BUDDHIST HELL

It’s only fitting that when in Japan, you visit a love shrine one day and a “Buddhist hell” temple the next.

It wasn’t Buddha, but British novelist, E.M. Forester that said, “Death destroys a man, the idea of Death saves him.” Are men saved because of fear? Is all religion an attempt to frighten individuals into compliance? And, if you’re only motivated by fear, does that make your actions sincere?

A short story in a futile attempt to illustrate my point:

When I was seven-years old, I was sent to a Christian summer camp for a week. While some children stood by their parents crying, or were pulled from their cars screaming, my only anxiety was getting their early enough to secure a top bunk. I barely had time to say good-bye to my parents before I rushed off to say hello to dozens of potential friends.

The second day at camp, aside from learning to avoid the last bathroom stall and not to litter for fear of bears, we learned that it was essential to ask Jesus into your heart. If you didn’t, you went to hell. This confused me.

I asked about babies. I was told they were exempt.
I asked about people in Africa. I was told they were exempt.
I asked about people who lived alone on islands in undiscovered parts of the world. I was told, once again, that they were exempt. However, this time it came with a disclaimer. “If you don’t know, you’re okay. But if you do know and choose not to let Jesus into your heart, then you will go to hell.”

Me: What if you’re a really good person?
Christian Camp Counselor: No.
Me: What if you saved someone from drowning?
CCC: No.
Me: What if you have a whole farm full of stray dogs and stray cats?
CCC: No.
Me: What if….?
CCC: Little girl, stop talking! There’s no excuse. If you know and you don’t ask Jesus into your heart, you’re going to hell. That’s all there is to it.
Me: (sheepishly raising hand): Well, I am not quite sure if my dad has or not; mostly he stays at home when we go to church. I mean, he goes on Christmas and Mother’s Day, but that’s about it. I am pretty sure about my mom, but I don’t know about my dad.
CCC: Well, you’re dad is going to hell.
Me: What? But he’s a really nice person!
CCC: Sorry; he’s going to hell!
Me: Are you certain? Wouldn’t Jesus see that he’s nice and stuff?
CCC: Nope, sorry. You’re dad is going to hell. Next topic.
Me: (frantically waving my arm) Is there a phone I can use?

I spent the next week in complete turmoil. What if something happened to my dad while I was at camp? Although, not savvy to the ways of the world, growing up on a farm I was aware of death. I also witnessed it on the human level. A child in my class that year died of leukemia. Another friend’s dad died of a heart attack. With the possibility of death ever looming, how could I enjoy canoe trips and marshmellow roasts when my dad was destined to spend eternity withering in agony? Smores lost their taste. Camp songs lost their zing. And kick-the-can didn’t ignite my usual passion. Aside from worrying about my dad’s soul, what about mine?

Feverishly I prayed to Jesus at all hours of the day to come into my heart. The door to my heart was wide open. But if Jesus could read my thoughts, would he know that I was mainly triggered by this sudden burst of religious accountability because I was scared? In my top bunk at night, I would try and reason with him. “It’s not just because I am afraid, Jesus. Really it’s not. I mean, I kind of am. But I want you in my heart, I do. Because I love you. I really mean it. Really. But if you are coming down to earth this week and destroying everything, can you wait until after my soccer game on Thursday? I’d really appreciate it.”

But it all came down to this, was Jesus smarter than a seven-year old girl with hell on her brain? Could he read my mind? And deep down, I was terrified that I was more driven by the thought of the skin burning off my flesh while crows picked at my boiling eyeballs until the end of time than I was at the idea of “unconditional” love. How can you really love if you’re scared all the time? Deep down, I was also petrified that I wasn’t being honest.

When my parents came to pick me up, I threw myself around my dad and screamed, “Have you let Jesus into your heart?” He looked down at me and my troubled expression and answered, “Sure. Of course I have.” After my initial sigh of relief, the harsh realization swept over me that I wasted my precious camp experience worrying about hell. “Can I stay another week?” I asked.

One of my favorite quotes is from Francis Bacon, “It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to desire and many things to fear.”

I must admit, my knowledge on Buddhism is limited. I do keep The Four Noble Truths and The Noble Eightfold Path written down in my journal. I’ve read books on Taoism and the Primordial Breath. Judaism and the Gehenon and Garden of Eden. And I have some inkling on Hinduism and the caste system, and the Native American religion and the Peyotist doctrine. But with all of these, I realized (except for Christianity) that I have no idea what any of these religions’ interpretation of hell was. I was shocked even to discover that Buddhism had a hell, let alone eight hells. Perhaps, it’s my tendency to always focus on the positive. I like to discover new things and learn the assorted roads to enlightenment. I’ve never really been too concerned about what will happen to me if I don’t achieve that goal. But I am trying. Perhaps it is my hell-filtration process.
I don’t want my actions controlled by fear.

But, like always, for my back-story, I apologize.

“Buddhist Hell,” is the Hanibe Gankutsu-in Temple in the town of Komatsu located on the coast of the Sea of Japan. Upon entering, the first sight you see is an enormous Buddha head. Gigantic. Even in the drizzling rain, the sight was impressive. He was perfect, down to the ears that looked like the #8 and the sea-shaped curls on his head.



Leading up to the caves, the path and walkways are filled with countless Buddhas and various statues.






Once you make your way up the walkway, you are lead into a room filled completely with jizos. Apparently, the temple has become famous for the in-demand service of “mizuko reijo” or the exorcism of aborted fetuses. An entire room is dedicated to the lost souls of aborted babies. When you walk through the room with the tiny statues covered in miniature blankets, or charms, or religious paraphernalia, you can feel the guilt of the mothers. The jizos, draped with messages and toys, hang like bribes begging for forgiveness.








Continuing up the steps are more statues, until you enter the caves. The caves are made of limestone and dark with low ceilings. Even only standing at 5’7, I had to duck more than once.




At first, you are greeted by welcoming statues, many with their hands in the mudra position (symbolizing fearlessness). There are also various stages of Buddha’s life represented.

And it’s quite apparent that Buddha didn’t have a problem with sex, as a variety of the sculptures are dedicated to the age-old art of lovemaking. In fact, Buddha seems to look kindly on not only experimenting with your partner, but various partners as well.






Despite the dampness and the mold, the caves appear peaceful, that something this beautiful has to be hidden away.






But then you turn a corner, and a large beast stands with his hand out, beckoning (almost inviting) you into hell.




The first table has four demons dining on eyeballs and entrails. Next to them is a jug of blood.





Further down the line are people decapitated and chopped up.





For telling lies, a man is eaten up by snakes.



For having an abortion, a woman is forced to eat her healthy baby.



For believing in Jesus, you are mutilated, just like Adam and Eve.




Everywhere you looked people are brutalized in one form or another. I couldn’t understand the sin of the man with the inordinately large penis, but he did appear exhausted.



The images and statues in their cruelty are upsetting but what was truly disturbing was they were meant to represent your future if you did not obey. Obviously, religions don’t make their money by being nice. Like the counselor told me when I was seven, if you don’t follow the rules, you go to hell.






Like the duality in the caves, how can we recognize good without recognizing evil? Still, in my stubbornness to try and see the good in people and religions, I have to acknowledge the balance of life. Like Lao Tzu so eloquently wrote it in the fourth century BC

The whole world recognizes the beautiful as the beautiful,
Yet this is only the ugly; the whole world recognizes the good as the good, yet this is only the bad.
Thus Something and Nothing produce each other;
The difficult and the easy complement each other;
The long and the short offset each other;
The high and low incline towards each other;
Note and sound harmonize with each other;
Before and after follow each other.


Regardless of my brief descent into hell, and my appreciation of the Four Noble Truths, I still feel blessed because, like Francis Bacon, I have more desires than I have fears. And that’s the way I believe it should be.