A Year in the Life of a Shinto Shrine

John K. Nelson

• Publisher: University of Washington Press
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9780295997698
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Cultural & Social Anthropology
• Index: Social Sciences

What we today call Shinto has been at the heart of Japanese culture for almost as long as there has been a political entity distinguishing itself as Japan. A Year in the Life of a Shinto Shrine describes the ritual cycle at Suwa Shrine, Nagasaki’s major Shinto shrine. Conversations with priests, other shrine personnel, and people attending shrine functions supplement John K. Nelson’s observations of over fifty shrine rituals and festivals. He elicits their views on the meaning and personal relevance of the religious events and the place of Shinto and Suwa Shrine in Japanese society, culture, and politics. Nelson focuses on the very human side of an ancient institution and provides a detailed look at beliefs and practices that, although grounded in natural cycles, are nonetheless meaningful in late-twentieth-century Japanese society. Nelson explains the history of Suwa Shrine, basic Shinto concepts, and the Shinto worldview, including a discussion of the Kami, supernatural forces that pervade the universe. He explores the meaning of ritual in Japanese culture and society and examines the symbols, gestures, dances, and meanings of a typical shrine ceremony. He then describes the cycle of activities at the shrine during a calendar year: the seasonal rituals and festivals and the petitionary, propitiary, and rite-of-passage ceremonies performed for individuals and specific groups. Among them are the Dolls’ Day festival, in which young women participate in a procession and worship service wearing Heian period costumes; the autumn Okunchi festival, which attracts participants from all over Japan and even brings emigrants home for a visit; the ritual invoking the blessing of the Kami for young children; and the ritual sanctifying the earth before a building is constructed. The author also describes the many roles women play in Shinto and includes an interview with a female priest. Shinto has always been attentive to the protection of communities from unpredictable human and divine forces and has imbued its ritual practices with techniques and strategies to aid human life. By observing the Nagasaki shrine’s traditions and rituals, the people who make it work, and their interactions with the community at large, the author shows that cosmologies from the past are still very much a part of the cultural codes utilized by the nation and its people to meet the challenges of today.

1

FRAMES AND FOCUSES

Shinto is sacred rope wrapped around a huge tree or mossy stone, little shrines scattered seemingly at random throughout both city and country landscapes, festivals that can be solemn and raucous simultaneously—yet these are only the more readily accessible characteristics of a tradition considered to be “ethereal” and “inscrutable” because it does not act the way religions usually do. What we today call Shinto has been at the heart of Japanese culture for almost as long as there has been a political entity distinguishing itself as Japan, or Nihon, “Land of the Sun Source.” Through fourteen centuries of recorded history this mixture of rituals, institutions, magical practices, charms, and so forth continues to participate in the framing of Japan both to the outside world and to the Japanese themselves. From “structural impediments” affecting the ongoing trade imbalance with the United States, to Japanese sensitivity about international criticism of its economic policies, to the outlay of public funds at the death of one emperor and the enthronement of his son—Shinto-based orientations and values, like some great aquifer, lie at the core of Japanese culture, society, and character, nourishing and furthering the lives of both individuals and institutions in subtle, yet often quite tangible, ways.

As the twentieth century comes to a close, it is increasingly difficult to find societies like Japan where cosmologies from the past are still thought immediately relevant to the present-day activities of modern men and women. Where but in Japan will a corporation begin construction of a state-of-the-art laser refraction laboratory with an ancient ritual to calm the spirit of the earth? Where else can we find so many individuals who feel a need to take their brand new Honda or Toyota sedan to a shrine to have it blessed before subjecting it to the vicissitudes of city and highway driving? From the new emperor in his Tokyo palace down to the poorest farmer in his thatched-roof house in Iwate, Shinto cosmologies have been like the glass of a window through which the phenomenal world and human existence have been viewed for over two thousand years. Yet, due to a lack of charismatic teachers and intellectually stimulating theological texts, of which Shinto has had very few, those in the West who have made an effort to understand Japan and its people have never really grasped Shinto’s influence upon social, cultural, and, especially, political norms.

So perhaps it is reasonable to ask, why bother about Shinto at all, or about one of its shrines, if so little attention has been given to its postwar presence until now? Buddhism has always been much more appealing, both intellectually and aesthetically, to those interested in Japanese culture and the application of certain key ideas to Western contexts. Then again, what about neo-Confucianism, with its philosophy of correct conduct for the individual and its interpenetration of society’s civil and political elements? Surely it has a more timely relevance to contemporary life than the vague, oftentimes contradictory, “semimystical” wanderings and practices of Shinto?

But then, recent political and social events speak otherwise. There remains to be explained the curious behavior of a modern industrialized society’s fixation upon its past through the institution of a heavily subsidized Imperial household. When Emperor Hirohito died in 1989, the government allocated nearly $73 million for funeral rites and then another $90-odd million for enthronement proceedings for the new emperor, his son, rites that were essentially Shinto in origin, design, and orientation. These events become even more fascinating and complicated when one considers that Japan’s constitution expressly forbids any interaction of government and this ancient system of ritual practices. It would be analogous to a death in Britain’s royal family being observed with Celtic symbolism and Druid pomp—leading to the question why a connection should exist between such historically diverse periods at all as well as why it is promoted by government, the national media, and various organizations. We might also ask why a majority of Japanese continue to find an emotionally satisfying but intellectually unarticulated resonance with many of these traditions. One need only turn out at New Year’s to see a demonstration of this infatuation with “tradition” by millions of people who, in the bitter cold of midnight, come to pray for health, wealth, and happiness at a Shinto shrine. Are there definable social and cultural trends that can be studied, explained, and analyzed, or should we take at his word one of the early Japanese theorists, Yamazaki Ansai, who advised in his writings, “One should not bring reason to the explanation of Shinto”?¹

To answer these questions and address the hoard of ensuing concerns which follow in their wakes is one of the goals of this book. Rather than casting about in the oceans of information and history relevant to Japan as a whole, I hope to convince the reader there is no better place to look than into the “life” of a contemporary Shinto shrine (such as Suwa Jinja of Nagasaki) for issues of “tradition,” “modernity,” and “individual versus group agency” and, of course, for matters of religious and spiritual import. I use the word “life” with some care, to emphasize that a shrine is an entity constantly adapting to its environment, requiring infusions of nurturing substances (human energy, intelligence, money) by means of which it aims to achieve an influence and purpose extending far beyond its physical limitations. By examining its traditions and rituals, the people who make it work, and their interactions with the community at large, I hope to show how we can discover a local manifestation of a more general but equally remarkable path—one which begins in the prehistory of Japan, weaves its way through and then into the fused institutions of government, clergy, and state of the early historical period, withstands being paved over with militaristic ideology on a number of occasions, and finally continues through the corridors of the most modern electronics laboratory of the late twentieth century, still very much a part of the cultural codes a nation and its people utilize to meet the challenges of today as well as of the next millennium. Shinto, or the “way of the Kami,” can never be accused of nonaccommodation.

Yet, in part due to the lessons learned from its long history, Shinto does not give up its secrets easily, nor does it allow easy access to accurate encapsulations, whether theoretical or descriptive. Until the 1940s, both native and foreign writers attempted with varying degrees of success to convey to the international community the religious dynamism behind Japan’s rapid modernization. But in the restrictive political climate of the time, where professors could be fired and even imprisoned for going against state ideology, a highly managed and selected image was all that could be offered as a starting point for handling the hot potato of Shinto’s influence on secular and state affairs.² With the end of World War II and the liberalization of governmental policies controlling access to historical documents and research materials, plus the increase in international scholars able to read and write Japanese, a number of important and influential works have given a new impetus to examining the role of Shinto in social and cultural realms.³ Nevertheless, there has yet to be published a substantive “inside” account of what goes on at a shrine, and it is to this end that the following chapters add more features to the slowly forming portrait of this fascinating subject.

It is not the intention of this book to present a detailed analysis of the Shinto tradition or a wide-ranging overview of its various ritual practices, nor does it opt for a single methodology of presentation (symbolic, structural, neo-Marxist, phenomenological, and so on). Instead, by showing how a contemporary shrine functions throughout the course of a year, it is hoped that the dominant “moods and motivations” which fuel its activities, compel its priests and participants, and situate it within the community at large will gradually emerge. The reasons for this approach are many but stem from two basic concerns. First, by minimizing the use of technical terms and theorizing and by presenting a more human side to shrine activities, it is hoped that the discussion will interest a wider audience than scholarly publications normally aim for. Second, if there is any progress made in the following chapters in divesting from the image of Shinto its long-ascribed parameters of “mysticism” and “inscrutability,” as something so thoroughly “Japanese” that no non-Japanese can ever hope to understand it, then all the translating, research, interviews, and travel will be a satisfying contribution to increased cultural understanding. The customs of any society different from one’s own may seem highly esoteric and remote at first encounter, but I hope to show how Shinto ritual practices—from their origins to their present-day expressions running the length and width of the entire Japanese archipelago (and recently to several other countries as well)—are pragmatically designed to benefit not only the individual but his or her community and nation as well. Just how this comes about is a fascinating journey of adaptation and resourcefulness, with a few timely lessons for the Western world as well.

There are a few terms and concepts central to any discussion of Shinto and its ritual practices which, like a giant sumo wrestler (a sport rich with Shinto symbolism; see Cuyler 1979), need to be grappled with from the onset. Just as the names of the wrestlers are announced at the beginning of a match, let me similarly introduce what kind of “Shinto” I am talking about, followed by “politics,” “religion,” “tradition,” and “culture,” all to be dispensed with in five brief bouts.

Like Christianity, Buddhism, or Islam, “Shinto” is not a unified, monolithic entity that has a single center and system all its own. There is “folk” Shinto practiced by private individuals without any institutional setting other than what they think is appropriate for a time, place, and situation. There is, or more accurately was, “state” Shinto, the now illegal government-sponsored ethical and educational ideology which effectively united the Japanese people for the Second World War. At its center was “Imperial household” Shinto, with its veneration of the deity Amaterasu as the omnipotent force animating both the “unbroken” line of emperors and the Japanese people. The emperor still conducts household rituals both at his palace in Tokyo and more infrequently at the Ise shrines, although these activities are supposedly separated from any connection with the state. Finally and most importantly for the limited focus of this book, there is the phenomenon of “shrine” Shinto, whereby ancient religious institutions, some of which have origins in prehistory, have managed to convey to the present day a body of ritual practices essentially agricultural in design and animistic in content yet which somehow manage to attract participation from among urban-dwelling Japanese. When I use the word “Shinto,” I am referring to the last type without distinguishing it each time by the prefix “shrine” and hope that this convenience will not cause confusion.

Now to the four terms. Pick up almost any scholarly work on Shinto and chances are that the discussion will begin with the line “Shinto is Japan’s indigenous religion.”⁴ Immediately we are in water made hot by the friction of politics against the historical record, because it is unclear what context the word “indigenous” (meaning “native,” “endemic,” “aboriginal”) refers to. Not only is there considerable controversy about just who the original Japanese actually were as well as where they came from, the fact remains that before their arrival, the islands were already occupied by several ethnically diverse tribal groups, one of which may have been the predecessor of the Ainu peoples, a group decidedly not Japanese.⁵ The divinities of these groups were probably very different from what we now call the Shinto Kami, although it is likely they both share a similar function in helping human beings cope with the forces of the natural world. To imply, however, that Shinto is “indigenous” without offering any context for the remark is similar to calling pasta indigenously Italian or Buddhism indigenously Chinese. Writing of this sort implicitly authenticates claims of the Imperial household that there is an “unbroken” line of emperors reaching back to prehistoric times and that the first real Japanese were their ancestors of the Yamato clan.

Thus, readers are advised to be aware (as well as beware!) of what is commonly called the “subtext” of certain statements, opinions, and “facts” when reading about Shinto. Even though appearing with the full force of a writer’s academic credentials or an informant’s authority as an “insider,” many pronouncements about Shinto rituals and beliefs need to be placed within contexts best described as political, since, as is their custom, individuals the world over are constantly busy with a million ways of legitimating, authenticating, and sometimes obfuscating their real intentions. We should not be surprised by this occurring in a religious institution any more than in an educational or a political one, but a reader needs to keep a sharp eye open for broader or alternative interpretations. Perhaps, with such a statement, I am undermining my own descriptions and efforts to convey what I witnessed during the course of a year at a contemporary shrine; still, I feel better for having said it, since to avoid politics when studying ritual practices is all but impossible.

Consideration must next be given to one of the most slippery and emotionally charged words in the English language: “religion.” Ask a Japanese whether or not he or she has one and most likely you will receive an answer in the negative, though that very morning the person may have placed offerings of rice, water, and flowers upon a family altar. This seeming contradiction is partially due to the nuances associated with the way “religion” is translated into Japanese via the word shūkyō, with the first character for shū meaning “sect” and the kyō standing for “doctrine.” Most Japanese do not belong to or actively participate in a specific sect and know little about the complexities of religious doctrine; thus their answer is perfectly logical. It is absolutely crucial to understand that “religious belonging and the practice of religion in Japan are not primarily conditioned by notions of belief,” a phenomenon resulting in Japanese religion’s overarching theme of “action, custom, and etiquette” (Reader 1991, 9 and, citing Omura, 14). From an anthropological perspective that compares cultures worldwide, belief is one of the least important characteristics of religious activity. Were we to judge the ritual practices of other societies solely on a Judeo-Christian basis of whether or not their participants believe in them, it is likely we would find a majority of the world’s people to be without religion (a common ideology of many overzealous Christian missionaries). It is far more useful to look at the surrounding social environment within which apparently religious activities occur. There, one may find that an individual’s ritual participation is motivated by status, economic, or political considerations, not to mention the possibility that custom encourages certain modes of behavior an outside observer might label as “religious” or as motivated by belief.

Thus, it is important to try and think of “religion” not in a Western, institutionalized sense—with gilded cupolas, Sunday schools, and sacred texts—but more as “a system of symbols which acts to establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations . . . [which serve as] screens through which experience is interpreted and [as] guides for action” (Geertz 1973, 90). For the early Japanese, “religion” was inseparable from daily life. It had a multidimensional character that permeated everything people did—from making a fire to cooking food, from hunting to raising crops, from engaging in trade or battle with other communities to interpersonal relationships that might result in marriage, cooperation, or formal worship of the clan’s divinities. It was not so much the way in which individuals were advised to live, it was instead how they were obligated to live.⁶ All this has changed of course with the arrival of the modern period, but one frequently encounters vestiges of this older cosmology within contemporary Japan—particularly its political character of community-building nationalism, its philosophical character grounded in everyday realities, and its ethnical characteristic of “purity” and “brightness” (Muraoka 1964, 23)—and we must try to understand why it still has a power to motivate action and participation.

How one goes about handling the interaction of a religion’s dual dynamics—one personal and subjective and the other institutional and objective—is one of the challenges of writing a book like this. It seems presumptuous to assume that I can accurately convey the private, affective, individual experiences of those participating in Shinto rituals, but the reader will find numerous cases where I attempt to do exactly that. Anticipating a little healthy skepticism, may I say that, in addition to my own interpretations and discoveries based on attending fifty-five rituals, I made a considerable effort to ask people afterward how they felt or what they got out of a particular service, then incorporated these responses into my rendering of the event. Though the language of this book freely employs imagery, metaphor, different voices, and what may be characterized as a somewhat confessional approach, what transpires in these chapters is in no way compromised by the modes of representation. My purpose in employing a variety of narrative techniques is to help readers overcome cultural distances so that, had they been in my place, a similar experiencing of the event would have been within their grasp. Rather than using this book primarily for reference, I am interested in having people actually follow the flow of shrine events page by sequential page and have therefore made every effort to keep the text free of theoretical arguments, academic vocabulary, and digressions, which (with the exception of this opening chapter) are handled in the notes at the end of the book.

Let me finally turn to the conceptual pair of “tradition” and “culture,” which will frequently appear in the following pages. When looking at people in other countries and the ways they go about ordering the world, some of what they do strikes us as odd, irrelevant, bizarre, or even downright wrong. Recently, however, what with the speed of communication and the penetrating glare of the camera, as long as there is a certain physical and mental buffer between “us” and “them,” we do our best to diplomatically tolerate the customs of other societies by saying, “Oh well, that’s just one of their cultural traditions and (thus) it can’t be helped that they enjoy eating locusts—or breast-feed their children till age four—or make their houses out of dung.” Which is to say condescendingly that those “poor” people are bound and gagged by the twin thugs of culture and tradition because neither is flexible enough to adapt to social change.

I opt for a different perspective throughout this book, one reflecting my basically anthropological leanings assisted by the works of historians and sociologists as well. When I use “tradition,” it is in the way that Edward Shils (1981) or Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (1987) intend, namely, that what meets the eye as being a culture’s time-honored custom may in ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half title
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Conventions
• 1 Frames and Focuses
• 2 Historical Momentums
• 3 The Kami
• 4 Ritual and Ceremony: An Overview
• 5 Finding the Measure
• 6 Head Priest Uesugi
• Spring
• Summer
• Autumn
• Winter
• Conclusion
• Appendix 1: The Rituals and Festivals of Suwa Shrine
• Appendix 2: Map and Guide to the Shrine Precincts
• Glossary of Japanese Terms
• Works Cited
• Index