Pathway to Japanese Literature

Europe and Japan first came into contact about four hundred years ago, and from my own perspective, I wish to recount to you all the frictions and interactions that arose between Japanese character and European character during that time.

Fortunately, at that time, there came to Japan—as you all know—the so-called Christian missionaries, specifically Catholic priests; these individuals dispatched letters and reports to their respective homelands, which have survived to this day and stand as profoundly important, invaluable primary sources for understanding the circumstances of that era.

In Japan as well, there existed various memoirs and records documenting events and circumstances from this period; however, regrettably, Japanese-made materials were of no use. They were nearly useless.

The reason for this was that there existed a fundamental difference between the observational methods of Europeans and other foreigners and those of the Japanese people. The Japanese had a marked tendency to view things through significant bias—they often resorted to phrases like “glared fiercely like raging flames” or “stared daggers,” then considered the matter settled with such descriptions alone. They viewed things through the individual characteristics of those things themselves, yet failed to grasp the fundamentally real form that could only exist within the things themselves. They were truly unskilled at such matters.

Therefore, to provide a concrete example, regarding the time when Oda Nobunaga was killed at Honnōji, there exists a book called *The Chronicle of Nobunaga*, and if we read what is written therein—
“Akechi Mitsuhide’s army suddenly descended from Kameoka, surrounded Honnōji, raised a thunderous battle cry, and fired arrows and guns.”
Those at Honnōji also awoke, and a band of stalwarts rushed out from within to charge into Mitsuhide’s forces.
At first, Mitsuhide’s forces faltered, but once those men had been killed in battle, the momentum of the attacking side gradually strengthened.
Oda Nobunaga himself appeared in the temple corridor, baring one shoulder and taking out a spear to thrust down those who approached.
When an arrow struck one of his arms, he retreated to the center of the room, set it ablaze, and took his own life.

—This is how it is written.

However, at this time, about one chō away from where Honnōji Temple stood, there existed Kyoto's sole Christian church; the European-born priests at this church were awakened in the dead of night by sounds resembling battle.
Then—well—they made various evacuation preparations and waited for dawn—though not merely waiting in silence—exhausting every means to gather intelligence from all quarters.
They conducted investigations to the utmost limit.
They remained entirely composed.
The intelligence collected by these people was properly compiled and promptly reported to their respective homelands.

According to these reports, it came to this:――

"Mitsuhide’s forces surrounded Honnōji but did not charge into the temple; rather, since those at Honnōji did not even suspect rebellion, there was no one who offered resistance."
With no one anywhere offering resistance, they steadily pressed forward until reaching what appeared to be Nobunaga’s room.
When Nobunaga was washing his face and wiping it with a hand towel, the first attacker who had entered shot an arrow.
The arrow pierced his back, so he whirled around, pulled it out, took up a naginata, and fought for some time.
"Then, as this was happening, a bullet struck one of his arms, so he retreated into his bedroom and committed seppuku"—this was one theory, while another stated that "he set fire to the area around his bedroom." However, since no one had witnessed what happened immediately afterward, it remained entirely unclear.

However, the reports from these Christian missionaries regarding this very incident demonstrate truly unparalleled precision.
There exists proof of this.
Their reports remain published today in various formats accessible to us all—should you read them, you would understand—but when compared with what has been written by that rare Japanese individual who left behind an exceptionally realistic record, I trust my claims will find your comprehension.

The exceptional Japanese individual I mention here—the one who left realistic records—refers to a man named Honjō Kakuenon, one of the generals among the forces that attacked Honnōji as part of Mitsuhide’s faction. According to his memorandum, the circumstances surrounding Nobunaga’s death unfolded as follows. This being a memorandum, even this section remains extremely concise:――

"When they charged into Honnōji, none among the enemy offered resistance. Perhaps they mistook us for allies; or perhaps no one remained to oppose us when we entered. Yet despite this, there were no sleeping figures to be found—though we kept vigilant watch, not even a mouse showed itself. We had hoped for at least two or three defenders leaping forth, but none came. In truth, they reached Nobunaga’s bedroom without encountering a single instance of resistance."――

Such things are recorded in this manner.

I believe this single example makes my point clear: memoirs written by Japanese that remain wholly untroubled by external influences and document their own experiences with clarity are exceedingly rare.
This case is indeed truly special—an exceptional instance—for nearly all, no, all people have forgotten to perceive the true nature of things.
At every turn, others' speculations took precedence; independent individuals' free thoughts and observational methods were forbidden—and there existed no one who sought to shatter these constraints even when forbidden.
For the Japanese people, it has always been their forte to favor what is generalized—even if falsehoods creep in—so long as it remains generalized; persisting in expressions like "glared fiercely" or "raged like raging flames," such methods and this mindset of resolving matters through vague observations that could mean anything have consequently caused such memoirs and records to proliferate.
Rather, this constitutes their entirety.

When compared to such observational methods, the European way of viewing things involved gazing upon the unique characteristics inherent in each individual object—those qualities that could only exist within the things themselves—and recording them realistically, which was precisely why their accounts possessed such immense value as historical documents.
That realism deserved respect.

Today, when we Japanese people imitate various foreign matters, we must thoroughly understand both foreign character in this sense and Japan’s own character; what I particularly wish to stress is that it remains necessary for the Japanese people to be fully aware of these characteristic flaws.

However, this pertains to today’s discussion, whereas in the era we are discussing, those perspectives on things grounded in individuality or observational methods I had just described were astonishingly regarded as women’s and children’s sensibilities.
And they were disparaged.
What this meant was that according to that era’s prevailing mindset, men were expected to think in broader strokes—deliberately closing their eyes to such minutiae and feigning ignorance even when noticing details was considered admirable—a life philosophy that had long dominated.
This constituted nothing less than Japan’s authoritative life philosophy.
These foolish practices made the Japanese people’s general observational methods—their worldview, if you will—remarkably sluggish, allowing abstract thinking divorced from reality to proliferate.
Thus they became unavoidably abstract.
They were weak.

As I have mentioned before, Japan and the West made contact approximately four hundred years ago—in the year 1543 of the Christian era, the sixteenth century, which in Japan corresponds to the twelfth year of Tenbun.
It was precisely when the Sengoku period of the late Ashikaga era was beginning.

However, at this time, the Europeans had not originally intended to come to the Japanese mainland.
A Chinese ship, driven off course by a storm, drifted ashore at Tanegashima.
Aboard that Chinese ship were three Portuguese men.

These three Portuguese were carrying firearms.
It was at this time that firearms were first introduced to Japan.
This is that very Tanegashima we speak of.
This also marks the beginning of contact between Europe and Japan.

As you know, it was Marco Polo; in his writings, Japan is referred to as Zipangu and was established as a country made entirely of gold.
In that manner, he reported.
Due to this report, the number of people coming to Japan increased significantly.
Europeans harboring such aspirations increased rapidly in number.

However, as you all know, what we call Christianity was brought to Japan, and it was on July 15, 1549—six years later—that Japan and foreign nations first made political contact in the true sense of the term—a date of great significance in Christian history—when a man named Francis Xavier first arrived on Japanese soil.

Now, regarding this fact, there is something we must particularly commit to memory. This missionary Francis Xavier, who first set foot on Japanese soil at this time, was considered a rare high priest even in contemporary Europe; as you know, the Jesuit sect to which he belonged still exists today. He served as the closest collaborator to Loyola—the founder of this sect—as well as his most trusted comrade, being a high priest of supreme learning acknowledged by both himself and others.

That said, this Jesuit order originated when—at the beginning of the sixteenth century—the Catholic Church had become corrupt. As Martin Luther established Protestantism in opposition to this decay while attempting reform, Catholicism's reputation plummeted. Deeming this situation intolerable, they resolved to substantively restore the true Catholic spirit—the essence of Catholicism returned to its fundamental principles. Organizing themselves under the banner of being disciples of Jesus Christ, they formed a religious body possessing an exceptionally robust fraternal bond, adopting poverty, chastity, and obedience as their three mottos—a religion demanding the renunciation of all personal gain and selfish desires to serve God.

The motto of this sect proved exceedingly strict, and even among religious orders with rigorous precepts, the Jesuit order was distinguished as one founded through vows to uphold particularly stringent disciplines.

This sect became firmly established nine years prior to Francis Xavier's arrival in Japan—that is, in 1540—marking its definitive formation.

Religions, when sustained over long years, inevitably degenerate—though there are many such examples—yet the initial formation of a sect is invariably characterized by intense fervor. Consequently, while Francis Xavier, who first came to Japan, was as previously described, we must also remember that even the priests who subsequently arrived in succession were, within Europe, among the most virtuous clergy.

When one keeps these facts in mind, the reason Japan at that time so intensely received Europe’s influence—particularly experiencing spiritually earth-shattering inspiration—was due to the special circumstance that, as I have just stated, even in Europe, handpicked priests had collectively come to Japan; and setting aside the religious affairs of their land, for Japan, this may have been an unexpected blessing.

Now，regarding this figure of Francis Xavier—if we inquire as to how this priest came to Japan，the truth was that Xavier had originally come to the East to proselytize in India．However，as you are aware，India was a tropical region，and its people were extremely indolent—one sympathizes with how the intense heat left them no recourse—but it could be said they fundamentally lacked any desire to seek new knowledge．Furthermore，in India，religions that had been passed down since ancient times were deeply entrenched，and their influence was so widespread that they did not accept new religions．

Even Francis Xavier, faced with this situation, had grown pessimistic when a Japanese man happened to come to him. This was a man named Yajirō.

As for why this Yajirō came to India, he was a man from Kagoshima.
At a certain time, he killed someone, was pursued by officials, and took refuge in a temple.
He wanted to survive by any means necessary.

However, since he was friends with a Portuguese merchant, he pleaded with that merchant and arranged to skillfully board a Portuguese ship when it anchored at Kagoshima Port, planning his escape overseas.
Having received a letter of introduction from that merchant, he went to the port where two Portuguese ships had arrived.
The captains of these two ships held Francis Xavier in great esteem.

The captain listened to Yajirō’s story and was greatly moved to sympathy.
The captain, intending to introduce Yajirō to Xavier, put him aboard the ship and brought him to Malacca.

Yajirō met Xavier and became deeply impressed by his character, but Xavier too, upon observing Yajirō, not only recognized in him knowledge, memory, and politeness unseen in the tropical natives he had previously encountered but also perceived a spark of earnest effort to continually seek understanding—leading him to conclude that if the Japanese people were such a race, then Japan itself must be the region he ought to missionize.
Xavier was truly astonished by how sincerely Yajirō adhered to Christian teachings.
He had sent Yajirō to a Christian school in Goa, India, to study, but Yajirō—who already had Portuguese friends—improved his Portuguese language skills with astonishing speed compared to ordinary Japanese people even after arriving in Goa.
Moreover, in his comprehension of Christian doctrine as well, he made remarkable progress, becoming the top scholar without equal at that school in Goa.

Given these circumstances, Xavier had placed immense trust in Yajirō; however, precisely because of this, even today, Japanese historians—primarily those writing Christian history, though Christians themselves constituted the majority—have trusted Xavier without reservation, often accepting his claims at face value and esteeming Yajirō’s character highly. Yet from the perspective of those of us engaged in literature, such a view seems altogether unconvincing.

Even when examining this young man named Yajirō from various angles, his clear social status or background remained elusive.
There were few clear points.
While it seemed certain he was acquainted with Portuguese merchants, when Xavier inquired extensively about Japanese affairs, Yajirō knew absolutely nothing regarding matters of religion.
Therefore, since he knew nothing about Japanese Buddhism—indeed, was utterly ignorant—it is recorded in Xavier’s own letters that he was greatly disappointed.
Yet once the matter related to trade, this Yajirō demonstrated remarkably precise knowledge.
Judging from this, it could be understood that he was likely of merchant origin.
He was said to have been thirty-five or thirty-six years old at the time.

I believe this man was a seasoned man of the world—a consummate socialite who had thoroughly mastered the art of adapting to ever-shifting circumstances.
Thus, adhering to the adage “When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” upon meeting Xavier, he must have made considerable efforts to conform to this priest.
That he became devoted to Xavier was likely genuine, for those capable of murder often prove remarkably susceptible to infatuation—a perspective from which his captivation by Xavier becomes understandable.
As for what moved Yajirō most in Christian teachings, it was the Passion of Christ; I believe this man possessed a fundamentally Bohemian disposition.
That such a Yajirō devoted himself to Christ’s Passion—this fact alone stands as an event worth noting—yet Yajirō never became a Christian.

At first，while Xavier remained nearby，he maintained a solemn demeanor，but soon began to stray.
Later，he boarded those hybrid vessels—half pirate ship，half trading vessel—journeyed into China，and left records showing his eventual killing by Chinese people at Ningbo.

Being such a man，this Yajirō was remarkably polite.
While Japanese people do possess inherent courtesy，truly virtuous individuals tend toward natural bluntness rather than exaggerated formality in social interactions.
I suspect Yajirō adopted an excessively solemn attitude toward Xavier in all matters.
Xavier placed great trust in this demeanor—likely due to flawed preconceptions about Japanese character—creating what appears to have been a critical misunderstanding in his perception of them.

There is another interesting point here, but if you ask why I consider Yajirō to be such a man—for example, Xavier—

“If I go and proselytize, will the Japanese people immediately become Christians?”—thus Xavier asked Yajirō, whereupon Yajirō replied—

“Ah, the Japanese are a highly logical people. They won’t convert to Christianity straightaway, but once they grasp the reasoning, they will change faith.”

—he replied in this manner.
In such aspects, this perspective on Japanese people proves remarkably accurate—even Yajirō, who appeared to lack any Buddhist knowledge—demonstrating precise human insight.

Moreover, when Xavier proposed boarding a Portuguese ship to visit Japan, Yajirō responded—

“Portuguese sailors are incorrigible lechers—they’ve earned terrible reputations even in Japanese ports. Boarding those vessels would tarnish Christianity’s name.”
“Therefore, take a Chinese ship.”

—and so saying, he had him board a Chinese ship.
Such matters too are lightly dismissed by Japanese historians as mere legends—that Yajirō ever said such things—but I believe therein lies Yajirō’s true intent.
Yajirō, being a man of playboy-like bearing, likely knew through visceral experience all too well that such sailors’ lifestyles would repel Japanese people.

Accompanied by this Yajirō, Francis Xavier came to Japan where the Japanese people welcomed them with great enthusiasm; initially it proved a bustling success with crowds thronging in droves.
Since they had brought along about seven Black people, the Japanese flocked to see these individuals they found utterly novel.
Having obtained an audience with Lord Shimazu of Satsuma, they secured permission for proselytization.
At this time Xavier befriended Ninji, a high-ranking monk at Fukusō-ji Temple in Kagoshima.
This Fukusō-ji was said to be the Shimazu family's ancestral temple in Kagoshima, and since records indicate about a hundred Zen monks resided there at the time, it stood as an exceptionally large temple—the greatest in Satsuma—while Ninji himself, I believe, ranked as that domain's most eminent Zen monk.

Xavier borrowed this temple and began preaching Christianity.

Francis Xavier met the eminent monk Ninji of Fukusō-ji Temple nearly every day and became friends with him in various ways; with Ninji, he engaged in conversations seizing upon diverse topics, and these have been preserved in something like records.

When Xavier went to Fukusō-ji Temple one day, he found about a hundred monks engaged in zazen.
This must have appeared as an unusual scene.

Xavier asked,
“What on earth are they doing there?”

Ninji replied,
“Ah, that? That is meditation.”
“They’re presently engaged in ascetic practices, you see.”

he replied.

This did not quite make sense to Xavier.

“Even if you call it meditation—what exactly are they thinking while doing something like that?”

he could not help but ask.

When Ninji heard this question, he smiled warmly and,

“Well, given those fellows’ nature, they aren’t thinking anything worthwhile.”
“Most likely, they’re thinking about how much in offerings they’ll collect tomorrow or what dishes will be served when they visit parishioners—that sort of thing.”
“They aren’t really thinking anything significant.”

he gave such a reply.

This answer was truly symbolic—exactly what one would expect from a Zen Buddhist monk to say.
That was a reasonable account.
Precisely because this monk called Ninji was what was then termed an eminent monk and indeed considered a high-ranking priest, such words carried significance.
Generally speaking, Zen begins from affirming all aspects of human nature—everything humans possess—exactly as they are.
Ninji too affirmed—strived to affirm—the full spectrum of human actions, from the highest to the lowest.
For them, this affirmation of humanity formed the very starting point.

Since Zen thinks in this manner, for example, it completely affirms all human strengths and weaknesses without exception. Furthermore, upon this fundamental effort of affirmation, they devise a path to peace of mind that is uniquely their own. They strive to discover a world of peace of mind.

The official stance of Zen is to seek one’s own enlightenment without concerning oneself with others; precisely because of this, they conversely adopt a generous attitude toward others. To put it simply, they can become magnanimous.

Therefore, Ninji could not bring himself to claim that these monks—sitting in zazen with solemn faces during their training—had attained a state of flawless conduct. Even if they were thinking the most mundane thoughts arising from inherent human weakness, he considered such matters not worthy of censure. This reflected an exceptionally lenient perspective. Thus did he voice these thoughts.

Upon hearing this, Xavier was greatly surprised.
It is recorded that they promptly reported to their homeland that Japanese monks, even during ascetic practices, never contemplated matters like the universe, God, or truth while meditating, but rather thought about money and meals.

On another occasion, Xavier turned to Ninji and,
“In your case, was youth preferable, or is old age more favorable?”
he once asked such a question.

Ninji responded to this,

“Well, my youth was better, you see—when I was young, I had energy and could do things I liked…” he said.

There had been such exchanges of questions and answers when Xavier proceeded to pose this inquiry:
――
“Now then. Suppose there is a sailor boarding a ship attempting to sail from Port A to Port B. When faced with this situation—is it better for him to boldly venture into raging seas and let storms buffet him onward, or should he first approach some port, then gradually make his way from port to port? Which course would be preferable?”

When he heard this, Ninji burst out laughing.
And he answered:

“That’s already been decided!”
“It goes without saying!”
“It’s better to head for the port.”
“If the port is clearly defined and they know they’ll be welcomed, anyone would go there.”
“But I don’t know where my ship is headed.”
“Since I don’t know my own destination, even if asked something like what you say, I cannot give a response.”

That was such an answer.

Ninji deeply respected Xavier.
He had also become profoundly devoted to Catholicism.
And he had even considered converting himself, enduring great anguish over it.

When we examine Zen Buddhism—the faith to which Ninji had devoted himself—this religion affirms life as it exists and seeks peace of mind solely through conceptual means by pursuing personal enlightenment through practices like zazen.
They speak of great enlightenment regarding life and death, and from our perspective, these high-ranking Zen monks appear thoroughly awakened beings. Yet I believe that precisely those most elevated in monkhood recognize the immaturity of their own enlightenment.
Even within such realms of awakening, Buddhism offers no practical application—there exist no concrete guidelines.
They cannot comprehend what they themselves are doing.

However, Xavier had made poverty his foremost guiding principle and structured his entire life around it.
And thus, his life was structured around dedicating everything to others' happiness.

When confronted with a religion possessing such clearly defined practical objectives, one like Zen Buddhism lost all significance.
The more elevated a monk became in rank, the more acutely he perceived enlightenment's essential emptiness—and it was precisely this realization that tormented Ninji profoundly.

After Xavier had returned to his homeland, a missionary named Almeida—one of his disciples—arrived. It was to this Almeida that Ninji addressed:

“Since I have status and reputation as a Zen monk, I cannot openly become a Christian—but might I ask you to bestow baptism upon me?”
“And since I serve as priest of his lordship’s family temple, when the lord dies, I must bury him at the temple.”
“Since that cannot be helped, could you please just overlook that one thing?”

he made such requests.

Then Almeida,

“That won’t do.”
“You must cast away all such things—honor, status, everything.”
“If you do not abandon everything, I cannot possibly grant you baptism.”

he answered decisively.
And thus, ultimately, Ninji ended up not being granted baptism.
When Almeida returned to his homeland, came back again, and visited Satsuma for the third time, Ninji was already dead; however, it was passed down that Almeida heard there had been a last testament from Ninji stating how truly regrettable it was to die without receiving baptism.

There was another instance of interaction between this Zen monk and the Catholic clergy, but Francis Xavier went to Bungo after meeting Ninji. And there was his meeting with a Zen monk named Fukadaji. At this time, Fukadaji looked at Xavier’s face and,

“Your face seems familiar—how about this, do you not recognize mine?”

Fukadaji asked.

Upon hearing this，Xavier was surprised.
He had never met this Japanese person before and consequently had never seen the face，so it was only natural that he was surprised.
He answered as follows.

“No，I have never seen your face before.”

Upon hearing this answer, Fukadaji burst into uproarious laughter.
And turning toward the other Zen monks who had just come to his temple,
“This person claims he’s never seen my face, but what a big liar he is!”
he said something along those lines.
The Zen monks who had been addressed looked as though they understood what Fukadaji was saying, but Xavier could not accept it.
It was only natural that this was unacceptable, and Xavier—

“This is a strange thing to hear.”
“I have never told a lie.”
“Even now, it’s not that I told a lie.”
“Why do you call me a liar?”

he protested.

Having been told this, Fukadaji gave the following answer:

"You may act so self-righteous now, but wasn't it you who found five hundred kan of gold for me on Mount Hiei exactly fifteen hundred years ago as a merchant?"
"I can't let you forget that."
"Or have you truly forgotten?"

Such were the words.

This was fundamentally a Zen dialogue.

For Xavier, such matters had never entered his mind from the beginning.
As for the essence of Zen dialogue and such concepts, he had no knowledge of them.
It was only natural that he did not know this.
It was entirely irrelevant.
Therefore, he came to think of this monk Fukadaji as a man who spouted nothing but absurdities.
And so,

“How old exactly are you?”

he asked Fukadaji.

Fukadaji answered and said,

“Me? I’m fifty-two years old.”

Then, Xavier pressed:

“Isn’t it absurd that a fifty-two-year-old man could have lent money on Mount Hiei fifteen hundred years ago? That is impossible. Why do you say such a thing?”

This left even the Zen monks utterly flummoxed.

In other words, Zen had its own conventions unique to the Zen world, and it was upon these conventions that they manipulated logic.
Everything formed a world that could only be established through mutual agreements made in advance.

For example, if one were to ask, “What is Buddha?”

“It is nothingness.”
“It is a dung-scraping stick,” they would say.

Although they put on faces of understanding based on these mutual agreements, that was merely a matter of appearances.
It remained unclear whether they truly understood or not.

Therefore, when it came down to actuality—that Buddha was Buddha and a dung-scraping stick was a dung-scraping stick—confronted with such ordinary, straightforward logic, this kind of reasoning proved utterly useless.
And when considering what kind of power could fundamentally overturn such most fundamental logic and where it resided, it existed only where practice and thought were unified.

However, this way of life proved truly difficult for Zen monks.
Therefore, Zen monks merely thought about things through concepts based on conventions alone, lacking any practical application.
Since they were groping after something like enlightenment within the conceptual realm—even while relying on intellectual faculties—there existed no person who truly understood the extent of their own actual capabilities.
Thus, when faced with religious figures like Catholic priests—who staked everything on practical action—and their concrete deeds, Zen monks felt profoundly threatened.
They came to keenly sense their own inadequacy and meagerness.
Consequently, it became highly fashionable for those who adhered to Zen Buddhism—despite being monks themselves—to convert to Catholicism.
That is to say, their numbers far exceeded what we today might imagine.
While this may seem astonishing from our present perspective, it remains an established fact documented in historical records.

After these dialogues with Fukadaji, Xavier left Kagoshima and went to Yamaguchi.

Having conducted missionary work in Yamaguchi, Xavier proceeded to Kyoto; however, Kyoto at that time was in the midst of war, existing in a state of utter chaos where the sovereignty of Japan as a nation could not be discerned.
This situation left even Xavier bewildered.
Yet through their characteristic persistence and zealous searching typical of missionaries, they eventually found the Ashikaga Shogun fleeing about, captured him, and entreated permission to proselytize in Japan.
This must have been an immensely difficult undertaking for that era.
Nevertheless, Xavier accomplished this task—a circumstance through which one may discern the practical capabilities inherent in Catholic priests.

Now, the attitude that the Ashikaga Shogun took toward Xavier’s request for permission to proselytize was truly peculiar.
Xavier was dressed like a beggar at that time.
At first glance, he appeared every bit a shabby monk; one could hardly believe this was a revered priest.
He completely lacked any semblance of dignity.
This left the Shogun deeply disappointed.
Therefore, the Shogun,

“You come making such a request of me, but have you even brought any gifts?”

he demanded.
Xavier,

“The gifts are in Yamaguchi.”
“The journey here was too long, so I didn’t bring them,” he replied.
When the Shogun heard this,
“Without gifts, this won’t do,” he declared, and rejected him.
Xavier, having been told this, gave up and returned to Yamaguchi.
There, Xavier thought:
Meeting the Shogun again would be meaningless in this chaotic era—it’d be futile.
I won’t give gifts to the Shogun or his ilk—I’ll give everything to the lord of Yamaguchi.—

Xavier resolved to present the gifts to the lord of Yamaguchi, but having been chastened by his previous meeting with the Shogun, he took care with his appearance this time.

Having dressed himself resplendently, he met with the lord of Yamaguchi and presented the gifts. The lord, struck by his imposing demeanor, was filled with reverence.
And so it was that he immediately obtained permission to proselytize.
It was precisely this resplendent attire and gifts that proved decisive.

Then, it was precisely around this time that a Portuguese merchant ship arrived at the province of Bungo.
To be more precise, it came to a place called Usuki, located right next to Funai in Bungo.

Among those aboard this Portuguese merchant ship, upon hearing that Francis Xavier—the missionary to the Orient—was in Yamaguchi, it was decided that they should invite him.
When Xavier, having heard the messenger’s words, came all the way to Usuki, those on the ship—on account of it being the arrival of this missionary to the East—all dressed in their finest attire and went out together to greet him.

As for Xavier, he was in his usual beggar-like attire, arriving on foot without riding a horse or palanquin.
That alone would have been manageable, but Xavier had contracted a fever during his journey—his body burning with heat and sapped of strength—so he arrived staggering unsteadily.

Everyone urged him, “Please ride a horse,” but he refused to listen. With no alternative, the resplendently dressed welcoming party—though all had been mounted—purposefully dismounted and trailed along behind Xavier in procession. When they finally reached where the Portuguese ship lay anchored, they fired sixty-three cannon shots.

Those inside Usuki Castle were astonished.
Thinking the Portuguese ship had engaged pirates in battle, they hurriedly dispatched soldiers and rushed to its aid.
When they hastened to the scene and inquired, contrary to their expectations, it was explained that they had fired a salute because the revered priest had now arrived.
The group that had rushed there were utterly astonished and returned to report this to the castle.

Upon hearing this, the lord of Usuki declared that if he was such a revered priest that everyone respected, he simply had to meet him; thus, a messenger was dispatched again, and Xavier ended up meeting the lord of Usuki.

This lord was Ōtomo Yoshishige, who later changed his name to Sōrin.
The time of this meeting was truly an extraordinary affair, and the party from the Portuguese merchant ship unfurled a lavish display.

At the very front of the procession, the band stood lined up in a row, while behind them, Portuguese men clad in gallant uniforms adorned with gold and silver braiding sat astride horses, arrayed in formation.
Next, Xavier rode in a vehicle, and after him came the captain boarding with gifts heaped high.

It was through presenting these gifts that they secured an audience.
So impressed was Ōtomo Sōrin by the majestic dignity of the display that he immediately permitted Christian missionary work—and what’s more, upon witnessing this spectacle, there were even those who converted on the spot.

At this time, when Xavier was giving a sermon lasting about an hour, converts emerged one after another in that short span of time.
This is rather astonishing.
Afterward as well, the propagation of Christianity remained remarkably rapid.
But in any case, the speed of this initial period was truly remarkable.

Therefore, unless Japanese people displayed an imposing and spirited ceremonial demeanor, others would neither trust nor respect them.
And unless they presented ritual offerings and gave gifts, matters would not proceed smoothly.
Having realized such things, they reported all of this back to their home country.

It was also said that the Japanese people were culturally advanced, intellectually curious, deeply honorable, and magnanimous—a people of great sincerity yet also of intense curiosity.
There are even letters that wrote things like: if they brought something rare, it would pique the curiosity of the Japanese people and prove alluring; that taking along a Black person might be a good idea.

On one occasion, the Portuguese took one of these Black men to Nobunaga.
Nobunaga was astonished when he saw this Black man.
Nobunaga was a man of remarkable rationality, possessing a modern intellect rare for Japan, but suspecting deception here, he stripped him naked, even had him remove his loincloth, and touched his body with his hands—yet he simply couldn’t comprehend it.
This time, even when he washed him with hot water, the color did not come off.
Having concluded that this was genuine, he received the Black attendant from the monk who had brought him along and employed him as a sort of tea attendant, it is said.

This remains recorded in Japanese annals as well—at the time of the Honnōji Incident, this tea attendant drew his sword and fought. When Honnōji Castle fell, he then went to Nobunaga's son Nobutada at Nijo Castle and faced off against the Akechi forces in battle.
The Akechi forces wrested his sword away and cast it aside, declaring, "We've no intention of killing your sort."
Taken captive and brought before Mitsuhide, they spared him on account of not being Japanese—so it's said—and released him back to the church.
That record persists even now.

Well, this has been rather hastily wrapped up, but as time has run out and there's no conclusion to be had, I'll stop here.

――A Certain Lecture on History—End――