybody's vices or virtues are known to everybody else. Unusual behaviour is judged as a departure from the traditional standard of conduct; all oddities are condemned as departures from custom; and tradition and custom still have the force of religious obligations. Indeed, they really are religious and obligatory, not only by reason of their origin, but by reason of their relation also to the public cult, which signifies the worship of the past.

   It is therefore easy to understand why Shintō never had a written code of morals, and why its greatest scholars have declared that a moral code is unnecessary. In that stage of religious evolution which ancestor-worship represents, there can be no distinction between religion and ethics, nor between ethics and custom. Government and religion are the same; custom and law are identified. The ethics of Shintō were all included in conformity to custom. The traditional rules of the household, the traditional laws of the commune—these were the morals of Shintō: to obey them was religion; to disobey them, impiety …. And, after all, the true significance of any religious code, written or unwritten, lies in its expression of social duty, its doctrine of the right and wrong of conduct, its embodiment of a people's moral experience. Really the difference between any modern ideal of conduct, such as the English, and the patriarchal ideal, such as that of the early Greeks or of the Japanese, would be found on examination to consist mainly in the minute extension of the older conception to all details of individual life. Assuredly the religion of Shintō needed no written commandment: it was taught to everybody from childhood by precept and example, and any person of ordinary intelligence could learn it. When a religion is capable of rendering it dangerous for anybody to act outside of rules, the framing of a code would be obviously superfluous. We ourselves have no written code of conduct as regards the higher social life, the exclusive circles of civilized existence, which are not ruled merely by the Ten Commandments. The knowledge of what to do in those zones, and of how to do it, can come only by training, by experience, by observation, and by the intuitive recognition of the reason of things.

   And now to return to the question of the authority of the Shintō priest as representative of communal sentiment,—an authority which I believe to have been always very great …. Striking proof that the punishments inflicted by a community upon its erring members were originally inflicted in the name of the tutelar god is furnished by the fact that manifestations of communal displeasure still assume, in various country districts, a religious character. I have witnessed such manifestations, and I am assured that they still occur in most of the provinces. But it is in remote country-towns or isolated villages, where traditions have remained almost unchanged, that one can best observe these survivals of antique custom. In such places the conduct of every resident is closely watched and rigidly judged by all the rest. Little, however, is said about misdemeanours of a minor sort until the time of the great local Shintō festival,—the annual festival of the tutelar god. It is then that the community gives its warnings or inflicts its penalties: this at least in the case of conduct offensive to local ethics. The god, on the occasion of this festival, is supposed to visit the dwellings of his Ujiko; and his portable shrine,—a weighty structure borne by thirty or forty men,—is carried through the principal streets. The bearers are supposed to act according to the will of the god,—to go whithersoever his divine spirit directs them …. I may describe the incidents of the procession as I saw it in a seacoast village, not once, but several times.

   Before the procession a band of young men advance, leaping and wildly dancing in circles: these young men clear the way; and it is unsafe to pass near them, for they whirl about as if moved by frenzy …. When I first saw such a band of dancers, I could imagine myself watching some old Dionysiac revel;—their furious gyrations certainly realized Greek accounts of the antique sacred frenzy. There were, indeed, no Greek heads; but the bronzed lithe figures, naked save for loin-cloth and sandals, and most sculpturesquely muscled, might well have inspired some vase-design of dancing fauns. After these god-possessed dancers—whose passage swept the streets clear, scattering the crowd to right and left—came the virgin priestess, white-robed and veiled, riding upon a horse, and followed by several mounted priests in white garments and high black caps of ceremony. Behind them advanced the ponderous shrine, swaying above: the heads of its bearers like a junk in a storm. Scores of brawny arms were pushing it to the right; other scores were pushing it to the left: behind and before, also, there was furious pulling and pushing; and the roar of voices uttering invocations made it impossible to hear anything else. By immemorial custom the upper stories of all the dwellings had been tightly closed: woe to the Peeping Tom who should be detected, on such a day, in the impious act of looking down upon the god!…

   Now the shrine-bearers, as I have said, are supposed to be moved by the spirit of the god—(probably by his Rough Spirit; for the Shintō god is multiple); and all this pushing and pulling and swaying signifies only the deity's inspection of the dwellings on either hand. He is looking about to see whether the hearts of his worshippers are pure, and is deciding whether it will be necessary to give a warning, or to inflict a penalty. His bearers will carry him whithersoever he chooses to go—through solid walls if necessary. If the shrine strikes against any house,—even against an awning only,—that is a sign that the god is not pleased with the dwellers in that house. If the shrine breaks part of the house, that is a serious warning. But it may happen that the god wills to enter a house,—breaking his way. Then woe to the inmates, unless they flee at once through the back-door; and the wild procession, thundering in, will wreck and rend and smash and splinter everything on the premises before the god consents to proceed upon his round.

   Upon enquiring into the reasons of two wreckings of which I witnessed the results, I learned enough to assure me that from the communal point of view, both aggressions were morally justifiable. In one case a fraud had been practised; in the other, help had been refused to the family of a drowned resident. Thus one offence had been legal; the other only moral. A country community  will not hand over its delinquents to the police except in case of incendiarism, murder, theft, or other serious crime. It has a horror of law, and never invokes it when the matter can be settled by any other means. This was the rule also in ancient times, and the feudal government encouraged its maintenance. But when the tutelar deity has been displeased, he insists upon the punishment or disgrace of the offender; and the offender's entire family, as by feudal custom, is held responsible. The victim can invoke the new law, if he dares, and bring the wreckers of his home into court, and recover damages, for the modern police-courts are not ruled by Shintō. But only a very rash man will invoke the new law against the communal judgment, for that action in itself would be condemned as a gross breach of custom. The community is always ready, through its council, to do justice in cases where innocence can be proved. But if a man really guilty of the faults charged to his account should try to avenge himself by appeal to a non-religious law, then it were well for him to remove himself and his family, as soon as possible thereafter, to some far-away place.

   We have seen that, in Old Japan, the life of the individual was under two kinds of religious control. All his acts were regulated according to the traditions either of the domestic or of the communal cult; and these conditions probably began with the establishment of a settled civilization. We have also seen that the communal religion took upon itself to enforce the observance of the household religion. The fact will not seem strange if we remember that the underlying idea in either cult was the same,—the idea that the welfare of the living depended upon the welfare of the dead. Neglect of the household rite would provoke, it was believed, the malevolence of the spirits; and their malevolence might bring about some public misfortune. The ghosts of the ancestors controlled nature;—fire and flood, pestilence and famine were at their disposal as means of vengeance. One act of impiety in a village might, therefore, bring about misfortune to all. And the community considered itself responsible to the dead for the maintenance of filial piety in every home.