The tree-lined approach Harmony of man and nature in the fortune slips and fading cherry blossom
The three Munakata deities, known also as the Munakata sisters, are associated with the head shrine dedicated to them near Fukuoka, which has been recognised as a World Heritage Site. As daughters of Amaterasu, the sun goddess, they are highly regarded in Shinto. They also have a prestigious role in presiding over roads and sea routes, recognised as guardians of transport and by extension industry and culture.
According to shrine legend, Munakata Jinja was founded in 795, a year after Heian-kyo was established by Emperor Kammu. It was he apparently who invited the deities to his new capital. At the time the imperial estate lay further west, aligned with Senbon dori, so one presumes the shrine was moved to Gosho when the imperial estate relocated to its present position.
Oddly the shrine boasts a Kyoto Tourism subshrine within its grounds, which may be unique. I wanted to ask about this, but the shrine office was shut. As the kami is Saruta-no-mikoto, who guided Ninigi no mikoto when he descended to earth, I presume it’s frequented by Kyoto guides.
Scion of a cherry tree that once stood in front of the emperor’s ceremonial hall
Nearby is the oldest tree in the whole of the National Park, a camphor thought to be 600 years old. Standing before it, you can’t help wondering at the changes it must have seen over its lifetime. Unsurprisingly it’s marked as a shinboku, or sacred tree. (In shamanic cultures, phenomena singled out by the gods have special features, such as longevity.)
The camphor is not the only tree of interest, for there is also an ancient cherry tree descended from one that stood in front of the Enthronement Hall (Shishinden) on the left side. (On the right stood a tachibana mandarin tree.)
A third tree of note is a lusterleaf holly with leaves that are said to have been used in India for writing Sanskrit sutras. The custom was transmitted to Japan through China, and this explains the reason why Japanese call postcards ‘hagaki‘ (leaf writing).
The lusterleaf holly (angelika) bearing the sort of leaf on which Sanskrit sutra were writtenRustic simplicity for a water basin in a nobleman’s shrine Scion of the cherry tree that used to stand in front of the Shishinden (Enthronement Hall) of the old Imperial Palace. The cherry stood on the left and a Tachibana (mandarin) on the right. Evidently cats feel very much at home here though notices say not to feed them.A stone marker for Kyoto Kanko Jinja, a subshrine for Kyoto Tourism. The kami is Saruta-no-mikoto, deity of guides. A notice board states the shrine was erected in 1968 by Kyoto citizens, and amongst the named sponsors are Miyako Hotel and the Ryokan Association. An approach to the Maiden added in 2016 is built in the style of a roji pathway leading to tearooms. Perhaps the priest enjoys the aesthetics of the tea ceremony. The Maiden intended for ritual performances for the kami houses an ‘objet trouvé’ in a piece of wood that from the side looks eerily like an inoshishi (wild boar) doing obeisance.Gosho’s oldest tree, a 600 year old camphor, nestled in a corner of the shrine precincts. Look carefully and you’ll see the paper ‘shide’ around its trunk, marking it as a sacred tree.
A magnificent red pine in the grounds of Kyoto’s Former Imperial Palace
In the middle of Kyoto is a large area of parkland containing the Former Imperial Palace, where lived Japanese emperors from 1331. Following the Meiji Restoration, the young emperor moved in 1869 to Edo, newly renamed as Tokyo, and with him moved the imperial court.
Following the relocation to Tokyo, the site was left to deteriorate until a project to reclaim it for the general public turned it into open parkland. Now it’s officially known as the Kyoto Gyoen National Garden, though locally it’s simply called Gosho (御所), Honorable Place.
All photos by John Dougill
The parkland is open and spacious, full of dog walkers and joggers and sightseers. It’s 700 meters wide and over a kilometer in length. In 2005 a State Guest House (Geihinkan) was added where foreign dignataries are put up. Altogether there are some 50,000 trees, including a plum grove and weeping cherry blossom, with a splendid display of bent pines and soaring camphor. Taken overall, it makes for a veritable tree exhibition.
During the Edo Period the estate had been crammed full of aristocrats, with the houses of some 200 court nobles packed in around two palace estates. A notice board at the entrance shows the layout as it used to be, and though the houses of the court nobles have gone now, there remain three Shinto shrines, open to the public.
By name, the shrines are Munekata Jinja, Itsukushima Jinja and Shirakumo Jinja. The first two are familiar, as they are named after major Shinto shrines near Hiroshima and Fukuoka, both of which happen to be World Heritage Sites. The third, Shirakumo, is relatively obscure. In this mini-series, we’ll be taking a closer look at the three shrines and considering what Shinto meant for the aristocracy.
Buddhist ‘akadana’ shelf or altar
Interestingly, there are no Buddhist temples within the imperial estate, though throughout Japanese history emperors and their followers practised Buddhism and sponsored many of the city’s large temples. Like any individual, the nobility sought salvation and this was not on offer from Shinto. From what I can gather, in their private practise they had at home a Buddhist ‘akadana’ for placing holy water and other offerings.
It would seem that the Shinto shrines speak to a different kind of attachment, for if Buddhism was universal Shinto was fiercely particularist. Through their worship of kami, the imperial aristocrats showed attachment to their native land and the spirit of place. This is exemplified by the last emperor to be born and die in Gosho, Emperor Komei (1831-1867), who famously made a special outing to Shimogamo Shrine to pray that foreigners be expelled from the sacred soil of Japan.
The close ties of the court nobles to the patriotic leanings of Shinto became all too apparent during the Meiji Period, when a new emperor-centred government sponsored State Shinto out of a desire to reject the Tokugawa favouring of Buddhism. The defeat of WW2 did little to cut the ties, as was seen during the ascension rites of the new Reiwa emperor last year when Shinto rituals were much in evidence while Buddhism was sidelined.
Walk around the Former Imperial Palace parkland today, and you can feel that in its trees and sense of history the ruined estate speaks powerfully to the animist and ancestral leanings of Shinto. Deified aristocrats and personalised natural phenomena comprise the park’s deities. And presiding over them is the spirit of a once secluded head priest – the emperor himself.
Layout of the park, including the location of the three Shinto shrines
This shrine may look like it’s plucked straight from Kyoto, but its torii tunnel and blooming azalea sit nestled right in Tokyo.
Tokyo harmoniously blends the traditional and modern culture of Japan, but sometimes its technology and skyscrapers overshadow its quiet side. Those looking for a bit of zen amongst Tokyo’s bright lights can head over to Nezu Shrine in the Bunkyo Ward.
Photo by Peter Austin. The bright colours and architectural style clearly shows the influence of the Toshogu Shrine at Nikko.
The shrine is one of Tokyo’s oldest places of worship and a prime example of Edo-period architecture.
Spend an afternoon walking through the bright red torii gates. Nezu Shrine features a hillside garden, a pond with vibrant koi fish, and a tunnel of vermilion torii gates just like Kyoto’s renowned Fushimi Inari Shrine.
It may not be as grandiose as Fushimi Inari, but Nezu Shrine is beautiful in its own right. Its garden is a great photo spot, especially during the Bunkyo Azalea Festival held from April to May.
photo by t.kunikuni
During the festival, colorful flowers turn the shrine’s lush green garden into a sea of red, purple, and white. Enjoy traditional dance performances and try all the delicious festival food if you visit during that time.
Beyond the torii gates, the shrine itself was inspired by Nikko’s Toshogu Shrine in Tochigi Prefecture. Both shrines feature elaborate gilded detail and colorful motifs. It’s kind of like getting a taste of ancient Japan right in the heart of modern-day Tokyo.
That aforementioned harmonious Tokyo blend is one of the best things about Nezu Shrine. In Nikko, you are pretty much limited to temples, shrines, and nature. With a visit to Nezu Shrine, you can easily eat lunch at a maid cafe in nearby Akihabara, then hit up Shinjuku for drinks afterward.
Things To Know: Opening Hours 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Admission is free, however, it costs ¥200 to enter the hillside garden during the Azalea Festival which runs from early-April to the end of May.
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For a different look at the shrine, see here. Wikipedia gives details of the architecture here.
The Corona crisis has caused disruption around the world and dominated the global media. The effect has been drastic in terms of medical resources and made for grim viewing. In Japan the emergency has coincided with the flowering of cherry blossom, symbolic of life’s brief beauty. The mix of Covid-19, cherry blossom and Easter Sunday (tomorrow) inevitably bring to mind thoughts of death and rebirth.
Historically there has been a link between cherry blossom and the plague, perhaps because falling petals were suggestive of the many people falling ill or dying. In Kyoto the association is reinforced each year in a festival at Imamiya Jinja, in which appeasement is sought of a kami spreading disease.
In the Yasurai Festival performers dressed as demons (oni) dance around at the head of a procession of people in Heian robes. Red umbrellas are twirled around, said to bestow good health for a year on those who pass under them. (Red being the colour of blood is often used as a sign of vitality.)
This 5 min video features the Yasurai Festival in which red-haired demons put on a dance show to appease the kami of Imamiya Jinja in Kyoto.
Irony of ironies, the Yasurai Festival has had to be called off this year because of Covid-19. It is not the only casualty of the present crisis, for one of Kyoto’s Big Three Festivals has also had to be cancelled – the Aoi Matsuri in May. It too originated as an antidote to natural disaster, which very probably included pestilence.
The festival is claimed as one of the oldest in Japan, with its roots in the sixth century according to the Nihon shoki (720). It may have been that an epidemic had spread through the country at a time of famine and earthquake. The cause was identified by soothsayers as anger by the deities of the Kamo shrines (Kamigamo and Shimogamo), and in response the Emperor sent an envoy with offerings to appease the kami and pray for a bountiful harvest.
The Aoi Festival showcases the aristocratic robes of the Heian Period. Only those with high status get to ride on horseback
At first the festival was held sporadically whenever there was a major disaster, but with the establishment of Heian-kyo in 794 it became an annual event. At various times the practice ceased altogether, but was subsequently revived, the last such occasions being in 1885 when it was seen as a means of boosting Kyoto following the relocation of the emperor to Tokyo, and in 1953 after the festival was terminated during WW2.
But why is the festival named after the aoi plant? According to Wikipedia, “During the Heian Period, these leaves were once believed to protect against natural disasters such as earthquakes and thunder, and were often hung under the roofs of homes for protection.”
Aoi is often mistranslated as hollyhock, though it is from a different family and closer to wild ginger. The plant has become so rare in recent years that a substitute has had to be used, and the Kamo shrines are presently engaged in projects to replant it. (Look at the pictures below, and you’ll be able to spot a leaf pinned onto participants.)
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For a complete overview of Japan’s religious response to plague and pestilence, see this article in the Japan Times. To learn about Yasaka Jinja and the ties of Gozu Tenno and the Gion Festival with disease, see here.
Aoi plan with its characteristic leaf, symbol of the Kamo shrinesThe costumes are colourful, and so are some of the festive decorationsA dapper looking horserider
The star of the festival is the imperial princess, represented by a young female in a twelve-layered kimono.
Arriving at Kamigamo Shrine, end point for the festival after its start from Gosho
Ino Okifu It was after speculating about Jofuku and Jimmu that I was startled to find, courtesy of Wikipedia, that I was by no means the first to think that their stories may have overlapped. It turns out that a scholar named Ino Okifu had come to a similar conclusion, though the Wikipedia page goes on to say that his theory of Jimmu being based on Xu Fu (Jofuku) has been rebutted.
Xu Fu statue in Weihai, Shandong (Wikicommons)
It seems Ino Okifu was a Waseda University student, who spent much of his life abroad and as a historian was concerned about the atrocities committed by the Japanese in WW2. It fuelled a desire to disprove the notion of divinity surrounding the imperial line. His theory presumed that Xu Fu was a powerful figure with medical expertise, who fell out with Emperor Qin and was sent on a fool’s errand in quest of mythical Panglai (an island paradise known as Horai in Japan). Fearing that he would be executed on his return, Xu Fu chose to settle in Japan instead, and amongst the advanced knowledge that he introduced were elements of Taoism, which shaped the formation of early Shinto.
Artist’s impression of the invading warrior who became Japan’s first emperor known as Jimmu
If Ino Okifu had a vested interest in presenting his theory, then so did his detractors in refuting it. They included conservatives who wished to maintain the notion of Japanese uniqueness, as well as nationalists eager to preserve the mystery surrounding the emperor’s origins. (Even today imperial graves remain off-limits to archaeologists.)
While it is clear there were close ties between Kyushu and Korea in ancient times, it is less clear how much direct influence China had on Japan, particularly in the development of rice culture. The Kokugakuin Encyclopedia of Shinto gives an indication of the complexity…
It is not clear to what extent immigrants from China contributed to the development of rice cultivation culture, or even before that whether that foundation we could call the East Asian cultural sphere had extended as far as Japan. However, as concerns customs related to rice cultivation, it can be assumed that was a certain degree of commonality from the start throughout East Asia in general. Rather than saying that agricultural rituals or ancestor veneration practices (sosen sūhai) related to cultivation were influenced by imported cultural elements, it is better to think of them as a common denominator throughout the East Asian cultural sphere. It is extremely difficult to discuss questions of influence in the earliest periods.
East China showing coastal links with Kyushu (courtesy Australian National University)
Cross currents Given the above, the situation is evidently unclear. Nonetheless there are links with China which give pause for thought. DNA testing of Japanese rice from 2200 years ago, just when Xu Fu came to Japan, show the origin to be China’s Yangtze Delta (see here). It should be noted too that rice arrived in Miyazaki relatively early compared to the rest of Japan.
Yayoi skeletons from the BC period in Kyushu resemble those of China’s Jiangsu Province and differ from the Kumaso of south-east Kyushu and the Korean type of northern Kyushu. Though Japanese language origins are a controversial area, linguists such as Christopher Beckwith (2004) maintain that the ‘the original homeland of the speakers of the Japanese-Koguryo language may have been close to South China.’
Model of a Yayoi woman at National History of Science
It is widely acknowledged that the rituals of purification and cleansing with which Shinto is concerned originated in Taoism. What’s more, such aspects as turtle shell divination, which involved roasting and ‘reading’ the cracks, was an imported court custom, and the Qin emperors had a jade royal seal to go along with their bronze mirrors and swords as a show of authority. (Japan’s regalia, along with a mirror and sword, includes a magatama jewel made of jade, which in China signified inner beauty and immortality.)
A charmed sword discovered in the mausoleum of the Qin Dynasty, which has a history of 2200 years without accumulating rust.
Much of Japanese mythology, such as the weaving princess, shows clear links with southern Chinese agricultural myths, and Chinese historical records mention expeditions to Japan. Folk memory too suggested ties, and as late as the 16th century the missionary scholar Joao Rodriques in This Island of Japon claimed that Hyuga (modern Miyazaki) was the first part of Japan to be settled, notably by people from Fukien and Chekiang Provinces (modern Fujian and Zhejiang). ‘The people were cast up there by a storm, as still happens even now,’ he wrote, bringing the Kuroshio current to mind once again.
Model of a Yayoi ritual at Yoshinogari in northern Kyushu
Mythology by its very nature is what you make of it, and the intermingling of early Chinese, Korean and Japanese cultures cannot be easily unpicked. Even the very identity of the Yayoi people is uncertain. Let us end then with a quotation from Wikipedia, which states with references that, “The most popular theory is that they [the Yayoi] were the people who brought wet rice cultivation to Japan from the Korean peninsula and Jiangnan near the Yangtze River Delta in ancient China. This is supported by archeological researches and bones found in modern southeastern China.”
So was Jofuku a prototype for Jimmu? It seems not implausible that some folk memory of him was interwoven with later myths of invading forces. Perhaps it’s not so far-fetched as it might at first seem. After all, how else would one explain divine descent onto Mt Takachiho?
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For Part One of this series click here, and for Part Two here.
Model of clan leader and retinue at Yoshinogari in northern Kyushu, indicative of the advance in civilisation that Yayoi Japan represented. Did folk memory conflate the arrival of Xu Fu with the conquest of Jimmu to explain the cultural advance?
Jofuku and Jimmu Two legendary figures, one Chinese and one Japanese. One on the quest for immortality, the other on the path of conquest. According to tradition, both ended up traversing the Inland Sea and made land on the Kii Peninsula. Both are recognised as culture heroes and deified as kami. And yet – here’s a strange thought – what is they were both the same person? Or what if they were both based on the folk memory of the same historical event?
As dealt with in Part One, the cause of this speculation stems from the oddity in the Kojiki of mythological descent onto Mt Takachiho. Conflating the two figures seems at first somewhat ridiculous. Jimmu was the great grandson of Ninigi no mikoto, born of divine stock, who established the kingdom of Yamato which grew into modern Japan. Jofuku, known in China as Xu Fu, was dispatched by Emperor Qin to seek the mythical Isles of Immortals with the purpose of bringing back an elixir of perpetual youth.
Artist’s impression of the warrior-emperor Jimmu
As detailed in an earlier posting on Asuka Jinja, Xu Fu’s search supposedly led him to Kumano where he landed at what today is the town of Shingu. He’s deified there in a hokora at Asuka Shrine. However, that is not the only place where he’s deified in Japan, nor is it the only place where he is said to have landed with his flotilla of 3000 youths. Interestingly, there is a memorial to him at Kanmuri-dake Shrine in Kagoshima Prefecture. It commemorates Xu Fu’s supposed arrival on the opposite side of the Satsuma Peninsula from Kagoshima City.
Now let’s suppose that after first landing at Ichikikushikino on the coast, Xu Fu and his flotilla sailed round the peninsula and into Kinko Bay, where they settled and took Mt Takachiho as their guardian mountain. Let’s then suppose that at a later date the clan made their way by boat to Miyazaki in south-east Kyushu, from where they set off across the Inland Sea to Kumano. Perhaps they had heard of the plant there that promised immortality.
Emperor Jimmu Some historians doubt that Jimmu ever existed, but mythology usually envelops a nucleus of truth and we can presume that there was an eastward invasion by a force from Kyushu that entered mainland Honshu via Kumano to settle at Yamato in the Nara basin. (For Jimmu’s conquest, see here.)
Monument at Asuka Jinja to say Emperor Jimmu stopped there
It’s not without interest then that Jimmu is said to have been born and raised in Miyazaki Prefecture and to have set out from Himuka. It’s not far from the town of Takachiho, which perhaps derived its name from memory of the former settlement around Mt Takachiho. Mythology claims this was some 2680 years ago, which can be taken to mean a very long time ago. Not so very different in fact from the 2200 years when Jofuku (aka Xu Fu) is said to have set out.
Now here’s a very odd thing. When you visit Asuka Shrine in Shingu, there’s a pillar claiming association with Jimmu. According to shrine tradition, he landed on the nearby coast and marched inland, stopping at what is now celebrated as Jofuku’s arrival place. Perhaps this is just coincidence, perhaps it’s simply because of the inviting river estuary, but one can’t help thinking there’s something more.
Seventh century myth-makers
O no Yasumaro, who compiled the Kojiki (Muromachi Era statue, pic by Michael Lambe)
Japanese mythology was put together at the end of the seventh century on the orders of Emperor Tenmu (631-686), who usurped the throne from his nephew in the Jinshin War. In order to legitimise his reign, Tenmu sought to bolster his status by establishing a direct line to the sun goddess, in much the same way Emperor Augustus cloaked himself with divine origins. Tenmu died, however, before completion of the ‘correct version’ of history, though work continued under his wife-niece Empress Jito (645-703).
The mythology was eventually published in two books, Kojiki (712) for the imperial family, and a more comprehensive and official history Nihon shoki (720). The myths were tailored in such a way as to cut out breaks in the dynastic line, as well as omitting any hint of foreign blood by claiming descent from ‘heaven’. This may explain why there is no mention in the mythical histories of Himiko, the shaman-queen of Yamatai, who was unrelated to the Yamato lineage. She lived in the third century CE, so if she could be written out of the history books, how much easier to write out Jofuku a couple of millennia earlier.
Interestingly, Tenmu was concerned to foster relations with Silla, which dominated Korea at the time, so he was keen to downplay links with China. Any suggestion of descent from Jofuku was thus out of the question. The reign of Empress Jito may explain why a goddess was chosen instead as clan founder, though the notion of a female immortal (Amaterasu) associated with weaving and sericulture pointed very much in the direction of the rice culture of the Yangtze river basin.
Could it be then that the folk memory of Jofuku settling near Mt Takachiho was incorporated into a later story of dynastic conquest? It’s possible for instance that there was Korean migration into Kyushu following Tungusik movement southwards, so that stories from their homeland were integrated into earlier stories of Chinese origin. Was Jimmu perhaps an invented composite figure, whose origin was obscured by a mythical narrative that skilfully interwove different historical currents?
Miko priestess conducting a Yayoi-era rite
Jofuku’s arrival in Japan coincided with the spread of Yayoi culture (c 300 BCE) , when a different race from the Jomon asserted dominance and introduced a more sophisticated lifestyle from the indigenous hunter-gatherers. Jofuku not only brought with him 3000 youths, presumably versed in Chinese customs and techniques, but legend says that he introduced agriculture and medicinal plants, which is why he is venerated today as a kami of farming and medicine.
So could the cultural breakthrough of Yayoi times have been attributed by Tenmu’s myth-makers not to a Chinese figure who ‘descended’ on southern Kyushu, but to a fictional Jimmu who initiated the imperial dynasty of Yamato?
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In Part Three further consideration is given to the evidence for and against the Jofuku theory of descent upon Mt Takachiho.
Mt Takachicho in southern Kyushu (photos by John Dougill)
Mythological mystery There are many fascinating mysteries in Japanese mythology, and one in particular has intrigued Green Shinto for years. Why would the heavenly deities choose to descend on Mt Takachiho in the south of Kyushu? Out of the hundreds of mountains available to them, why choose that one? (The mountain should not be confused with the town called Takachiho in northern Miyazaki, which also claims mythological links.)
The question is all the more vexing given the standard interpretation that the present imperial lineage ‘descended’ from Korea across the Sea of Japan. The boat journey from Busan to Hakodate has some convenient islands along the way at which to stop and refuel, notably Tsushima and Ikijima, so one can easily imagine how in ancient times it offered a convenient means of passage into Japan.
But if the ancestors of the imperial family came by this route, why would the mythology have them arrive at the other end of Kyushu? It’s all the more strange when one considers that there are taller mountains in Kyushu, such as nearby Mt Karakunidake, from which it’s possible to see the Korean homeland (indeed, karakuni is an alternate reading of the kanji for Korea).
Kagura featuring Ninigi no mikoto who descended from heaven to land on Mt Takachiho
To find out more, I made a trip some years ago to Takachiho to investigate the tenson korin (heavenly descent by Amaterasu’s grandson Ninigi no mikoto). There’s a shrine at the base with flat land called Takachiho-gawara where Ninigi no mikoto is said to have arrived, though one presumes this is simply the convention of establishing shrines on the lower slopes of mountains onto which kami descend. (In this way the place of worship is not only made accessible to villagers, but the sacred mountain behind it offers a focus for prayer.)
When you climb Takachiho, which at one point has a narrow ridge with sheer drop, you find Ama no Sakahoko (heavenly spear), a trident stuck into the summit. According to legend, Ninigi no mikoto supposedly thrust the three-pronged spear into the ground on his arrival from heaven (Takamagahara). How long it’s actually been there no one seems to know for certain, though Sakamoto Ryoma mentioned it in letters in 1866. Nonetheless, the question remains as to what exactly prompted the heavenly deity to descend on this particular peak.
The spear known as Ama no Sakahoko at the summit of Takachiho (courtesy mapio.net)
Kuroshio The first Europeans to step on Japanese soil arrived in 1543 in the form of two (possibly three) Portuguese merchants aboard a Chinese junk. The ship was making its way along the coast of China for trading purposes when it was blown off course by a vicious storm, during which it was badly damaged and no longer able to steer a course. Left to drift with the prevailing current, it was deposited in a welcoming bay in the island of Tanegashima. In this way, through the whims of the weather, history was made. (A model of the Chinese junk stands today on the headland where the boat was stranded.)
The bay in Tanegashima where the first Europeans arrived
The current that brought the Europeans to Japan is known as Kuroshio. It flows from the east coast of the Philippines, past Taiwan and along the east of Japan to merge into the North Pacific. It is to the Far East what the Gulf Stream is to Europe, sending a steady flow of relatively warm water northwards to dissipate in colder seas. In this way the west of Britain and the east of Japan benefit from clement conditions and an enriched marine life.
Six years after the arrival of the Portuguese merchants, Francis Xavier arrived in 1549. He had set out from Malacca on a Chinese junk, not particularly seaworthy, and the boat followed the Kuroshio current past Tanegashima into Kinko Bay in southern Kyushu to where the town of Kagoshima stands opposite the volcanic island of Sakurajima.
Painting of Xavier coming to convert the locals, accompanied by Japan’s first Christian known as Yajiro
Following in Xavier’s wake, I took the modern-day jetfoil from Tanegashima to Kagoshima. On the way it passes Cape Sata on the southernmost tip of Kyushu, and once round the headland there come calmer waters as the ship enters the long expanse of Kinko Bay, extending inland for twenty-five miles. Lined with rocky sides and wooded hills, it makes a welcoming backdrop to arriving boats, and in the distance at the end of the bay stands a large mountain – Mt Takachiho.
Given the position of the mountain, it seemed that here was an answer to the puzzle as to why the heavenly deities had picked out Takachiho. In ancient times boats setting out from the east coast of China would have been drawn by the Kuroshio current towards Kyushu and Kinko Bay. And if they had settled in the area, it would have been Chinese custom to take the ‘mother mountain’ as their tutelary guardian. Rather than ‘descending’ from Korea, the mythical incomers would have arrived from Eastern China.
Chamberlain’s translation of The Kojiki opened up the stories of Japanese mythology to foreigners such as Lafcadio Hearn
Mythological support The mythical origins of Japan are set out in two books in the early eighth century, Kojiki (712) and Nihon shoki (720). By general consent, the former was a glorified piece of propaganda to provide emperors with divine status. The latter, with its alternative versions of events, was considered more like an official history. (For more on this topic, see here.)
For the following reading of the mythology, I’m indebted to the scholar Robert Wittkamp, who has sought to explain why the Nihon shoki has two books but the Kojiki only one. His supposition is that in contrast to the single imperial dynasty spelt out in the Kojiki, the Nihon shoki seeks to draw a distinction between the Takami Musuhi line in Book One and the Amaterasu line of Book Two.
Opening in the rocks at Sefa Utaki
Given this lineage break, it would seem quite possible that the Yamato dynasty integrated into their Korean tales the memory of an earlier ‘descent’ onto Kyushu. It is common after all for clans and tribes to mythologise their first arrival on foreign shores, and you find this in Okinawa for example with Kudaka Island claimed as the arrival point of the Ryukyu people and sanctified by the wonderful Sefa Utaki.
It may well be then that following immigration from Korea, the stories of descent onto Takachiho were conflated with the mythology of the sun going into hiding. It was through the creative work of Hieda no Are and O no Yasumaro (d. 723) that the competing stories were skilfully woven together into the Amaterasu myth as we know it today.
Following the compilation of the myths and legends in the early eighth century, the Kojiki story was largely disregarded in favour of Nihon shoki. It was only a millennium later with the Kokugaku Movement of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that Kojiki came to be regarded as of wider significance. With the establishment of State Shinto under the Meiji government, the fictions of the concocted mythology were regarded as fact, and Takachiho along with spurious graves of early emperors treated as sacred ground.
(In Part Two a suggestion is made as to who might have actually ‘descended’ onto Mt Takachiho.)
