Tag: mythology

Japan by Train 29: Kagoshima

April 10, 2023 / John D. / 0 Comments

This is part of an ongoing series about travelling the length of Japan by train, and consists of passages with a Shinto or spiritual flavour. They are extracted from a longer book version due to be published by Stone Bridge in January 2024.

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Amaterasu statue in Ise Museum
(All photos by J. Dougill)

For those so inclined, Japanese mythology is fascinating. The stories are the stuff of fantasy, yet the myths continue to sustain the ruling class by fostering mystique about heavenly origins. Emperor Hirohito may have renounced divinity at the end of WW2, but the coronation of the present emperor included a rite symbolising descent from the sun goddess (Amaterasu). The country’s premier shrine, Ise Jingu, still honours her as ancestor of the imperial family.

The myth of heavenly descent is known as Tenson Korin. It tells of how the sun goddess instructed her grandson to descend to earth, and how he touched down on a mountain peak called Mt Takachiho in southern Kyushu. This has long puzzled me. It is generally assumed that the early rulers of Japan, the Yamato clan, emigrated from the Korean peninsula. If that is the case, then surely they would ‘descend’ onto a mountain in northern Kyushu. Why should Mt Takachiho be singled out for this momentous event?

Faced with this puzzle, I concocted my own theory. It was sparked by the arrival of the first Europeans to Japan, for three Portuguese traders were caught in a storm while travelling along the coast of China, and their badly damaged ship was swept along by the Kuroshio Current to the Japanese island of Tanegashima. The same current flows towards Kinko Bay, in which Kagoshima is situated, and at the end of the bay Mt Takachiho is visible.

Because of the current, there are many links between coastal China and southern Kyushu. Japan’s earliest rice cultivation, imported from China, is found here, and archeologists have unearthed skeletons from around this time resembling those of Jiangsu Province. In addition, early myths about Amaterasu and silk weaving are similar to those of the Yangtze River delta.

At this point enter Xu Fu, a Chinese alchemist. According to accounts, he was sent by China’s first emperor in search of an elixir for immortality. The first mission ended in failure, following which around 210 BC he was granted sixty large boats, together with soldiers, crew and 3000 boys and girls equipped with various skills, This time he never returned, and in later years it was assumed that he had reached Japan. How intriguing, I thought. Could the Kuroshio Current have taken Xu Fu’s armada to the foot of Mt Takachiho? Could he be the inspiration for the heavenly descent?

Not far from Mt Takachiho lies the town of Miyazaki and access to the Inland Sea. This prompts thought of the route of conquest taken by the Yamato clan, who migrated from Kyushu to the Nara basin. The mythology related in Japan’s earliest written works tell how Emperor Jimmu, Japan’s legendary first emperor, led the expedition.

Kashihara Shrine picture book story of Jimmu: here he sets out on his expedition

Now here is a very odd ‘coincidence’. If you travel to the small town of Shingu on the Kii Peninsula, there are sites associated with the arrivals by sea of both Jimmu and Xu Fu. Just south of the town is a beach where Emperor Jimmu supposedly landed. And in the town itself is a creek where Xu Fu is said to have arrived. In Japanese Xu Fu is known as Jofuku, and in Jofuku Park is a grave where the Chinese alchemist is allegedly buried.

Chinese style gate at the entrance to Jofuku Park in which is supposedly the grave of Xu Fu, aka Jofuku

The legends of Xu Fu and Jimmu both date from early Yayoi times, when Japan underwent great cultural change. Could it be in fact that the two legendary figures were modelled on the same person? It would mean that Japan’s imperial ancestors came from China in search of immortality, landed beneath Mt Takachiho, made their way across the Inland Sea to Shingu, then proceeded overland to Yamato in the Nara Basin.

The more I thought about my idea, the more convincing it seemed. But when I tried it out on specialists in mythology, I found little support. Alas and alack, there Is nothing new under the sun, and I discovered one day that a Japanese professor by the name of Ino Okifu had come up with the very same theory. Wikipedia claims the idea has been discredited, though it offers no explanation why, and as far as I am concerned the theory remains a tantalising possibility. To the world at large Kagoshima may be a volcanic city where the Last Samurai died, but to me it is a gateway to the mythological past.

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For more on the same subject, see postings for the China connection (Parts 1-3) by starting here.

Japan by Train 24: Karatsu / Imari

February 7, 2023 / John D. / 0 Comments

These extracts are part of an ongoing series from a forthcoming book about travelling from the most northerly station in Japan to the most southerly.

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One of the paper mache floats in the Karatsu Kunchi Festival

Kunchi refers to the lively festivals of north Kyushu. Karatsu, Nagasaki and Hakata (Fukuoka) are the Big Three. Karatsu in particular is famed for its elaborate floats, made of layers of paper maché. At the museum, fourteen of them were lined up in a large hall, along with explanations, and I was quietly making notes when a middle-school excursion arrived armed with questionnaires. Suddenly the hall was as busy as a bee hive, with students rushing hither and thither to fill in answers and get to the ice cream shop.

The Red Lion was the only float when the festival was launched in 1819. Over the next fifty years another 14 were added, all with movable parts.

If the students had allowed themselves time to stop and stare, they would have seen how wondrous were the paper maché creations. From the depths of an artist’s imagination were conjured up mythic monsters, auspicious animals, historical heroes. My favourite was the head of a drunken demon, which had bitten into a samurai’s helmet and been beheaded as a result.

At one end of the hall was a large screen showing previous festivals in which the floats, weighed down by people inside and on top, were hauled along by inebriated men. Musical accompaniment was provided by drum, bell and flute. Moving slowly at first, the teams suddenly surged forward, then broke into high-speed cornering that was positively life endangering. Were it not a tradition, it would surely be banned.

Each district produces its own paper mache scene from mythology. They are made with lacquer over a bamboo or wooden frame.

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At Imari the portable shrine arrives on the back of a truck, accompanied by men in traditional clothing and non-traditional masks.

At the heart of Shinto’s annual festivals are portable shrines (mikoshi) which contain the kami. The heavy wooden mikoshi are usually borne on the hardened shoulders of men, but in this case the three kami arrived on the back of small vans. Men in happi festival jackets waited to unload them, then took up position sitting along three sides of a square. At the front was a temporary altar.

Participants were dressed in a colourful array of costumes: four priests in purple robes; miko dancers in red and white; child flautists in blue kimonos; and taiko drummers in all-white, their sleeves tied back for action.

But the undoubted star was a chigo (sacred child) in embroidered kimono and golden crown. (In former times, the chigo served as unpolluted vessel into which the kami descended, a remnant of Shinto’s shamanic roots.)

The opening ritual included purification, offerings, a norito (formal prayer), a sacred dance, and a stunning taiko performance. Then the three mikoshi were loaded onto trucks again, each followed by a troupe of attendants. I tagged along behind one of them. The musicians played festival tunes, there was much shouting and saké was passed around. This was religion as celebration, and all around were smiling happy faces.

Unexpectedly an argument broke out, and men were yelling at each other, even grabbing each other’s jackets. It looked like a confrontation between rival groups, and spirits were running high. But then all of a sudden, it came to an abrupt end. It was a feigned quarrel, and everyone was laughing.

The taiko performance was superb, drumming up a different world to the mundane.

Men from the same district with one of the shrine’s mikoshi. Not a religion of individual salvation, but one of community bonds.

The China connection (1)

March 29, 2020 / John D. / 2 Comments

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.

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.)

Anime mythology

April 20, 2016 / John D. / 1 Comment

In 2012, to celebrate the 1200th anniversary of Kojiki (712), NHK commissioned a version of the Hyuga cycle of myths, central to the putative descent of the imperial line from heaven.

The animator is award-winning Koji Yamamura, born 1964. He studied painting at Tokyo Zokei University, and his short films have been shown in over 30 countries. He is currently sub-chairman of the Japan Animation Association (JAA) and visiting professor at various art colleges.

The subtitled short film gives a succinct and rather charming overview of the central Kojiki myths from the time of Izanagi, Izanami and the creation of Japan. Following this comes the death of Izanami, the pollution of Izanagi as he defies taboo to visit her, and the subsequent birth of Amaterasu, Susanoo and Tsukunomikoto representing sun, sea-storm and moon.

The story then focusses on Susanoo’s bad behaviour and the resulting retreat of Amaterasu into the famous Rock Cave. Following the festival to lure her out, light is restored and Susanoo expelled. The narrative thereafter centres on Ninigi no mikoto, who descends to earth and marries the blossom princess, Konohanasakuya (called here Flowering Tree).

The children of Ninigi and his bride are known as Umisachi and Yamasachi, who harvest from the sea and from the mountains respectively. Following a quarrel over a fishing hook, Yamasachi spends three years at the palace of the Sea God and marries his daughter, Toyotama. Aided by the Sea God, he returns to confront his brother, who yields to him. (Though not mentioned in the anime, Yamasachi’s real name was Hikohohodemi no mikoto, grandfather of legendary Emperor Jimmu and thereby an imperial ancestor.)

The Hyuga cycle of myths can be viewed here. Set aside 12 minutes to take a look – you may find it educational as well as entertaining.

Izanagi undergoes the primal misogi which led to the birth of Amaterasu, Susanoo and Tsukuyomi no mikoto from his facial orifices (nose and eyes)