Joseph Campbell

Sake & Satori: Asian Journals—Japan

from Chapter VI: Tea and Fire
In 1955, Campbell continued a journey that was to transform his professional life. Having spent six months traveling and studying
in India, he moved to the Buddhist realms of East Asia, settling, finally, into a residence in Kyoto, Japan. Sake & Satori: Asian
Journals—Japans is Campbell’s personal journal of the second half of this remarkable trip. This short section, accompanied by
Campbell’s own photographs, records his remarkable participation in a goma, a fire ceremony administered by a group of
yamabushi, Japanese hermits. Available for the first time, Sake & Satori: Asian Journals—Japan was released in November, 2002
by New World Library as the fifth title in the series, The Collected Works of Joseph Campbell. Its companion volume, Baksheesh
& Brahman: Asian Journals—India, was reissued in August, 2002. For more information, or to purchase Campbell books, click
on one of the links below.

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 SAKE & SATORI:
Asian Journals—Japan

From chapter vi:

tea and fire

Saturday, May 21

To Eidmann’s at 9:30,61 just in time to arrive at the start of a tea ceremony, with Yamauchi himself,
the leading tea master in Japan, sitting in the place of honor, and a little old lady of eighty-
six—Eidmann’s teacher—in the place at the door. I was given place two, and made a mistake at the
outset by crossing thither directly, instead of going around everybody’s back—but no one said
anything and I had a nice time watching the master and little old lady, as well as Haru (Eidmann’s
secretary), who made a couple of mistakes—he told me later—while conducting the affair.
We went next for a little stroll through the temple grounds—greatly crowded in honor of the
festival of Shinran’s birthday: the neighboring streets, too, were decorated, and many of the store and
house windows contained little scenes, depicting episodes from the legend of Shinran’s life. Airplanes
flew low overhead scattering paper lotus petals, and the crowds were enormous.
We next returned to Eidmann’s house for a pleasant lunch and then set off for the Nøh theater
in the temple compound—where there was a lovely crowd to see the Nøh plays. We, however, took
our departure after the opening few minutes of the first play, and, pausing briefly, to watch a group
of college students practicing sumo, proceeded to a temple of the Shinran sect—westward of the
Nishi Honganji—to see a goma (from Sanskrit høma) festival conducted by yamabushi (“mountain
hermits”), which turned out to be one of the really great experiences of the year.

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 Sake & Satori: Tea and Fire Page 2

The temple is the Fudo-do Myo-o-in and was originally built (it is said) in the ninth century in
what then was the palace area. Kobo Daishi is supposed to have brought to it Buddha statues from
China, which, at the time of the civil wars, were buried in the ground beneath the temple, where
they are supposed to be to this day. The Buddha image now worshipped in the temple is supposed to
have been made by Kobo Daishi.
The temple is closely associated with a Shintø shrine, and the two, indeed, are so closely mixed
that one cannot tell where the Buddhism ends and the Shintø begins. While we were waiting for
Haru to make arrangements at the temple for us to attend the ceremony, a large car pulled up and a
Shintø priest stepped out in full regalia. Where he went, after entering the precincts, I do not know.
Also to be seen were a couple of young Buddhist monks, wearing (which is unusual in Japan) a
yellow-robe-like element over the normal black habit: suggesting the worlds of Thailand, Burma,
and Ceylon.
We arrived good and early for the ceremony and were given seats on the front row benches
facing the altar. There was a large, square, roped-off area before us, with a big, square pyre in the
middle, covered with evergreen boughs. Beyond that was an altar, the length of one side of the area,
set with offerings: cakes, oranges, etc., all neatly stacked. At each corner of the area was a large
wooden tub of water with a long-handled scoop—to be used on the fire. And in the corner at our
right was a large bell-gong set on a table.
At about 4:30 P.M. the
yamabushi arrived—in their
fantastic costumes. They had been
on a procession through certain
parts of the town. This curious
order of monk-magicians is said to
have appeared in the eighth
century, as a protest against the
governmental control of the
Buddhist religion (comparable in a
way, I should say, to the hermit
62
movement in Christendom after the rule of Constantine). Refusing the usual ordinations by the
government, they retired to the mountains and lived as holy hermits, and, like the friars of later
Europe, were responsible for spreading the religion among the common people. Buddhism in Japan
before their time had been largely an aristocratic affair. Moreover, they were strongly influenced by
the seventh century Tantric lore and principles (compare Zimmer’s discussion of Borobudur63).
It is most remarkable that in the goma fire sacrifice that we were about to witness, elements of
the Brahmanical soma sacrifice, as well as of the much later Tantric Buddhism of the great medieval

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 Sake & Satori: Tea and Fire Page 3

period, were synthesized, and colored, moreover, with a tincture of Shintø. Hanging around the
sacred area were strings bearing the jagged paper offerings characteristic of Shintø—not white
however, but colored.
The arrival of the yamabushi was heralded by a blowing of conchs; they entered the area, after
passing behind us, from the lower right-hand corner, and then circumambulated the pyre.
Next, they stood in two rows before the altar, and, beating time with the jingles of the staffs and
batons in their right hands, chanted, ensemble, the Prajñåpåramitå H®dåya S«tra. This finished, they
went and settled on the seats prepared for them at the two sides of the area. The abbot in his robe
came to our side and sat facing the altar. And another, very nice gentleman, who was a kind of
second abbot, came and thanked us for being present.
In a moment, another, smaller group of yamabushi arrived and were ceremoniously challenged
at the entrance by two yamabushi guardians. In a kind of Nøh play dialogue they were asked a lot of
test questions—imitating the procedure of more ancient days, when strangers coming to yamabushi
sacrifices and rites were actually challenged, to prove that they were not fakers and frauds. In the
dialogue, the newcomers, through their leaders, were asked the meaning of the term yamabushi and
the reason for each of the elements of the costume. The replies were given with great force—as
though an actual battle were taking place; and in the end, when they had proven themselves, the new
group was admitted and allowed to sit with the rest, after ceremonially circumambulating the pyre,
and praying before the altar.
The next great event was performed by a
little yamabushi who had arrived a good deal
earlier than the others and while we were
waiting had sat alone inside the area. Haru
and another young Japanese with us had
conversed with him over the ropes. He now
got up, with a long bow and a sheaf of arrows,
and at each of the corners pretended to shoot
an arrow into the air (in the forest, he would
have let it go, but here in the city, he finally released the arrows gently at his feet).
Next, another yamabushi got up with a sword, and, after praying before the pyre, waved it at
the pyre, and then returned to his seat.
The abbot then stood before the pyre and read a s«tra from a piece of paper which then was
tucked into the pyre. The nice gentleman who had greeted us did the same. And then the stage was
ready for the great event.

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 Sake & Satori: Tea and Fire Page 4

It began with two yamabushi, bearing

long, flaming faggots, one at either side of the
pyre, reaching in, low, and setting the pyre
aflame. It went up with a great belch of smoke,
which billowed heavily to the left (our left) and
completely engulfed the yamabushi. Since I
was taking pictures, I was glad that the breeze
leaned in that direction—though the air
seemed, actually, quite still. Rather soon, that
side of the area cleared and the smoke curved
around back of the pyre and over to the right, and then, rapidly, it engulfed our part of the area:
remaining, however, only for a moment, it was, presently, back where it had been at the start. It was
a terrific mass of smoke, full of sparks and blazing fragments, and when it came around our way
again it burned a couple of neat little holes in my blue dacron suit—which has been my chief suit
throughout this journey. There was a great chant in progress that reminded me more of the noise of
the Navahos than anything I’ve ever heard, and the general atmosphere was a bit exciting. One of
the young men inside the area came over and said something to Haru, who then pointed out to me a
yamabushi who was sitting about eight feet off my starboard bow. “That’s the one,” he said, “who is
making the smoke go round.” I looked, and I suddenly realized what I was witnessing. The chant

was filling all the air. The smoke, definitely, was circulating in the clockwise direction . . .
. . . and this yamabushi, with an attendant beside him, sitting on his shins, was moving his hands,
pushing, conjuring, and pulling, like a cowboy turning a steer with a rope—only the rope couldn’t
be seen. I was so surprised I felt a sudden thump inside me, and I began taking photos of this little
man, like mad. Four yamabushi with water scoops, meanwhile, were dipping water onto the sides of
the fire—ostensibly, to keep the flames under control, but perhaps also to give a bit of mechanical
assistance to the magic.
After a while, when the smoke diminished and the flames increased, my yamabushi began,
ceremonially, tossing little stacks of wooden tablets into the fire, on which the votive prayers of
individuals in the congregation had been inscribed. There were hundreds of these little tablets, neatly
stacked between the water tubs, in rows, like cords of wood. When the magician had begun this
tossing, the other yamabushi in the area took it up—conjuring prayers into each packet as they held
it in their hands and then giving it a toss into the flames. When all the packets had been thrown in,
the pyre was pulled apart and the logs were dragged over to a pit on the right side of the area over
which they were placed, as a kind of log lid. Beneath, the flaming coals and smaller wood then was
shoveled, so that tongues of flame leapt up between the logs—and many of the people of the

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 Sake & Satori: Tea and Fire Page 5

congregation, removing their getas and zori, prepared to walk across. The nice gentleman who had
welcomed us would be the first to go. The wizard was at one end of the pit conjuring a power to
cure into the fire and cooling the flames; his assistant was at the other end, doing the same. And so,
since I had seen, through his work on the smoke, that he was a true master of fire, I caught the fever
and began to decide that I might walk across too.
I was wearing on my right ankle—the one that I had sprained at Angkor—an Ace bandage,
which it took me a while to undo. This made me the last on the line, but the flames were still
leaping up high between the logs—say some eight or ten inches. Two youngsters just in front of me
dashed across as fast as they could, but I decided to take my time and see what it really was like to
walk on a wizard’s fire. My first step, with my right foot, was a bit timid, and a bit off to the side,
where there were no leaping flames. But then I thought, “Well now, come on!” and seeing a nice fat
flame right in front, I put my left foot down on top of it, squarely. Crackle! The hairs on the lower
part of my leg were singed and a pleasant smell of singed hair went up all around me, but to my skin
the flame was cool—actually cool. This gave me great courage, and I calmly completed my walk,
strolling slowly and calmly right down the center of the road. Three more steps brought me to the
end, and the hands of several yamabushi helped me off. I went back to our seats, and the two ladies
in our party were gasping with amazement at what I had done. I went out to one of the water tubs to
wash my feet and get into my socks and shoes—and it was only when I was putting on my right shoe
that I noticed that the swelling in my ankle had gone down. All the pain had disappeared too.
Around the remains of the fire in the center of the area a lot of the little old women were standing
who had gone over the fire, holding their hands out to the burning cinders and then rubbing their
poor, aching backs—dear souls. It had certainly been a great and wonderful event. The courteous
gentleman was greatly pleased that I had participated and invited us all to come back some day. We
gathered our things, and presently strolled away.
We strolled back to the neighborhood of the Nishi Honganji Temple, where we looked again at
the shop displays and then bade good-bye to the two ladies who had been with us. I was a bit high
from all the excitement, and so, returned to Eidmann’s for dinner and an hour’s talk, before
returning home.
A detail from the history of the American military Occupation of Japan: The Taisho University
library was taken over by the U.S. Army (no Christian university in Japan was thus treated) and in
the clearing of the rooms the card file of a Sanskrit-Japanese dictionary, on which 1,000 scholars had
been working for some twenty years, were simply dumped. The Japanese hysterically sent crews to
rescue what they could and many (perhaps most) of the cards were recovered: but a vast task still
remains of classifying these thousands of mixed up items again. No funds are available for the work
and it remains undone.

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 Sake & Satori: Tea and Fire Page 6

Besides dumping the cards the military gentlemen stole a number of rare and very valuable
books. (This would seem to indicate, by the way, that not all of them were utterly ignorant of what
they were doing.)

61
Rev. Phillip Eidmann, a Shinsh« Buddhist priest, served as Campbell’s Vergil during much of his stay in Kyoto.
62
In the decades following the conversion of the Roman Emperor Constantine (A.D. 312), the Christian church

became institutionalized. Many non-conformist Christians withdrew from society, either out of protest, or out of a need
for ascetic retreat.
63
See Zimmer, Art of Indian Asia, pp. 298–312.

© 2002, Joseph Campbell Foundation • All rights reserved