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Japan by Train 3) Sapporo

March 20, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

Arrival

Amidst the throng of humanity at Sapporo station stands a striking sculpture. Busy commuters hurry past, but the lone figure stands defiantly still. Carved out of yellowish wood, it depicts an Ainu hunter in headdress with a long arrow gripped firmly between his teeth. In his hands he holds out a bow in welcome, yet no one pays him any heed. Dignified and rooted, he speaks to another age.

Sapporo in the Ainu language means Vast Dry River (i.e. Plain), a reference to the open land on which it is located. With the influx of migrants from the Honshu mainland, kanji characters were allocated to the name based on the sound and without regard to meaning. In this way, the descriptive Ainu name was written as something akin to Tablet Hood – a tablet on which is written a sad history.

In 1869 the Ainu of Ishikari Plain were pushed aside for construction of a capital fit for a thriving new region. The layout was conceived in grid-like straight lines, and once you step out of the station it becomes apparent, and modernity hits you in the form of a building with thirty-seven storeys. A hundred and fifty years ago there were only a handful of village houses; now Sapporo has a population of nearly two million. Yet despite its size there are wide avenues and open areas, startling for those used to the cramped conditions of Honshu. All that unused space!

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Hokkaido Jingu

When I told Hirota san I was going to visit Hokkaido Jingu, the island’s top Shinto shrine, he showed little interest. Shinto is often said to form the foundation of Japanese culture, yet it is not recognised by Hirota’s sect of Buddhism (Jodo Shinshu, True Pure Land Sect). The founder, Shinran Shonin, saw kami as a distraction from the only thing that matters – salvation through Amida’s saving grace.

Shinto’s major shrines often boast ancient origins, but those of Hokkaido only date from Meiji times ( a couple in the extreme south claim a seventeenth century foundation, but they are exceptions). For millennia Hokkaido was the domain of Ainu spirits called kamuy, and the decision in 1868 to construct a large Shinto shrine, authorised by the teenage Emperor Meiji, was an assertion of authority. The main kami, Okuni-Tamano-Kami, is translated by the shrine as Divine Spirit of the Land of Hokkaido, indicative of the new order.

The imperial character of the shrine is evident in its stately approach, lined by massive cryptomeria. Unusually, there are wooden cloisters, as if to mimic the grandeur of medieval cathedrals. At the water basin, intended for ritual cleansing, the ladles had been removed to prevent Covid contagion, and the irony was striking – a religion that promotes purity had been disrupted by impurity.

A waterkess water basin with bilingual instructions

At the Worship Hall were the usual trappings of Shinto, and I wondered if somewhere there might be recognition of the Ainu past. Instead I came upon a Pioneer Sub-shrine , established in 1938 to mark the 70th anniversary of the ‘founding of Hokkaido’. It enshrines thirty-seven pioneers for overcoming difficulties in the development of the island. There was not a single mention of the Ainu, or of the kamuy who for so long had co-existed with them.

These days Shinto is being recast by some as a nature religion concerned with environmental matters, though offcially it remains centred on the emperor as representative of a divine lineage. The spread of Shinto abroad has prompted greater examination of its claims to universality, based on the animist belief in kami-imbued natural phenomena such as rocks and trees. Supporters of this view like to point to the sacred groves with which shrines are surrounded as evidence of Shinto’s green credentials. Hokkaido Jingu is no exception, being set in a large area of mixed woodland. A noticeboard claims it is proof of Shinto’s bond with nature, though with no hint of irony it stands alongside a sign banning pets.

The woods are home to red fox and squirrel, as well as a variety of birds. Though it was early autumn, the shrine was offering ‘Herbal tea with pickled cherry blossom’, and the subtle taste was much in keeping with Japanese traits: understated, refined and delicate. Inevitably, someone had counted the cherry trees (1400 in all), and it is worth noting that because of the difference in temperature they flower almost two months later than in Kansai. Travel tip: visit Honshu in May for the fine weather, then enjoy a bonus of cherry blossom in Hokkaido.

Japan by Train 2: Asahikawa

March 10, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

From Wakkanai heading south, Asahikawa is the next significant outpost of civilisation. The train takes almost four hours, which gives an idea of the scale of Hokkaido. Asahikawa is not well-known, but is Hokkaido’s second biggest city with a population of 350,000.

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At the Information Office, I looked for something special about Asahikawa. Guidebooks pitch it as the gateway to the Daisetsu mountain range, which is Hokkaido’s no.1 tourist destination. ‘Do you have something on mountains, perhaps?’ I asked, and sure enough a glossy brochure was produced – ’Coexisting with the Kamuy: The Kamikawa Ainu’ (Kamuy is the Ainu name for spirits, Kamikawa a sacred river). Inside was a map of Ainu villages and an area labelled ‘Playground of the gods’. Perfect.

The brochure spoke of ‘magnificent waterfalls’, ‘mysteriously-shaped rocks’ and ‘enigmatic lakes’. There were religious sites too, such as a riverside rock from which shaved sticks called Inau were offered to the river god for safe passage through the rapids. One caption spoke of ‘Gorges filled with snow which has not melted in ten thousand years.’ I needed a moment or two to take in the time scale. Seeing that, touching it, savouring it – now that would be special!

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Hokkaido was once two separate islands, which merged into each other as the tectonic plates beneath them collided. The movement forced up the Daisetsu range, which the Ainu named, descriptively, ‘Vast Roof Covering Middle Hokkaido.’ The tallest of the mountains, the highest in Hokkaido, is Mt Asahidake (2291m, 7513 ft), and the Visitors Center at its base has a list of adventurous activities, which along with hiking and river rafting include snowshoeing, air boarding, dog-sledding, and even ‘treeing’.

The route to the top is six kms (3.7m), which there and back takes eight to nine hours to complete. The volcano is still active, so there is no shortage of hot springs available afterwards to soak weary limbs. Skiing is particularly popular, because, according to the Visitors Center, the mountain has ‘the best powder snow in the world’. Really?

Near the Visitors Center a ropeway runs up to 1600m (5200 ft), transporting passengers literally and figuratively to a different realm. In ancient times mountains with a special sense of presence were considered sacred, and Asahidake was sacred to the Ainu. The ride is spectacular – the rarefied atmosphere, the soaring heights, the magnificence of nature. With its waterfalls, pristine lakes and alpine flowers you can see why the Ainu would have thought it a paradise on earth.

At the top a one-hour walk leads to a volcanic landscape with crater lakes. It is the first place every year to display autumn colours in Japan, and the crowning glory is the sight of bright red maple leaves against thick white snow. How divine is that! In winter there are pillars of light and sparkling ice crystals known as ‘diamond dust’, while in spring streams burst into life with the melting of the snow, surging down to the valley below. As in India, the fresh mountain water was seen as a living entity, gifted from the gods on high. Amongst the animal life here are brown bears and – new to me – a furry relative of the rabbit called pika which burrows underground. Cute!

Within this paradise were swarms of dragonflies, darting back and forth in delight at the sunshine. It reminded me of Emperor Jomei, who as early as the seventh century had written of ‘My Yamato, Island of Dragonflies’. It was only when I got back to the wifi comfort of my hotel that I discovered there are a staggering 5000 varieties worldwide, of which 200 exist in Japan alone. Dragon is a powerful moniker for such a fragile creature, yet it captures the appeal of the brightly coloured creatures, for in their flight and love of water they evoke the vision of transitioning between realms. Perhaps the Pure Land priest, Issa, had something similar in mind when he wrote…
dragonfly –
distant mountains
reflected in its eyes

Another writer with an affinity for insects was Lafcadio Hearn, whose interest resulted in a remarkable twenty essays of detailed observation. His eyesight was abysmal, but his one-eyed myopia led him to focus on close-ups through a magnifying glass. He particularly appreciated the value given to insect song in Japanese culture, for ’the music of insects and all that it signifies in the great poem of nature tells very plainly of goodness of heart, aesthetic sensibility, a perfectly healthy state of mind.’

Japan by Train 1) Wakkanai

March 3, 2022 / John D. / 4 Comments

A delicious icecream outside the most northerly toilet in Japan!

In 2020 I travelled by train from Japan’s most northerly station (Wakkanai) to the most southerly (Ibusuki). The three-month journey was inspired by a love of travel, and a desire to see parts of Japan I had yet to visit. And so one fine day in August I set off shortly after Obon to catch the late summer sunshine in Hokkaido. Like Donald Richie, I thought I could find the essence of Japan by travelling through the lesser known parts of the country, but whereas he explored The Inland Sea, my journey was largely along the Japan Sea, avoiding the ‘Golden Route’ of Tokyo – Kyoto – Osaka – Hiroshima.

On the way I wanted to stop at places of note and find what made them special. I was particularly keen to visit the jokamachi (castle towns), as these Edo-era strongholds remain regional hubs of arts and crafts. And so one fine day I flew to Sapporo and headed by train for Wakkanai. My first port of call was Cape Soya, Japan’s most northerly point with views of distant Sakhalin. My companion was a young Buddhist priest called Hirota san, a member of the Jodo Shinshu sect, who had asked to join me for the first week. It was from Soya that Alan Booth started the walk described in his celebrated book Roads to Sata (1995).

This series of posts may not always be specifically about Shinto, but I hope it will illustrate how its values are deeply embedded in the Japanese way of life. After thirty years of living in Japan, I have come to the conclusion that more than a nature religion, Shinto is a religion of Japaneseness.

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Hokumon Jinja is the main shrine in Wakkanai. Its predecessor was founded at Soya as early as 1785, enshrining Amaterasu as guardian of ‘the north gate’ (Hokumon). In Meiji times it was relocated and rebuilt in its present position at the bottom of a hill with views towards Sakhalin. (Photos by J. Dougill)

Cape Soya

Monument to mark Japan’s northernmost point

The chief attraction at Cape Soya – the whole point of it – is a monument marking Japan’s most northerly point, in front of which visitors pose for photos. Nearby is the statue of a samurai holding a yardstick. Mamiya Rinzo (1775-1844), a famous cartographer, had led an expedition to Sakhalin and confirmed for the first time that it was an island. Accompanying him were six Ainu, yet there was no mention of them – a bit like celebrating Hillary but omitting Tensing in the conquest of Everest.

A few miles from the Cape, Hirota san and I noticed a small rough looking memorial, erected by descendants of the six Ainu on Mamiya Rinzo’s expedition to Sakhalin. It showed the importance of ancestral ties, and the location away from the Soya spotlight spoke to the marginalisation of Ainu in Japanese history. Few in number, the ethnic group have a disproportionate significance, for they blow a hole in the nationalist construct of ‘one race, one nation, one language’. I was planning to learn more about them at the Ainu sites around Asahidake and the newly opened Ainu National Museum at Shiraoi. This was after all for millennia the land of kamuy rather than kami, and still today some 80% of place names in Hokkaido are Ainu.

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View of Mt Rishiri from one of the attractive small lakes in its vicinity

Rishiri Island

Rebun and Rishiri are two attractive islands that can be visited by ferry from Wakkanai. Rishiri is dominated by the conical slopes of its mountain, one of Japan’s many mini-Fujis. On the bus tour round the island a monument caught my attention…

At one point the bus passed a simple rock monument close to the sea, of great interest to me personally but not so much to the others. It marked the spot where the splendidly named Ranald MacDonald arrived on a one-man mission in 1848. His was an extraordinary story. Son of a Scottish father and Chinook mother, he was raised in western Canada where he developed an obsession with the forbidden land on the far side of the Pacific. Japan was still in self-imposed isolation, and imprisonment or death awaited intruders. Nonetheless, bored of his job as a bank clerk, MacDonald signed on for a whaling ship and persuaded the captain to abandon him off Hokkaido. The crew must have thought him insane.

When he washed up on Rishiri, MacDonald pretended to have capsized and was taken captive, then despatched to Nagasaki where those in charge of foreign affairs were based. For some time American and British ships had been skirting Japanese waters, and the captive offered a chance to learn their language, so fourteen samurai who had previously learnt Dutch were appointed to study with him. MacDonald thus became Japan’s first ever English teacher. How did lessons proceed? What method did he use?

The lessons came to an abrupt end after ten months, when MacDonald joined a group of shipwreck survivors released to an American warship. In later years he tried his hand at business but died a poor man, his last word being, ‘Sayonara.’ History suggests he did a great job as teacher, for one of his students, Moriyama Einosuke, became a leading interpreter in the historic negotiations of 1854 with Commodore Perry.

Back in the bus the commentary continued at full speed. Mackerel were once so plentiful that in the poverty following WW2 people flocked to fish at Rishiri. Fishermen put up Shinto shrines in gratitude, which explains the large number. Scallops too were found in abundance. ‘Now, if you would please turn to the left, you can see the kelp hanging up to dry, while on the right is another famous face of Mt Rishiri. Please look left again and you can see the Hokkaido mainland.’ Heads were swivelling from side to side as at a tennis match.

One of the small seaside shrines on Rebun. Whether it is the most northerly shrine in Japan is uncertain, but it owes itself to the gratitude felt by fishermen for the abundance of seafood.

Setsubun

February 1, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

Feb 3 is Setsubun and a time for throwing beans at demons. It takes place at shrines, temples and people’s homes.

Here’s Wikipedia’s succinct overview of the custom and its origins:

Setsubun is the day before the beginning of Spring in Japan. The name literally means “seasonal division”, but usually the term refers to the Spring Setsubun celebrated yearly on February 3 as part of the Spring Festival. In its association with the Lunar New Year, Spring Setsubun can be and was previously thought of as a sort of New Year’s Eve, and so was accompanied by a special ritual to cleanse away all the evil of the former year and drive away disease-bringing evil spirits for the year to come. This special ritual is called mamemaki (literally “bean scattering”). Setsubun has its origins in tsuina, a Chinese custom introduced to Japan in the eighth century.

For an explanation of the beans, click here.
For some interesting facts about the festival, see here.
For a description of the festival at Kyoto’s Yasaka Jinja, see here.
For a photo story of Setsubun at Shimogamo Jinja, see here.

Purification of place prior to a Shugendo ceremony

The Shugendo ceremony involves smoke from burning pine as wooden prayer tablets are thrown into the flames to be ritually burnt

Maiko descend from the stage after distributing lucky beans at Yasaka Jinja in Kyoto

Geisha join senior parishioners to throw lucky beans at Heian Jingu in Kyoto

Demons personifiying all things bad appear at many festivals

Eating a specially fat sushi roll (ehomaki) in the year’s lucky direction is a Setsubun custom

Priests at Shimogamo Jinja show there’s a religious aspect to all the jollity

Amaterasu’s gender

January 25, 2022 / John D. / 2 Comments

Amaterasu, sun goddess and putative ancestor of the present emperor

I have long been intrigued by the gender of Amaterasu because I grew up believing it was a matter of common sense that the sun was male and the earth female. The hot and active sun sends out rays, which like fructifying sperm fertilise the female into producing offspring. Hence the epithet Mother Earth and her depiction as a pregnant Earth Mother.

It was a surprise therefore to find that the sun in Japan was female and ancestress to the emperor. This went along with a male moon, which was even odder for if anything seems to embody yin and feminine attributes you would imagine it to be the moon.

From my readings I learnt that the sun as female was by no means unique to Japan. I also learnt from Mark Teeuwen in a talk to Writers in Kyoto that Amaterasu might well have started as male. Here is what I wrote in a previous posting:

“The shrine dates back to the late seventh century when an angry deity named Amateru (sic) disrupted the imperial household and was ejected, ending up at Ise. Mark T. believes that at this time the deity was male, and that it was only under the influence of Empress Jito (r.686-697) that the deity was feminised by Kojiki mythologisers in her honour (there are parallels between Amaterasu’s son and grandson with those of Jito).”

Now I have chanced upon a new angle on the matter, which comes from the Encyclopedia of Korean Folk Culture. Much of early Shinto came to Japan through Korea, and probably the whole Yamato imperial line, so it is interesting to see in this folk tale some gender shifting. Here follows an excerpt from the encyclopedia, topical because this is the year of the tiger!

A tiger ate up an old mother returning home after providing labor at a rich household, and after disguising himself with the mother’s clothes and headwrap, went to the home where the mother’s son and daughter were waiting and asked them to open the door. The brother and sister peeked out and realizing that it was a tiger, they ran out through the back door and climbed up a tree. The tiger climbed the tree after them and the brother and sister prayed to the heavens, upon which a metal chain was sent down for them and they climbed up to become the sun and the moon. The tiger tried to come after them on a crumbling straw rope, which broke and the tiger fell on a sorghum field and died. The heavens first assigned the brother as the sun and the sister as the moon, but the sister was afraid of the dark and their roles were switched. The sister, shy of all the people looking up during the day, illuminates with intense light.

Of particular interest are the variations of the tale (see here). The commentary notes that, ‘The variations seem to have been based on the instinct to adhere to the conventional association of the male with the yang energy and the sun.’ Interesting to see the ancients had the same reservations as myself!

I had a Japanese colleague once, a very bright lady, who simply assumed Amaterasu was male and was surprised to hear that she was worshipped as a female. As we move into an era of ‘fluid gender’ and debates about trans- and cis-, perhaps it is altogether appropriate for our time that Amaterasu be ascribed a role in both /all genders. Much like Inari, indeed!

A statue of Inari as fertile fermale. The deity is also sometimes portrayed as a wise old man. (near Fushimi Inari in Kyoto)

Thanks to Jonathan Swire, we also have input from Basil Hall Chamberlain’s collection of Ainu folk tales, which features a prudish Sun Goddess and a different kind of crossover, from night to day

Formerly it was the female luminary that came out at night. But she was so greatly shocked at the immoralities which she saw going on out of doors among the grass, that she exchanged with the male luminary, who, being a man, did not care so much. So now the sun is a female deity, and the moon is a male deity. But surely the sun must be often shocked at what she sees going on even in the day-time, when the young people are in the open among the grass.—(Written down from memory. Told by Ishanashte, November, 1886.)

Ryukyu Religion (Part 2)

January 18, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

A thick bundle of incense left at a religious site (photos by John Dougill)

One aspect of Ryukyu religious activity that is particularly striking is the use of incense, not just individual sticks but in bundles. At religious sites you often see wads of incense left behind. This is very different from the rest of Japan, and a board at Ryukyu Mura (Ryukyu Village) helpfully explained the significance of the numbers involved. I am no expert in Daoist numerology, but I suspect it underlies the practice.

Three is a special number in shamanism, as generally in world cultures, and three sticks are used in Ryukyu religion for gratitude or when making personal wishes. (Bundles of six sticks are divided into two lots of three.)

A bundle of twelve sticks is divided into two lots of six for kami worship, at graves or for the house altar. Since six and twelve are multiples of three, this is obviously a step up in terms of spiritual power.

A bundle of 15 sticks divides into two lots of six and one lot of three. This is used every month on the 1st and 15th by the old lunar calendar for worship of the important deity, Hi no kami.

A bundle of 24 is the most powerful and supposed to be only used by a priestess. Interestingly it is made up of 8 x 3, and eight in Chinese writing (and Japanese mythology) signifies infinity. However, in Ryukyu religion apparently the bundle is seen as comprising six groups of four.

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Thanks to Green Shinto subscriber, Jann Williams for pointing me to ‘The Cult of Kabira’, an academic paper by Allan H Smith in 1960. Kabira is part of Ishigaki Island, and with regard to the numerical system Smith writes as follows: “The Kabira numerical system, like that of the Japanese, is a decimal one from the linguistic point of view. The numbers 3 and 5 frequently appear, however, as basic units, as in counting rice bundles. Numbers are believed to possess either an auspicious or an unlucky association; as a case in point, the digits 3, 5, and 7 generally possess a favorable connotation in religious context.”

For Part 1 of Ryukyu Religion, click here. For other pieces on Okinawan religion, see here for the Dragon King and the first of five articles on Okinawa. Or click here for a piece on Miyakojima. Or here on Amami Oshima.

New book on Susanoo

January 15, 2022 / John D. / 2 Comments

For those of us interested in roots and continental connections, Susanoo is an intriguing character who initiates a whole cycle of myths in Kojiki (712). In the twentieth century propagandists seized on his estranged relationship with Amaterasu to present him as a troublesome part of “the family’ in ways spelt out below…..

by David Weiss

It is my pleasure to announce that my book, The God Susanoo and Korea in Japan’s Cultural Memory: Ancient Myths and Modern Empire has now been published by Bloomsbury in the Bloomsbury Shinto Studies Series and is available at: https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/god-susanoo-and-korea-in-japans-cultural-memory-9781350271180/

For a 35% discount, enter the discount code GLR 9XLUK on the first page at checkout.

Description

This book discusses how ancient Japanese mythology was utilized during the colonial period to justify the annexation of Korea to Japan, with special focus on the god Susanoo. Described as an ambivalent figure and wanderer between the worlds, Susanoo served as a foil to set off the sun goddess, who played an important role in the modern construction of a Japanese national identity.

Susanoo inhabited a sinister otherworld, which came to be associated with colonial Korea. Imperialist ideologues were able to build on these interpretations of the Susanoo myth to depict Korea as a dreary realm at the margin of the Japanese empire that made the imperial metropole shine all the more brightly. At the same time, Susanoo was identified as the ancestor of the Korean people. Thus, the colonial subjects were ideologically incorporated into the homogeneous Japanese “family state.”

The book situates Susanoo in Japan’s cultural memory and shows how the deity, while being repeatedly transformed in order to meet the religious and ideological needs of the day, continued to symbolize the margin of Japan.