“My [Spiritual] Experiment of Seeing God ” (1905) by Tsunashima Ryōsen
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| Tsunashima Ryōsen (Source) |
Now, one of the people Imaoka-sensei tells us he was profoundly influenced by as a young man studying at the Imperial University of Tokyo between 1903-1906, was Tsunashima Ryōsen (1873-1907). Imaoka-sensei was attending lectures on mysticism by his teacher Anesaki Masaharu when he read Ryōsen’s “My [Spiritual] Experiment of Seeing God” in the magazine “Shinjin.” He tells us he was deeply moved by it and began to realise that there were real and living examples of people like Meister Eckhart that he was hearing about in his lectures. Indeeed, Imoaka-sensei was so taken with Tsunashima Ryōsen’s thinking in this essay that he plucked up the courage to visit him on his deathbed in order to receive guidance. (It was on his deathbed that the essay translated here was written.)
In an interview with the Japan Broadcasting Corporation (NHK) in 1974 Imaoka-sensei tells us that, although Ryōsen was baptised as a Christian when he was young,
“. . . he soon became sceptical of Christianity and distanced himself from the church, dedicating himself to literary criticism and ethics research. After contracting a terminal illness, he began to immerse himself in religious contemplation, eventually having an experience of seeing God. It wasn’t something you could simply label as Christianity or Buddhism. It transcended those, a vast and profound experience, not at all occult-like, but a vivid experience of a mysterious fusion between God, as the deep reality of the universe, and oneself.” [You can read a translation of the whole interview at this link.]
Following Tsunashima Ryōsen’s death in 1907, Imaoka-sensei joined a group of Ryōsen’s students and admirers called the Ryōsen-kai (梁川会 Ryōsen Association) and it was in that group that he met Tenko Nishida (Tenko-san) who was also to have a profound influence upon him, not least of all because it was Tenko-san who introduced him to Okada Torajiro and his practice of Seiza meditation (Quiet Sitting).Given all the foregoing connections, I have long wanted to read Ryōsen’s “My [Spiritual] Experiment of Seeing God
” but, alas, no English translation seems ever to have been made. However, six months ago, I found the Japanese text and produced a first, quick, translation, simply to get a first glimpse of what the esssay was all about. I found it fascinating, and reading it has certainly helped me better to understand Imaoka-sensei’s own religious and spiritual development. I was also profoundly struck by how much it chimed with a mystical
experience I had when I was twenty-two, one which was powerful enough to
send me into the ministry and the study of theology (see HERE if you want to read about that . . . ).
It’s important to know that Ryōsen’s title, 予が見神の実験, uses jikken (実験) in its older Meiji-era sense of a direct, empirical verification of truth—this is why my initial rendering of “jikken” is “experiment,” as it echoes the author’s claim that his vision of God was a kind of first-hand trial or test. After that I switch to translating it as “experience” to avoid the modern, scientific, laboratory overtones of “experiment” while still conveying the lived, personal nature of what he recounts.
Anyway, as of today (7 August 2025) I have now gone through the whole text four more times and offer readers a revised draft English translation of it below.
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「神と偕にたのしみ神と偕にはたらく」 |
My [Spiritual] Experiment of Seeing God (予が見神の実験)
(1905)
by Tsunashima Ryōsen (綱島梁川)
The original Japanese text can be found at this link
This essay is not written for those who have already had a profound religious experience, but rather to commend it to the many friends who sincerely seek God who yearn for God (神) with sincere hearts and seek to enter the religious life (宗教的生活).
I shall now speak about my own experience (実験) of seeing God (見神); although I do not do this without some trepidation. Yet, I feel
compelled—having cast aside all worldly hesitation and anxiety—to
fulfil a mission that demands I speak as faithfully and clearly as
possible of what I have witnessed. It is not that I am eager to proclaim my own testimony to the world, but rather, with my dull faculties and inferior capacity, I am nonetheless overjoyed and deeply grateful to have been granted this rare spiritual revelation. Moreover, I speak for the sake of those in the world who yearn sincerely for God yet have not heard His voice, those who weep in secret over the troubles of their hearts, those who are lost, those who are burdened—in a word, all who have stumbled and been wounded by the problems of life and have tasted the bitter tears of anguish. I speak to share with these friends, as truly as I can, what I have come to understand. May heaven bear witness as I now stand here to proclaim this precious message to the world.
I shall now endeavour to convey my testimony (見証) to the world as truly as I can. Yet, alas, this task is inherently very difficult. Though it may seem presumptuous, since I first saw God, the desire to proclaim this supreme matter of life-and-death importance (一大事因縁) to the world has grown stronger within me day by day. However, when it comes to the means by which I might convey it, I find myself completely at a loss (放焉). How can this purpose be achieved? Reflecting on this, I realise my testimony is of a reality so transcendent (超絶), so awe-inspiring (駭絶), and so unfathomably mysterious and deep (幽玄), that it seems utterly beyond the reach of thought or speech. Are not human words and ideas utterly inadequate even faintly to suggest the mystical and concrete reality of its nature? Thinking thus, I have hesitated and fallen into despair many times, and now I understand why the testimonies of the ancients (古人) often left others wandering about in a fog of confusion (五里霧中). Even when they poured out their hearts (心血を瀝尽) in eloquent words that shone brightly like the sun and stars, the more
they tried to elaborate, their pointing seems only to draw ever farther away from the moon in the heavens (指す方のいよ／＼天上の月を離るゝが如き観あるは如何にぞや). When they spoke of their enlightenment (悟), it was as if a guide to a castle led people endlessly around the outer moat (外濠) and inner moat (内濠), never reaching the central keep (本丸). If even the ancients struggled thus, how much more so must I, with my shallow realisation, fear that in speaking of enlightenment, I might simply be peeling away one layer after another, and thus forever prevent others from reaching the core. Must I, then, abandon this task altogether? No—no! Has not God, in His wisdom, granted me this revelation in the twilight of my life for a purpose? To share it to the world, however imperfectly, is my sacred duty. Indeed, enlightenment and divine testimony are, in the end, beyond the reach of words. Yet, if I commit my full awareness to paper with perfect honesty, might I not convey some glimmer of that awe-inspiring consciousness of the last remnant of a profound light (黝然たる光の穂末), and hint at its subtle (微) fragrance (香気)? The power lies not with me, but with God; my part is simply to tell what I have seen, as truly as I can.
The presence of God (神の現前), or His indwelling (内住), or the exaltation of the self (自我の高挙), or the consciousness of radiance (光耀), are things I have personally experienced many times in response to circumstances and events. However, those instances that left an indelible memory and remained vividly with me long afterward were exceedingly rare, and those all occurred during the summer and autumn of Meiji 37 (1904). Whether more experiences will come, I cannot say, but this past year marked what might be called the “Year of Radiance” (光耀 ) in my religious life—a time of revelation (啓示). It was a year during which I was granted three encounters with a kind of rare light (光明) more tangible than anything I had known before. And of these experiences, the last one was the most astonishing and awe-inspiring (驚絶駭絶).
The first occurred at midnight on a certain day in July last year (I have forgotten the exact date). Illness had forced me into the habit of sitting in bed for an hour each night, bolt-upright in silent, monk-like stillness (枯坐する慣ひ). That night, I awoke as usual and began my vigil. The walls stood silent; my mind, clear as a starry sky, held not a single shadow—only a deepening purity. Then, a gentle, hazy joy—what might be called the heady rapture of self-surrender (帰依の酔ひ心地)—welled up quietly from within, until it gradually suffused my entire consciousness. This lucid, brimming awareness—this joy, unlike any earthly delight, serene and solitary yet never lonely—persisted for perhaps fifteen minutes before fading like a sigh. (A passage titled “Divine Radiance” in my “Record of Illness” [病間録] describes this moment of emotional illumination. Though I had known similar experiences before, none had been so pure, so complete.) Even now, I cannot fully fathom the depth of that night’s revelation. When I dimly recall my state of mind then, it is as if I catch, for a fleeting moment, a glimpse of heavenly life here on earth.
The second encounter occurred near the end of September last year. After a long convalescence, I ventured out—with the support of my family—to a bathhouse not far from my home. Beneath a sky scrubbed clean by autumn rains, the distant wooded hills at the town’s edge were were bathed in the light of the setting sun. As I gazed upon this scene, my heart stirred inexplicably—and in that very instant, I was struck by a sudden awareness: that, together with the God of Heaven and Earth (天地の神), I simultaneously beheld this thickly wooded scene before my eyes. This flash of consciousness, upon reflection, was by no means an illusion or a mere phantasm (空華幻影). It rang out like a bell, transcending reason—a new revelation, intuitively known (新啓示). Even now, recalling that moment, I cannot fully analyse the awareness of having seen [the world] alongside God (神と与ともに観たりてふ).
The final experience I will describe is the one I earlier called “astonishing and awe-inspiring”—so fresh, so dazzling, so piercing and profound was my experience of the presence of God (神の現前) that I doubt I shall ever know its equal. To this day, I can replay it in my mind, only to marvel anew at its transcendent grandeur and reaffirm its unshakable truth. Below is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to a friend, recounting the scene as it unfolded.
Forgive my abruptness in writing, but ever since that night of divine encounter I once mentioned to you, the lingering thrill of awe and joy has sustained in me a kind of inspiration (インスピレーション), and it continues to affect both my body and soul in no small way.
Since that event, my love and longing for God have grown even stronger. ‘How might I share this awakening with others?’—this has become my sole preoccupation. On one hand, there is a desire to make this truth known; yet on the other, I am also moved by a deeper, more sincere and solemn sympathy for the many friends in the world who have not yet attained this awareness or who are struggling to do so. Through this, I feel I have come to understand, in some measure, the great compassion (大悲) of Shaka (釈迦, i.e. Shakyamuni Buddha) and the great love of Christ (基督).
During this year alone, I have been granted three such moments of awakening (触発)—the earlier two still stir my heart with a light that consoles, yet the encounter I shared with you last was the most mystical (最も神秘的), the most lucid (最も明瞭), the most intense (最もインテンス). O my friend—to whom, and how, should I speak of this unparalleled, extraordinary awareness?
That night was hushed. Beneath a solitary lamp, I took up my brush to write—though what, I scarcely recall—when suddenly, by some movement of the soul, the ‘I’ I had previously known was no more. Each stroke of the brush, each whisper of ink on paper, blazed before me as something transcendent, unfathomable (超絶的不思議). It lasted but a few minutes, if that. Yet in that short span, from the depths of an infinite solitude, there rose before me—majestic, undeniable—a great Living Presence (大いなる霊的活物). To meet this Living Presence was to experience a shock (錯愕) [Tsunashima Ryōsen adds in English the word “Shocking”] of awe and joy beyond the power of words to convey. I can only appeal to your intuition, dear brother; even now, I fail to evoke a fraction of its truth.
My brother, what do you think of this? That one such as I—someone with a critical, scholarly spirit (学究的)—should know an experience so Eastern, so medieval in its mysticism (東洋的、中世紀的とも申すべき神秘的実験), seems almost impossible, does it not? Even to me, for days after, it felt as though I had been bewitched by a wily fox. Yet with time, the awareness of which I spoke grew increasingly clear and certain, until the astonishing reality of it began to shine as an indestructible, diamond-like truth (不壊金剛). Today, it has become an unshakable, undeniable fact of my spiritual life (心霊上), and therein lies its power. (The rest of the letter is omitted.)
This, then, is what transpired one night last November, around eleven o’clock. Of this encounter, I have nothing more to say, for no matter what eloquent words I might employ, I do not believe I could explain it any more clearly than I have already written here. Truth is simple. Let truth speak for itself. Excessive explanation is a burden to truth.
Yet, I feel there is one more thing I must say regarding the consciousness of seeing God (見神). This is because I suspect some readers may question whether phrases like “the I that was no longer I” (我が我ならぬ我となりたり) or “I seemed to meet a Living Presence” (霊的活物とはたと行き会ひたり) still seem somewhat vague or imprecise (疎雑). If pressed to express this consciousness with the utmost precision, I would say this: the ‘I’ who had moments earlier held the brush as an ordinary man suddenly became one with the ultimate reality at the heart of heaven and earth (天地の奥なる実在). It was as if “I” vanished, and God Himself was now holding the brush. This is the most precise expression of the transcendent, staggering, shatteringly awe-inspiring (超絶、驚絶、駭絶) reality I experienced in that moment. Beyond this, I have no means to depict it. I saw God in this way; I met God in this way. No—to say “I saw” or “I met” is still superficial and external, utterly inadequate to describe the consciousness of that moment. It was a fusion (融会), a union (合一), of God and myself. In that moment, I completely melted into the reality of God. I became God (我即神). Thanks be that this awe-inspiring consciousness was given to me directly and unequivocally by God Himself, without the slightest mediation (一毫) or reliance on the testimonies or traditions of others. (Their indirect influence I leave unspoken.)
Looking back, I see, that for the most part, my former religious faith (宗教的信仰) sprang not from direct realisation but from trust in Christ (基督) and other pioneers—leaning on their testimonies as proof, and thus only vaguely forming my own understanding. Half-hearing others’ voices, half-borrowing their awareness, I, too, fancied I had seen God and known His love. In other words, much of my faith was indirectly influenced by others. However, as I dived ever more deeply into my inner life (内部生活), I cast aside (抛) all the testimonies of those who came before, and resolved to hear God’s voice answer my own soul’s cry. My seeking was not in vain: in the sanctuary of my deepest longings, I felt His presence (わが深き至情の宮居にわが神在しぬと感じて)—how often did my heart leap at seeing that light! The God I saw was no longer a conventional idol (因襲的偶像) or an abstract ideal (抽象的理想). Yet even this direct encounter—was it not still veiled as if by some thin gauze (薄紗)? Like blossoms mirrored in water, faintly glimpsed? I do not dismiss my past, immature visions as mere illusion, error, or futility. I honour them all: each, in its season, was a true glimpse of God, fitting my capacity then, each a link in the chain of my spiritual life. Thanks be—all were heaven-sent. Yet to base an enduring faith on them alone felt flawed. My earlier encounters with the divine might be likened to following the fragrance of plum blossom through the uncertain darkness of a spring night—real, yet elusive. Now, all is changed. The God of heaven and earth (天地の神) stands before me, sun-bright, a fact to astonish mind and soul. What grace that we, who are of inferior faculties in this last age (末代下根の我等にして), should taste this this rare and subtle (稀有微妙) proof and share in the Dharma’s (法) boundless joy!
Now, seeing (見), faith (信), and practice (行) are the three pillars of religious life. None outweighs the others—each sustains and completes the rest. Yet based on my own realisation, I would assign to seeing a significance beyond conventional understanding. Too often, seeing and faith are set in opposition, with faith alone bearing religion’s full weight, while seeing is scarcely mentioned, let alone is its radiant meaning clarified. But this I now affirm: at the root (根柢) of every great faith lies a great seeing of God (見神). None truly believe who have not truly seen. Christ’s faith sprang from seeing God within and hearing His voice; Paul’s faith sprang forth when a blinding light struck him down on the road to Damascus. Need we rehearse [Shakyamuni Buddha’s] awakening under the Bodhi Tree, or the radiance that once filled Huineng’s cave (ハルラ山洞 perhaps for 赫羅山洞) [where he retreated after receiving the Dharma from the Fifth Patriarch]? This true seeing grounds—no, must ground—all great faith, a faith which is clearer than fire. Faith without seeing is blind, rigid, heteronomous—a shell, hard without but hollow within. When we say “I believe in God,” yet feel some lack, is it not because we have yet to meet Him face to face? True, ancient scriptures say: “Blessed are those who believe without seeing,” and “Faith is the assurance of things unseen.” Yet these capture but half the truth. Does not faith in the unseen itself rest on some glimpsed foundation? Strictly speaking, seeing culminates in faith—what is faith’s sharpest clarity if not seeing? But here I speak of faith in its ordinary sense. Therefore I declare: “Blessed are those who believe unseen—yet thrice blessed those who see and believe!” And this “seeing” is not like Thomas touching the wounds [of the risen Christ]—this is no shallow sense-play. The faith of those who truly see God is like a great tree of life (人生の大樹), its roots raising it up from the centre of the universe, its branches and leaves flourishing without end; not even the fires of the aeons (劫火) can consume them, nor the winds of time (劫風) bring it down.
After that encounter, I doubted—could this seeing of God be nothing but an unfounded delusion? And time and again I brought it before the court of reason (理性の法庭), seeking its strict and impartial judgment. Yet reason could render no verdict but ultimate approval (究竟). I even feared some trick of the brain—a neural phantasm (空華 lit. “sky-flowers”)—and so, with ruthless honesty, I replayed the event in my mind, inspecting it from every angle, penetrating it to its core. And there I confirmed: this truth had welled up from the very foundations of the universe (宇宙の根柢). Yet still I worried that I had exaggerated or deceived myself, and so I endlessly revisited my memory of it, striving to examine it in detail with the impartiality of a third party. Each time, the fact of it only grew more astonishing—a consciousness so rare (稀有), so beyond words, that now no shred of doubt remains. Yet of its full meaning and worth, I today grasp but little. The contemplation of truth is by no means easy. For now, I can only strive, as they say, to “practice after enlightenment” (悟後の修行), ascending step by step.
Ah, all I have seen and felt is as I have described. Perhaps I rushed to speak of myself, or obscured my meaning in excess words—forgive these failings of my brush. Even now, I am still struggling to express this matter adequately. Yet this much is sure: I saw God in this way, and from this, there has welled up within me the unparalleled glory of the consciousness that “I am a child of God” (吾れは神の子なり), a truth no earthly thing could equal. I awoke to my true place in the universe: neither God Himself, nor a mere wave in nature’s tide, but a child of God who shares in the very management of heaven, earth, and human life. What nobility! In this one awareness, are not salvation (救ひ), liberation (解脱), light (光明), peace (平安), action (活動)—nay, all meaning—summed up (一切人生的意義の総合)? Ah, I am God’s child! As His child I must live, worthy of that name. And so a new world of duty unfolds before me.
Yet when I look back, what am I? A broken man in a withered frame (枯槁), barely able to step beyond my door—what can such a person achieve? I once wept at this contradiction. Then came the voice of certitude: “As long as you are in the world, you must expend yourself to the utmost. One who has seen God shall in the end never die.” Fresh strength welled up within. For the God I saw is always with me—His unseen hand ever supporting me.
(May 1905)
The base text for this translation is:
底本: 現代日本文學大系 96 文芸評論集 (Gendai Nihon Bungaku Taikei 96: Bungei Hyōronshū)
Publisher: 筑摩書房 (Chikuma Shobō)
, Publication Date: July 10, 1973 (Showa 48), First Edition, First Printing
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