RELIGION AND RITES
by the spectacle within. Nothing in which the mechanical element predominates can be permanently interesting. The Buddhist services appeal only to a narrow range of emotions and leave the intellect untouched. The adult Japanese takes little interest in them. To be a frequent temple-goer out of season — that is to say, on occasions other than those dictated by reverence to the memory of a deceased relative or friend — is to be regarded by one's neighbours as uncanny, unpractical, and probably unfortunate.
The priest himself contributes little, either by intellectual culture or a life of conspicuous zeal and virtue, to raise his religion to a place in the people's hearts. He used to be the nation's schoolmaster as well as its scholar. The State has stepped in and relieved him of the former function; the latter title he has long lost. The example he sets is one of indolence. Now and then, in the perfunctory routine of colourless duty, he has to intone a litany that has been ringing in his ears since childhood, and always his figure looms on the horizon of the layman's life when incense has to be burned and prayer said for the soul of the departed. But, for the rest, he is without occupation. He is not to be found waiting with words of comfort at the bedside of the dying, or with hands of helpfulness in the hovels of the poor. Once only, at the great Bon festival, when the spirits of the dead revisit the homes of the living, the priest finds
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