Page 169 of 203

Thank you!

It’s the one-year anniversary of this blog, and I couldn’t have asked for a better year…  There have been over 170.000 hits, far more than expected, and the positive feedback has given me the incentive to keep posting and to try and improve the content…

However, I’ll now be taking a break for a while as I’ll be travelling to Europe to do a comparative study of paganism and Shinto.  I plan to attend the Earth Goddess festival in Glastonbury, as well as explore the Avebury stone circle with a noted earth mysteries expert.  If I’m lucky, I’ll also be taking part in a full moon drumming circle in a neolithic burial chamber.  I’ll be away for three months in all, and while I may be able to make the occasional posting, the blog will certainly not be updated as frequently as heretofore.

One of Shinto’s salient characteristics is the cultivation of gratitude, and it’s a great merit of the Japanese that they are so aware of and grateful for their blessings.  Mindful of this, I would like to express my own gratitude to all the readers of this blog and to hope that they will continue coming back in future.

Thank you!

 

Myth-making and Kojiki

Creation of the world by Izanagi and Izanami

 

Origins
In the late seventh century Emperor Tenmu ordered Are of the Hieda clan to learn by heart the old traditions which were in danger of being lost or ‘interpreted wrongly’.  Clearly the intention was to shape the existing myths to fashion an ideology that supported the ruling families.  Whether Are was a man or woman is not known, but the 28-year old apparently had a photographic memory and completed the task.

Later, in the reign of Empress Genmei, Hieda no Are’s version was written down by O no Yasumaro.  In his own words, he was ‘commanded to select and record the old words.’  To do so, he employed a mixed form of phonetic and semantic Chinese characters.  To later ages it was unreadable, and the text became a little-known house text of the ruling imperial family.  The Nihon shoki, published in 720 just eight years after the Kojiki, was more widely circulated.

Motoori Norinaga at his wriiting desk

Motoori Norinaga
The man who rescued the Kojiki from obscurity was a philologist named Motoori Norinaga (1730-1801).  In the latest edition of Japanese Religions (Vol. 36 Nos. 1-2), Klaus Antoni examines the motivations and effect of Norinaga’s work.  The primary purpose of the eighteenth-century scholar was to render the archaic language of Kojiki into intelligible Japanese, but to do so he had to enter imaginatively into the text, for the meaning was often hidden behind phonetic renderings of obsolete words.

In his interpretation of the text, Antoni suggests, Norinaga was guided by a strong desire to show Japan’s superiority to the hated Chinese.  For Norinaga the Chinese were characterised by selfishness, in contrast to the communal Japanese who put social harmony before self.  Moreover, the Chinese were reliant on rationality, as evidenced by Confucianism, whereas the more sincere Japanese did not need systems of morality since they had a natural sense of goodness.

Norinaga’s purpose was thus to show the superiority of Japan, and he found the means of proving this in the Kojiki.  The creation of the country and the divine descent of the emperor made Japan a ‘kami no kuni’ (land of the kami).  He therefore interpreted passages of the text as he wanted them to be – ‘one must determine language through intuition,’ he noted.

Legacy
Through his lifework, Norinaga not only asserted the centrality of Kojiki to the national canon, but gave powerful backing to the movement to restore the authority of the emperor.  The mythology he championed was later taken up by the Meiji government as its ruling ideology, and it became the key text for State Shinto in the early twentieth century. ‘But it would be a mistake to see Norinaga’s opinions as the basis for canonization of the Kojiki in the modern period,’ writes Konoshi Takamistsu.  ‘Instead it was the modern state’s need for a national canon that caused it to discover Norinaga.’

Still today Norinaga’s legacy shapes contemporary Shinto, but there are good reasons for thinking that Nihon shoki better meets the demands of the age.  It is a more historical work and offers competing versions of the same episodes.  And since it was written in a comprehensible script, it has not had to be filtered through the eighteenth-century consciousness of a man with an anti-Chinese agenda.

*************************************************************************************************************************************************

Information draws on ‘Creating a Sacred Narrative: Kojiki Studies and Shinto Nationalism’ by Klaus Antoni in Japanese Religions Vol 36, Nos. 1 and 2 (Spring and Fall, 2011), p.3-30.

Championing polytheism

 

The kamiari festival on the beach at Izumo, where Japan's "yaoyorozu" kami (eight myriad kami) are welcomed ashore

 

Polytheism and pluralism
The new edition of Japanese Religions, a journal published by the NCC in Kyoto, carries an interesting article by Ugo Dessi, lecturer at Leipzig University.  In his paper Dessi looks at how pluralism has been used by Japanese intellectuals in recent years to promote a nationalist viewpoint.  It’s a curious paradox, since one might presume pluralism to lead to tolerance and open-mindedness, but the thrust of the right-wing argument is that it makes Japan special.

In the first section of his paper Dessi considers the thinking of Shinto intellectuals, such as Yoro Takeshi and Umehara Takeshi. Their ideas rest on the opposition of polytheism and pluralism on the one hand, and Christianity and monotheism on the other.  The latter is portrayed in 1960s terms as exclusivist, dogmatic, patriarchal, aggressive and destructive of the environment.  It is also depicted as inherently Western.

By contrast the Asian way is identified with polytheism, which is able to embrace multiple and mutually contradictory truths. “In its long history Shinto (we may well say in this case, the Japanese people) has accepted Buddhism, Confucianism, and yin-yang thought and has intermingled with them.  This is because at the root of this process lies the acceptance of a plurality of truths,” says a Jinja Honcho pamphlet (2009).

Shrines in Japan often worship several kami at once

A special relation to nature
Some writers have gone further than simply championing the merits of polytheism to suggest that Japan is special. “It is interesting,” writes Ugo Dessi, “to notice that in institutional Shinto the critique of monotheism is also meaningfully connected to the invented tradition of Shinto as a ‘religion of the forest.’ In a self-presentation by the powerful Shinto Kokusai Gakkai (ISF), started in 1994 to promote the study and understanding of Shinto worldwide, the critique takes its cue from the distinction between ‘shallow ecology’ and ‘deep ecology’.”

Dessi’s article goes on to consider other branches of Japanese religion, and comes to the conclusion that rather than leading to openness and inclusiveness, the current vogue for championing polytheism might actually be fuelling the right-wing discourse of nihonjinron (debate about what it is to be Japanese).

Personally, I would have thought that polytheism offers an important means of coming together, and that far from reinforcing divisions, it contains the potential for tolerance based on plurality.  In my sabbatical year I will be researching polytheism and paganism in the British Isles, while considering how they parallel developments in Shinto.  In this way I hope to build a bridge between East and West, and gain a greater understanding of what the traditions can offer each other.

******************************************************************************************************************************************

Information is drawn from ‘Japanese Religions, Inclusivism, and the Global Context’ by Ugo Dessi in Japanese Religions Vol. 36 Nos. 1 and 2 (Spring and Fall, 2011), p.83-99.

The circle of life: passing through the 'chinowa' at a shrine this week for midyear purificaiton

 

Fushimi Inari

View towards the main shrine

Fox, messenger of the kami Inari

 

May. Sunshine. Fertility. Inari…..

What a blessing at this time of year to live in Kyoto and be able to walk up the sacred mount at Fushimi. I’ve never seen the shrine so radiant, for it stands freshly restored and repainted. The vermillion colours sparkled in the sunshine, and the lacquered woodwork stood pristine against the verdant surrounds. The spirit of place was clearly delighted, happy to receive the pilgrim tourists drawn to its slopes.

Inari was founded in 711 by a member of the influential immigrant Hata clan.  There’s a hokora (small shrine) dedicated to him as you mount the steps behind the main shrine.  Further up the hillside there’s an iwakura (sacred rock) for him too.  I often pay respects there, and while doing so I recall the curious founding myth of the shrine.

Foundation myth
Legend has it that clan leader Hata no Irogu one day used a large white rice cake (mochi) as a target for archery practice. When his arrow pierced the cake, a white bird flew up to the top of the hill and settled in a tree beneath which a rice field appeared. Seeing this, Irogu was moved to found a shrine.

One interpretation is that since rice was the staple of life for ancient Japanese, it was regarded as sacred, so shooting at a rice cake was sacrilegious. Consequently the rice spirit took flight and by revealing the newly grown rice field indicated the miraculous nature of the crop.  Realisation of its vital role in the life of man led Irogu to build a shrine in gratitude to the ‘earth goddess’ that caused the grain to grow.

For myself, however, I can’t help seeing Taoist symbolism in the myth. A white circle; a red arrow; penetration.  In the coming together of yin and yang was born new growth, crops, the stuff of life. The fertility theme is reinforced by subsequent developments, for the shrine’s original kami, known as Ugadama or Ugamitama no mikoto, became Inari in Heian times when it merged with the fertility couple of Sarutahiko (a deity with a phallic nose) and Ame no Uzume (a dancer who exposed her genitalia).  Later still two others were added, so that Inari became a ‘five pillar’ deity, worshipped today as the deity of rice.

Inside a tunnel of torii, celebrating the rebirth

 

Tunnels and foxes
Fushimi is the head of some 30,000 Inari shrines around the country, characterised by their red tunnels of torii. Fushimi itself boasts some ten thousand altogether, and passing through the lower tunnels is a symbolic marker as one ‘enters into the mountain’.

For many, Fushimi is more than a form of tourism; it’s a form of pilgrimage. In ascending to the topmost altar, one sloughs off the mundane and takes on a new persona in the rarified air of the hill. Physical exertion is accompanied by spiritual refreshment, so that returning through the womb-tunnel one is symbolically reborn.  (As Inari is a fertility goddess, she is also associated with childbirth.)

Key holder

Just as numerous and noticeable as the torii are the statues of foxes, messengers of the kami.  Sometimes the animal holds in its mouth an ear of rice, or the key to the rice granary. Sometimes too it carries a wish-fulfiling jewel.  Here again there may be a fertility element, for the key is a phallic symbol and the jewel a female symbol.

Continental foxlore which entered from China in the eighth and ninth centuries attached itself to the Fushimi deity, and the Hata clan made a cult of the animal.  Foxes are liminal creatures, that hover on the edge of woodland and move mysteriously in the twilight.  In this way they came to capture the Japanese imagination.

Rise to prominence
Already from the early ninth century the shrine developed strong Buddhist connections, for the founder of the Shingon sect, Kukai (774-835), used wood from Mt Inari to build his Kyoto headquarters at Toji and enshrined the kami as the temple’s protecting deity. (The Buddhist version of Inari has a boddhisattva named Daikiniten riding witchlike on a flying white fox.)

A noticeboard at Fushimi says that the shrine first came to national attention in 852 after successful prayers for rain, and later it was included among the prestigious 22 Shrines deserving imperial patronage. By Edo times it was established as a magical Shinto-Buddhist complex with strong drawing power. ‘If sick pray to Kobo Daishi (i.e. Kukai), if making a wish pray to Inari,’ ran a popular saying.

The kami was among the most accessible for ordinary folk, especially women (many Buddhist places, including sacred mountains, were off-limits to women).  Perhaps as a result, Inari became a focus for female shamanic types working with healing. divination and other-worldly contact. Tales of fox-possession were rife, and ridding a person of the fox-spirit a common means of treatment for physical and mental ailments.

Guardman at the entrance to the shrine

It was in this age too that the shrine became associated with wealth and business. Rice was used for currency and taxation, with peasants forced to hand over the greater part of their yield to the daimyo (lords). (In Edo times the total rice levy was 30 million bushels, of which the Tokugawa took 7. Next to them were the Maeda lords of Kanazawa, notable for their hyakumanben income (1 million bushels).

As a result Inari is today one of Japan’s most flourishing shrines, with the highest number of New Year visitors in Kansai. The constant stream of purifications attests to its appeal. It’s particularly popular with businesses, which patronise it in the hope of winning success.

Highs and lows
In her book The Fox and the Jewel Karen Smyers describes the tensions that exist between believers who frequent the upper reaches of the hill and the shrine nestled at its base. She casts it in terms of a clash between a female shamanic tradition and the male priests. The former seek direct contact with the kami on the private land above the shrine; the latter follow ceremonial order and propriety. One strand of Inari worship inclines to mysticism and individualism, the other to rationalism and conformity. (It’s a division that reminds me of neighboring Korea, where I once attended a female shamanic rite which preceded a male-dominated Confucian ceremony – both celebrating the same event yet very, very different in nature.)

One of the 10.000 'otsuka' altars on Inari hill

There are some 50 priests working at Fushimi, all of whom are male. There are also some 600 ‘ko’ (fraternities) associated with the shrine, which centre their belief around Mt Inari and make pilgrimages to the hill. Many of them are far from orthodox, some being led by shamanic figures and some by Buddhists.

I’ve often come across groups performing rituals in front of a particular ‘otsuka’, or altar. There are some ten thousand of these rock monuments, which were put up for the most part in a spontaneous development at the end of the Edo era. They were initially opposed by the shrine’s priests, who saw control slipping out of their hands. Now, sensibly, they sanction and regulate the erection of the otsuka, charging some Y16,000 for the privilege.

Each of the otsuka bears a name or names of the manifestation in which Inari appeared to the worshipper ~ Great Being of Light, for instance. It’s said that the names are revealed in the dreams of believers, prompting them to put up a monument to their personalised manifestation, complete with fox guardians. In many cases family descendants continue to visit the monument, and one often sees fresh offerings and newly sewn red bibs on the foxes.

On a visit once I was puzzled to hear what sounded like Buddhist prayers being chanted though I could see no people. As I made my way towards where the voices were coming from, I virtually fell on top of a small group crouched in a hollow before a particular rock, on which lay offerings of rice and saké.  Here on the hilltop I had a sense of how worship must have been in ancient times – outdoors, direct and informal.  Here, you could say, the spirit of place was in situ.

Inari in her female form as goddess of rice (the deity also has a male manifestation in the form of an old man)

Buddhist mirror

Buddhist altar with round mirror

 

On my visits to Buddhist temples, I’ve sometimes noticed round mirrors on the altars and wondered whether this was the influence of syncretic shin-butsu (Shinto-Buddhism).  However, thanks to Green Shinto friend and polymath John Hanagan, I’ve now been able to trace this mirror back to Yogācāra (literally, “yoga practice”), an influential school of Buddhism focussing on internal perception which developed around the 4th century CE.

Yogācāra discourse examines how human experience is constructed by mind.  One of the theorists, a fifth-century Indian called Vasubandhu, came up with the idea of eight levels of consciousness.  The top level shines with the light of a wisdom like a great mirror…  hence the expression in Buddhism of The Great Wisdom Mirror, or Great Perfect Mirror Wisdom, which reflects the universe as it really is, free of distortion from ego or ignorance.

The Buddhist mirror is thus intended to liberate the mind. It signifies that life is an illusion, for the mirror is not true reality — it is rather a reflection of reality. It is thus a metaphor for the unenlightened mind, which is deluded by mere appearances.  Look and reflect upon reality!

The Shinto mirror, symbol of Amaterasu

In one of his paintings the Zen master, Hakuin (1686-1768), uses the mirror as a symbol of the Buddha-mind.  How interesting then that Amaterasu, Shinto’s sun-goddess, should be represented by a mirror.  It prompts one to wonder about the connections.  The founding myths of Shinto were recorded in the late seventh/early eighth century, more than a hundred years after the introduction of Buddhism, and are clearly stamped with the influence of continental ideas.

Could Buddhist notions have played a part in the identification of Amaterasu with a mirror?  The idea of marking her as both an enlightened being as well as an imperial ancestor must have been appealing to the mythologisers of the day.  If so, it would fit in with current notions about early Shinto being akin to a branch of Buddhism.

Previously I’d always thought of the shamanistic mirror as lying behind that of Amaterasu.  Now however the Great Perfect Wisdom Mirror has given me pause for thought – in more senses than one!

The Buddhist deity, Emma, lord of the underworld, who uses a mirror to examine the souls of those who come before him

Hakuin had this to say on the subject of Emma’s mirror: “In Emma’s court there is a Mirror of perfect clarity that reflects unfailingly the past misconduct and sins of the dead, but they do not learn about it and become repentant until after they have fallen into Hell, when it is too late. This mirror is in fact nothing other than man’s Storehouse Consciousness. When you break through this Consciousness at its very depths and grasp your original self, the Storehouse Consciousness becomes, in and of itself, the Great and Perfect Mirror Wisdom.” (tr. by Norman Waddell)

Atago Shrine (Fukuoka)

The view makes the climb worthwhile

Steps leading up to Atago Shrine

 

The Atago Shrine in Fukuoka isn’t a famous shrine, but it’s well worth the effort of visiting. It’s on the top of Mt Atago, in the west of the city, a small but fairly steep slope. Visitors are rewarded with wonderful views over Hakata Bay. Somewhere in the urban sprawl that extends along the coast can be seen Fukuoka Dome and Tower.

The Atago ox, disturbed in his contemplation of the scene behind him

 

There are apparently some 900 Atago shrines in Japan, and this is one of the Big Three together with the head shrine in Kyoto as well as one in Tokyo. It’s said to be the oldest shrine in Fukuoka prefecture, supposedly founded in the reign of legendary Emperor Keiko some 2000 years ago. It’s also the most visited shrine in the prefecture at New Year. The shrine literature claims that since Edo times it has been known for its ‘gods of prohibitions such as temperance in alcohol and quit smoking’.

Surprisingly Jizo popped up here in the shrine precincts

The shrine is notable for its crest, which looks like two magatama but is in fact the tusks of the wild boar.  It symbolises the power of the animal, as if harnessed by the kami and passed on to its flock.  Another striking aspect of the shrine are the guardian komainu, some of which have intriguing expressions.  I was surprised to find too a Buddhist Jizo on a table in the precincts, with a notice claiming that it would cure people of illnesses if you rubbed it.

The shrine is evidently doing its best at outreach, as part of which it has prepared an English-language ‘Atago Shrine News’.  The summer edition advertised a Hozuki (Chinese lantern) summer festival on July 15th and 16th with the promise that ‘we prepare some entertainment for you’.  There was also a list of bad luck years (yakudoshi), with the offer of purification or good luck charms to ward off misfortune.

From April to May there is an ongoing children’s festival, with a Seven Lucky Gods celebration and cards on which children can write what they want to become when adult.  There is also a Tanabata ceremony on July 7, when wishes written previously will be dedicated to the shrine’s kami.  And on July 1st there’s a special Fukuoka custom in which sand called ‘Oshioi‘ is sold to believers to be placed near their front door to keep away bad luck. (Winter sees a Fire Festival at the shrine, when participants walk barefoot across burning charcoal.)

The worship hall at Atago

 

One of the unusual komainu

and another...

The shrine's crest – artistic representation of a wild boar's tusks

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2025 Green Shinto

Theme by Anders NorénUp ↑