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Gohei

Basil Hall Chamberlain (1850-1935) was a fascinating person, who stands in opposition to his one-time friend Lafcadio Hearn. I’ve recently ordered his biography. Chamberlain was a scholar and a rationalist.  Hearn was a romantic, who sought escape from convention and industrialisation.

Both men wrote illuminatingly on matters to do with Shinto. Chamberlain displayed his astonishing knowledge in Things Japanese (1890-1936) and contributed a translation of Kojiki (1882) which is still in print and used today.  Hearn wrote seductively of Japanese folk religion in such books as An Attempt at Interpretation (1904), as well as writing specifically on Japanese Religions.

In a short paper entitled ‘Notes on the Japanese Gohei, or paper offerings to the Shinto Gods’, Chamberlain traced the history of these ubiquitous items.  Prior to the eighth century, he says, they were made of cloth.  There was a white kind made from paper-mulberry (brussonetia papyrifera) and a blue kind made of hemp.  In ancient times the cloth would have been a most precious product and therefore a worthy offering.  I couldn’t help but be reminded here of the cloth one finds in shamanistic cultures, fluttering evocatively in the wind.

Shaman offerings of the Buryat Mongols near Irkutsk

After the advent of new technologies and the arrival of Chinese silk, cloth was no longer regarded as so special as before.  As a result paper was substituted at some stage, also a treasured item in ancient Japan.  The move was partly through frugality, Chamberlain claims, and partly “in accordance with that law of progress from the actual to the symbolical which characterises all religions”.

There are different styles of gohei, with the Yoshida style having four folds and the Shirakawa style having eight folds.  Major shrines such as Ise, Izumo and Kashima have their own slight variations too, so it’s something to look out for when visiting shrines.  If I could be permitted to coin a Japanese-type slogan, “let’s go-hei watching” !

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Basil Hall Chamberlain, “Note on the Japanese Go-Hei, or Paper Offerings to the Shinto Gods”, ‘The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland’, vol. 18 (1889), pp. 27-29.

For a gohei presented by Chamberlain to the British Museum, see here.

Gohei displayed at a sacred site at Iya Jinja in Shimane prefecture

3/11 Commemoration ceremonies

Today’s Huffington Post carries a news item on preparations for the one-year anniversary of the tsunami.  The number of shrines damaged in the disaster is quite startling: roughly 5% of the country’s total.

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Shinto Priests Prepare To Hold Commemoration Ceremonies On March 11
By Debra Rubin

WASHINGTON (RNS/ENInews) Shinto priests throughout Japan are preparing to hold commemoration ceremonies on March 11 to mark the one-year anniversary of the earthquake and tsunami that killed an estimated 20,000 people.

The Association of Shinto Shrines has issued a suggested prayer to be read during the ceremonies. That prayer, according to the Rev. Masafumi Nakanishi, a Shinto priest, describes the calamity, pleads that there be no more disasters and asks that people live peacefully.

Nakanishi performed just such a ceremony on Wednesday (Feb. 29) at Georgetown University’s Berkley Center for Religion, Peace and World Affairs during a program on the “Shinto response” to the disaster.

Dressed in a traditional robe with tall black hat, Nakanishi bowed, clapped and chanted before an altar, performing a four-part brief ceremony that included a purification ritual as well as an offering of sacred foods: fruits and vegetables, salt and water, sake (rice wine) and seaweed.

Of the approximately 80,000 to 100,000 shrines in Japan, about 4,500 were damaged; 309 were partially or totally destroyed; and 243 may not be used because of nuclear fallout from the Daiichi nuclear plant, Nakanishi said.

Nakanishi said many of the shrines that were spared last year were built just beyond the tsunami’s reach, crediting Shinto ancestors with their safe placement.

Many of the surviving shrines were used for disaster relief efforts, with some serving as shelters following the earthquake and tsunami and others serving as collection sites for donations to assist the victims.

“I have always found the Japanese people to be very quick to help others,” Georgetown professor Kevin M. Doak said. “The Japanese have a kind of innate, intuitive empathy” that he believes “may be due to Shinto as much as to anything else.”

The Way of Death

This month’s Kansai Scene has an article that covers the Japanese way of dealing with death that provides a comprehensive overview of the subject –  appropriate perhaps as we approach 3/11 (see previous post), though the article is timed to coincide with higan this month.  Traditionally the spring and autumn equinox, as well as Obon, are seen as times of year when the veil between this world and the other is at its thinnest, prompting care of one’s ancestors with a memorial visit to the grave.

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Text: Alan Wiren

Japanese funerals are an assimilation of Shinto philosophy, Buddhist formalities, and modern culture. The combination may be disturbing, even shocking, to the uninitiated. If you are called to take part in a Japanese funeral, the more you know beforehand, the better able you will be able to support and comfort those who are going through it with you. At the same time, experiencing this unfortunate, but inevitable event is an opportunity for a deep insight into the Japanese culture and psyche.

From time out of mind, Shinto tradition has had an answer to the perennial questions: ‘Where do we come from?’ and ‘Where do we go when we die?’ Japan’s agrarian society held that Nature’s greatest spirit would dwell in the mountains in winter and move to the fields in summer. Human spirits as well would come out from the mountain spirit to be born and, at the end of their lives, return to it. That philosophy dovetailed reasonably well with a Buddhist idea that would arrive later: the purpose of a funeral is to ease a soul’s transition from one life to the next.

Enma, god of judgement in the afterworld. Note the circular mirror before him.

Buddhist funeral services were, at first, reserved for Buddhist priests, but between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries they began to be offered, first to the important patrons of temples, and then to common folk as the need for support grew among competing sects. Buddhist funeral rights and ancestor worship were all but taken for granted after 1638 when, in an effort to stamp out Christianity, all Japanese families were required to be registered with a Buddhist temple.

The rites begin nearly at the instant of death. If at all possible, the body of the deceased will rest for one final night at the home where he or she lived. A futon is made up with new sheets in a common area of the home. Men of the family may be asked to help place the body onto it. The body is then be packed with ice, and covered with a sheet. The face is covered with a smaller, white cloth.

Then a kind of informal wake begins. Members of the immediate family including children of all ages, relatives living close by, neighbors, anyone in the vicinity with a connection to the deceased will drop by to offer their condolences and to visit with the body. It is not uncommon for visitors to sit with, touch, and talk to the body as if it were still living. A priest from the deceased’s temple will be called in to offer a session of sutra reading and prayer.

The following morning the body will be moved to the place where formal services will be held. This may be a temple or a more secular facility. The body is usually carried in a hearse in a slow procession, demonstrating reluctance in bringing the body towards its end. At the destination the body is placed into a coffin and packed with dry ice. Once again, during this process the men of the family may be conscripted for lifting.

The formal wake begins when the coffin — which may be elaborately decorated or a plain, wooden box, but usually has a window in the cover, for viewing the body’s face — is placed in front of an arrangement of sculpture and ornament, adorned and surrounded with flowers, and lamps, to suggest Paradise. A black-framed portrait of the deceased is set within the arrangement. Incense is lighted and must be kept burning as long as the coffin is present.

Mortuary tablets

 

Guests attending the wake will bring with them envelopes containing money and bound with black and white string. The envelopes are available in most stationary stores and the appropriate amount of money is determined by the closeness of their relation to the deceased. The priest begins chanting a sutra. While he does, first the immediate family, including the spouse, children and grandchildren, and their spouses, then the guests, will, one by one, approach an alter that has been set in front of the coffin. They will transfer some granular incense to a burner, pray to and then bow to the portrait. The guests will finally bow to the immediate family, before returning to their seats. When everyone has performed the ritual, the wake is finished.

On the following day the funeral takes place. In form it is precisely the same as the wake, but the atmosphere is more formal. At the wake there may be warmth, smiles, and handshakes. At the funeral there is solemnity. The bows are more precise. Expressions are dour.

As soon as the funeral ends the flowers are taken from their arrangements and given to the family members. The coffin is opened and the flowers placed inside, around the body. After that the cover will be closed again, and may be nailed in place.

Next the coffin is brought to the crematorium. Although cremation has had a checkered history in Japan — it was legally banned in the nineteenth century when Buddhism suffered the same fate a Christianity in the seventeenth — it is now virtually universal. This is the last time that male strength may be conscripted. The coffin is placed into a furnace and the closest relative may have the responsibility of turning the fire on and off, although this is sometimes handled by the crematorium staff. While the fire burns, the family will adjourn for the funeral feast.

Funeral rites are marked by prayer and incense

When both the family and the flames have consumed their due, the family will assemble in a chamber where the slab bearing the deceased’s bones, and still radiating heat, is brought. The crematorium staff will usually give a short guided tour of the skeleton. In particular showing the hyoid bone from the neck, which seems to have a figure of a seated Buddha within. Then family members from toddlers to the aged will take up chopsticks, one bamboo and one willow to signify the physical and the spiritual worlds, and transfer bones from the slab to an urn. Mothers may encourage their children to take bones from the head to foster their intelligence. Others may take up certain bones to combat illness or injury.

All of this is just the beginning. Buddhism holds that the soul remains in the world of the living for seven days and can benefit from prayers and remembrance for even decades to follow. So Buddhism prescribes memorial services every day for the first seven days after the funeral, then once a week until the 49th day, one on the 100th day, and then one every year until the 50th year.

In Japan this schedule is varied to accommodate travel costs and cultural traditions. The first seven services may be replaced by one, following the cremation, but those on the first and third anniversary are sure not to be missed. They comprise the same ritual of incense burning and prayer, conducted in the family’s home.

The other annual memorials are commonly replaced with holiday observances. The Japanese calendar reflects the Buddhist idea that Paradise is in the west. The equinoxes, one this month, the other in September, when the sun sets directly in the west, are national holidays to allow families visit the graves of their ancestors. The period in mid August, called Obon, however, has become the occasion when most Japanese families gather to welcome the spirits of their ancestors for a few days.

Kyoto cemetery at the time of Obon, when lanterns are put out to welcome spirits back

Tsunami anniversary (BBC podcast)

With the anniversary of the devasting tsunami of nothern Japan coming up on 3/11, the BBC have issued a programme which will be available for the next 30 days as a podcast…

http://downloads.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/worldservice/heartsoul/heartsoul_20120302-1722a.mp3

Despite all the hard work, scenes of devastation and abandoned houses are still apparent.  Some of the points made in the programme which are of relevance here include the following:

* Shrines and temples were often situated on hills and acted as sanctuaries

* The number of dead bodies created enormous problems in terms of rituals, since consoling the dead person’s spirit by relatives is important in the Japanese belief system

* In addition, delays in funeral rites caused great anguish, since the large quantity of bodies meant they had to be temporarily buried, then dug up later and cremated.  Many believe that only cremation can release spirits trapped in the physical body.

* Some of the bereaved feel great guilt and sadness that they cannot fulfil their duty of looking after ancestors’ graves which were washed away by the tsunami.  They feel they’ve been disconnected from their family and somehow failed them.

* Along Japan’s north-eastern coast are shrines dedicated to kami of tsunami or those that cause natural disasters.  A Shinto priest who saw the tsunami said it evoked fear as well as awe in him.  Others said that the kami were in destructive mood.  One person thought that the natural equilibrium had been upset ant that the great god of nature had “coughed”, as it were.

* Something in the Japanese psyche led to resilience rather than self-pity.  There was a remarkable ability to get on with the business of rebuilding, which perhaps stems from the acceptance of disaster as the natural order of things.  Unlike Christianity, kami are not inherently good.

Before and after

Izanagi Jingu Pt 2

Izanagi Shrine's entrance torii, with a celebratory banner on one of the legs for the 1300th anniversary of the publication of Kojiki in which Japan's Creation Myth first appeared

 

Shrine approach

The Creation of Japan is closely connected with Awaji Island, and the guardian shrine for the myth is Izanagi Jingu (see Part One).  The last time I visited the island was in 2002, at the time of the World Cup when England’s football team were based there.  I got to see David Beckham, Michael Owen et al. at a training session.  This time I was after idols of a different sort.

Garden aesthetics

There’s a peaceful and pleasing atmosphere to the shrine, and the spacious approach has a landscaped garden with a carp pond to one side.  The stately natural surrounds are a reminder of the simple harmony of Japanese aesthetics.

On the other side of the entrance path is a striking stone monument showing the astronomical position of the shrine.  It gives pause for thought, with its suggestion that the island lies at the centre of Japan…

According to my friend, Robert MacNaughton, who has made a study of Creation Myths, “the place of creation or the place where the creator is buried is always the the centre of the land in archaic ontology.  It is the place where recurrent or renewed creation pours out from, according to Joseph Campbell in the Introduction to The Hero with a Thousand Faces.”

Astronomical map showing Awaji at the centre of summer and winter solstice lines

 

In the picture above the top lines shows the sunrise and sunset at the summer solstice, as seen from Awaji. The line to the right passes through Suwa Taisha in Nagano, and the line to the left passes through Izumo Taisha. Here, you might say, is the Japanese equivalent of ley lines, based on the movement of the sun rather than the energy of the earth.

The bottom righthand line shows the sunrise at the winter solstice as seen from Awaji. It passes through Nachi Taisha in Wakayama. The bottom left line shows the direction of the sunset, and the line passes through Takachiho with Amaterasu’s Rock Cave.  In this way Awaji prides itself on being at the centre of a spiritual nexus.

Miko on their way to perform kagura

 

Shrine compound
Inside the spacious shrine compound it became clear that Izanagi Jingu is a popular place for gokito (prayer requests). Miko and priests crossed back and forth over the elegant corridor connecting the haraiden (purifcation hall) and the haiden (worship hall).  The sound of music filled the air, though the beat was rather different from the usual style, more like the joyful music you hear at Gion Festival.

According to the shrine literature, after ending his work of creation Izanagi no mikoto handed over authority to his daughter Amaterasu and withdrew to a palace called Kakurinomiya on the site of the present shrine.  His exploits in Yomi are honoured by one of the shrine’s ema taking the shape of a peach. And the frame to tie up fortune slips has a peach shape too.

Peach-shaped omikuji stand

Spot the peach-shaped ema

Amongst the posters decorating the shrine walls were a couple celebrating Awaji being the origin of Japan. ‘The first island, at the beginning of time,’ said one. I noticed too pamphlets advertising a special kagura event in September when three different performance traditions will be brought together in celebration of the 1300th anniversary of the Kojiki – from Awaji, Izumo and Takachiho. Personally that’s something I don’t want to miss.

One mystery remained: if Awaji Island was the first, then what was Onogoro Island that preceded it? Izanagi and Izanami descended there to walk around the august pillar so it must have been substantial.  I asked one of the priests about this, and he said that it shouldn’t be understood as a real island. It made me think of early Shinto and how ceremonies were carried out in temporary structures of perishable material that were left to return to nature. Afterwards there would be no trace. Perhaps Onogorojima was envisaged in similar manner, as a temporary base in contrast to the permanent rocks that formed the great islands.

Later however I met with a young couple who told me that there were two other theories about Onogorojima. One was that it signified the earth in general, since it was Self-Revolving. The other theory was that it must refer to a small island off Awaji itself which acted as a stepping stone while the deities went about their work of creation. According to local folklore, the tiny Nushi Island is one such candidate since it has two striking rocks, one distinctly male in shape and the other female.

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In 1995 Awaji Island was at the centre of the Great Hanshin Earthquake, and Izanagi Jingu was damaged along with much else.  It was a terrifying reminder that destruction goes along with creation, and that the kami can be as violent as they can be beneficent.  In a land of disasters, the fragility of life is an ever present reality.  For Shinto it serves to foster greater appreciation and gratitude for the blessings we enjoy.  Something of that attitude underlay the remarkable resilience, stoicism and fortitude of the people of Tohoku in their ordeal of last year.

Kagura dance performance for the kami

Creation of Japan (Izanagi Jingu) Part 1

Japan’s primal pair, Izanagi and Izanami

Japan’s Creation Myth

The Creation of Japan myth (kuniumi shinwa) goes something like this.  The deities of heaven (Takamagahara) ask a male and female pair to descend to the unformed land below and create order there so people could live.  The two deities were Izanagi (He Who Invites) and Izanami (She Who Invites).  They are entrusted with a Heavenly Spear (Amenonuboko) and walk out onto the floating bridge of heaven (thought to represent a rainbow).

Izanagi and Izanami stir the primordial mass and create Awaji Island (taken from the shrine ema)

‘Let us stir the lower land with this spear,’ says Izanagi, whereupon the pair stir the primordial mass, before pulling out the spear.  Some drops fall down from it and congeal, forming Onogorojima (Self-Revolving Island).  Izanagi and Izanami descend there and build a palace.

On Onogorojima they also erect a large pillar around which the two deities perform a mating ritual by circling in opposite directions.  Izanami speaks first, which was improper, and as a result their first child is a misbirth.

Only after Izanagi initiates the exchange do the pair give birth to a healthy child – namely Awaji Island (near Kobe). It was the first island in what was to become Japan.

Izanagi and Izanami circle the pillar

Afterwards the pair give birth to other islands, producing in this way the Land of the Great Eight Islands.  They then produce another 35 deities, such as that of the household, of the sea, of food, etc. etc.  Their last child is the kami of fire, Kagutsuchi, which causes the death of Izanami during childbirth by singeing her private parts.  She ends up in Yomi (the underworld), and the distraught Izanagi goes to visit her there.  Against her wishes he looks at her rotting body, and outraged she sets the Japanese equivalent of the Furies on him, chasing him out altogether.

Polluted by his time in the underworld, Izanagi ritually cleanses himself in what is celebrated as the first ever misogi (cold water austerity).  Because of the invigorating nature of the purification, he gives birth to a number of important deities.  From his left eye appears Amaterasu, the sun goddess; from his right eye appears Tsukiyomi, the moon god; and from his nose comes Susanoo, the storm god.

Such is the charming Creation Myth of Japan, and on Sunday I went to visit the shrine most closely connected with the events.  Izanagi Jingu stands in the middle of Awaji Island, and the shrine claims to house the grave of the mythical Izanagi beneath its honden (sanctuary).  The illustrations here are taken from a book sold at the shrine done by Nageishi Fumiko, but before describing the visit a few observations on the myth itself.

Izanagi giving birth to Amaterasu, Tsukiyomi and Susanoo

 

Interpretation
in terms of interpretation, the myth opens itself up in a rather obvious way to the image of a phallic spear dripping sperm and producing offspring.  Far from being primitive, you could say that’s pretty enlightened in terms of the creation of life.  But it’s possible to see other elements too in the myth, particularly yin-yang.

The phallic shape of Awaji Island: reason for its choice as Japan’s first creatiion?

The myth was first written down towards the end of the seventh century, appearing in two different books Kojiki (712) and Nihon shoki (720).  It was an age when Chinese influence was strong, and the coming together of Izanagi and Izanami as the primal yang and yin was envisaged as the primary generative force.  The yin-yang circle of life is represented in the story by circular patterns: stirring the primal chaos; the Self-Revolving Island, circumambulating the pillar.

In addition, the plus-minus nature of yin-yang is caught in a dialogue which takes place before the pair copulate (translator B.H. Chamberlain found the passage so indelicate that he rendered it in Latin rather than English!).  Izanami declares that her body has a part missing, whereupon Izanagi announces that his body has an extra part.  Why not join his extra part to her missing part?  It proves a perfect match, a complete union, a harmony of male and female. The two complement each other perfectly, in the manner of the two parts of the yin-yang symbol.  In the coming together is generated a whole new world.

Izanagi tosses a tooth from his comb at the demons

As well as the yin-yang symbolism, there’s reference in the august pillar to the World Tree or Central Axis of shamanistic cultures.  The imagery was of a connection between the three different worlds (upper, middle and lower) that comprise the universe.  It enabled the shaman to move psychically between them.

Pillars of course can be seen in phallic terms, and it’s interesting to note in this respect that the counter for Japanese kami is the word for pillar (hashira).  Why?  I’ve never seen a good explanation, but it must surely be related to the idea of fertility.  Shamanism, as Shinto, champions the lifeforce.  Death, decay and disease by contrast are shunned as ‘pollution’.  It explains why the religion is uninterested in morality, for it focusses on the affirmation of life instead.  Purification, renewal and reinvigoration is the Shinto way, and the august pillar that reaches up to heaven speaks of a divine connection.

Now here’s the interesting thing: when Izanagi is being chased by demons out of the underworld, he throws various things at them to scare them off.  One is his head-dress or wreath, which turns into grapes.  Another is a tooth comb, which turns into bamboo-sprouts.  And a third item are peaches. So there’s an opposition here of food and sustenance fighting off the forces of death.  Interestingly, there’s a phallic symbolism to the teeth of the comb becoming bamboo shoots (if I’m not mistaken, the tooth is counted as ‘pillar’).  And the peach in Japan is well-known as a female sexual symbol.

In this way the lifeforce is championed as superior to the dark forces opposed to it.  This is confirmed at the end of the story after Izanagi’s escape, when the still furious Izanami threatens to kill a thousand people a day to punish him.  In response Izanagi declares he will build a thousand five hundred birthing huts.  Life will go on!!  The lifeforce is triumphant.

Izanagi hurls a peach at the demons pursuing him

 

Plum Blossom Festival (at Kitano Tenmangu)


Posing in front of ox and plum, both symbols of Sugawara Michizane (deified as Tenjin). One was his favourite tree, the other indicated his burial place by refusing to move on when pulling the funeral cart carrying his body.

 

February 25 every year is Baika sai (Plum blossom festival) at Kyoto’s Kitano Tenmangu shrine.  It’s also the monthly flea market known as Tenjin san.  (Tenjin is the Kitano kami, alias Sugawara Michizane (845-903), a Heian-era statesman. )

All dressed up for the blossoms

Plum was Michizane’s favourite tree, about which he wrote a famous poem expressing his regret at having to leave it behind when sent into exile in Kyushu (at Dazaifu, near present-day Fukuoka).

When the east wind blows this way
Oh, blossoms in the plum tree
Send your fragrance to me!
Be ever mindful of the spring,
Through your master is no longer with you.

Kitano Tenmangu now boasts an astonishing two thousand plum trees, and in celebration of their blossoming they hold a giant geisha tea party in the grounds.  It commemorates the huge party that Hideyoshi once held in the shrine grounds to show off his tea prowess and utensils.

Plum blossom and geisha is a beguiling combination.  However, this year I forsook them for the flea market, as I had visitors from out of town more interested in bric-a-brac and antiques than the rituals of green tea.

Lined along the main avenue and side street are stall after stall of antiques, exotica, fabrics and Japanalia…   a true collector’s paradise.  My American friend, to my bemusement, was not only quick to spot a bargain, but could match the most obsure lock or antique bottle with its likely resale value on ebay.

The stalls were laid out with all the loving attention to detail that characterises Japanese culture at its best.  A labour of love, it seemed, in the crisp cold of early spring.  Some stalls went for a bizarre miscellany, others took a themed approach.

One stall in particular stood out, figuratively if not literally.  Framed by the background of the Kitano shrine, the fertlity, virility and protective charms of a more innocent age were being sold as curiosities.  Once potent religious items, they survive now as fossilised symbols of the country’s once rampant phallicism.

You never know what you might come across at a flea market

Daikoku keeping some unlikely company

A collection of deities, including a very happy looking Fukurokuju

 

Some of the stalls are works of art in themselves

A touch of class and a taste of yuzu before leaving

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