Asian Religions, page 27
In addition to the cleansing fountain (mizuya), Shintō shrines have small shops where visitors can purchase amulets and charms (, omamori; see Figure 28.3). Omamori protect their bearers from the polluting elements of disease, accidents, and obstacles. There are omamori for success in business or exams, for travel, for health, for marriage and childbirth, and so on.
Figure 28.3 Omamori. © Yasuko Takemoto / iStockphoto.
From the outermost dimension – the nation as a whole – to the innermost dimension – the human body – the sacred–profane distinction is the predominant religious expression of Shintō. The sense that interior space is naturally clean and pure and should be protected from polluting influences from outside is a Japanese cultural trait.
Notes
1 Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1961), p. 11.
2 H. Byron Earhart, Gedatsu-Kai and Religion in Contemporary Japan (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989).
3 John Nelson, A Year in the Life of a Shintō Shrine (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1996), pp. 226–230.
29
Dimensions of Religion in Modern Japan
The modern-day legacy of Japanese religion can be found diffused throughout daily life, from moral values to aesthetic tastes and unreflective preferences and habits. Perhaps this is why, for many Westerners, Japan has been romanticized as a deeply spiritual culture. Japanese religion is expressed in diffused form from food and drink to sport and art. In this chapter we will look at two examples of Japanese artistic expression with Zen and Shintō roots: the tea ceremony (茶の湯, chanoyu) and haiku (俳句) poetry. And we will examine the new religions of the post-war period and perceptions of religion in contemporary Japan.
Religious Dimension of Japanese Aesthetics: Chanoyu and Haiku
Chanoyu was originally an “art of tea” that was associated with Zen concentration and with the Shintō sense of sacred space. It was practiced primarily in the samurai class, as an expression of bushido (武士道), the way of the warrior. Today it is a formal, aesthetic practice that is carried out in Zen gardens or in small, sparsely appointed rooms specifically set aside for this purpose.
The implements of the tea ceremony reflect Zen material culture, and yet, paradoxically, they are highly prized and can be appraised at astronomical values. Their form and appearance is often extraordinarily simple, even crude, and yet they are aesthetically pleasing – a ritualized expression of appreciation for the tea jars and bowls is in fact built into the ceremony itself. The tea bowls are made by pressing and molding, not on a potter's wheel, and they are fired with subtle glazes. They are given individual names and are registered with families or with schools of tea practice. Japanese green tea, which must be beaten with a whisk to infuse the water, is prized not merely for its flavor, but also for its careful preparation and its vivid color.
A model of Zen simplicity, the whisk itself (Figure 29.1) is made from a single three- to five-inch length of bamboo, cut on two sides of equal length from the joint. Dozens of straight cuts are made from one end to the joint, giving the whisk its whiskers, secured with thread woven into the delicate filaments. Chanoyu whisk makers have practiced their traditional, non-mechanized trade for as many as 20 generations.
Figure 29.1 Japanese tea whisk. © Radu Razvan / Shutterstock.
The setting for the tea ceremony is a simple room of six to eight tatami mats, ideally within a natural setting. The great tea master Takuan (澤庵, 1573–1645) described the ideal tea room in this way:
Let us then construct a small room in a bamboo grove or under trees, arrange streams and rocks and plant trees and bushes, while [inside the room] let us pile up charcoal, set a kettle, arrange flowers, and arrange in order the necessary tea utensils. And let all this be carried out in accordance with the idea that in this room we can enjoy the streams and rocks as we do the rivers and mountains in Nature, and appreciate the various moods and sentiments suggested by the snow, the moon, and the trees and flowers, as they go through the transformation of seasons, appearing and disappearing, blooming and withering. As visitors are greeted here with due reverence, we listen quietly to the boiling water in the kettle, which sounds like a breeze passing through the pine needles, and become oblivious of all worldly woes and worries; we then pour out a dipperful of water from the kettle, reminding us of the mountain stream, and thereby our mental dust is wiped off. This is truly a world of recluses, saints on earth.1
When guests enter the tea room, they are often required to stoop and to slide forward in a sitting position, as the entry door is only three to four feet high. Having entered the room, their eyes are drawn immediately to an alcove or tokonoma (床の間) facing them (see Figure 29.2); it displays a hanging scroll depicting a Zen sentiment (an empty circle; a single character meaning “quietude,” “tranquility,” “well,” or the like; a simple portrait of the patriarch Bodhidharma or a Zen monk), as well as a bowl containing an arrangement of flowers that represents the Japanese art of flower arranging (生け花, ikebana) – another of the Zen-inspired aesthetic practices now taught in schools, in community centers, and in Buddhist monasteries.
Figure 29.2 Tokonoma with hanging scroll and ikebana. Tenryū-ji (天龍寺), Kyoto. © B.S.P.I. / Corbis.
The tea ceremony itself is slow and deliberate; it requires steady concentration on the part of both the host and his or her guests. The tea master Rikyū (利休, 1522–1591), said to have been one of the “founders” of chanoyu, emphasized this deliberative effort in his “seven rules”:
1 Make a delicious bowl of tea.
2 Lay the charcoal so that it heats the water.
3 Arrange the flowers as they are in the field.
4 In summer suggest coolness; in winter, warmth.
5 Do everything ahead of time.
6 Prepare for rain.
7 Give those with whom you find yourself every consideration.
Looking at these rules cynically, we might think, “What could be more obvious than ‘placing the coals so that they heat the water?’ ” or, even more simply, “ ‘preparing a delicious bowl of tea?’ ” – but, to do so, one must be careful and attentive; and “mastery of the obvious” is a Zen spiritual practice that the greatest masters have taught as the highest form of Zen. How often do we carry out seemingly simple tasks in unconscious, inattentive, unaware, careless, wasteful ways? In fact it requires the greatest concentration to do simple things right. This is the abiding principle of chanoyu, ikebana, and other Zen-inspired practices. No wonder popular instruction manuals on hobbies ranging from food preparation to golf swings draw from the well of Zen! As the Tokugawa Prince Hideyoshi (秀吉, 1536–1598) wrote in a poem dedicated to the tea ceremony:
When tea is made with water drawn from the depths of Mind
Whose bottom is beyond measure
We truly have what is called chanoyu.2
Haiku is short-form poetry that expresses both Shintō naturalness and Zen sensibility. Traditionally it is nature poetry describing natural scenes that are temporary, short-lived, transient. It expresses the aesthetic principle of the “floating world” (浮世, ukiyo), the sense that beauty and happiness are “here and gone” in the blink of an eye. If you do not focus upon them, if you do not concentrate, they are gone before you know it. R. H. Blythe described haiku as the poetic evocation of the experience of satori3 – an experience of awakening that comes swiftly, unexpectedly, and intuitively and is both momentary and transient.
Here is a list of thematic elements of Haiku:
meditative function: the reader is invited to practice contemplation of every line;
ephemeral naturalism: beauty is fleeting and temporary;
anti-subjectivism (and yet evocative of mood);
anti-romanticism (and yet suggestive of feeling);
unity with concrete things.
Most, though not all, haiku are 17 syllables in length, with a “pause” at the end of the first line of five syllables or the second line of seven. The pause is sometimes marked by the “cutting” syllable (切れ字, kireji), ya (や):
古池 蛙飛込む 水の音
furuike ya old pond
kawazu tobikomu frog flying –
mizu no oto the sound of the water
Basho (芭蕉, 1644–1694)
しづかさ 湖水の底の雲のみね
shizukasa ya so still –
kosui no soko no / kumo no mine summit of clouds of the deep of the lake
Kobayashi Issa (小林 一茶, 1762–1867)
Here are some characteristics of haiku, with representative examples:
1 Haiku describe ephemeral (short-lived) phenomena in nature: 釣鐘に とまりて眠る 胡てふ哉
tsuri-gane ni on the one-ton temple bell
tomarite nemuru a moon-moth
kochô kana folded in sleep
Yosa Buson (與謝蕪村, 1716–1783)
2 Haiku display the strength of nature over man-made things, which are also short-lived: 焼けし野の 所々や すみれ草
yakeshi no no violets have grown
tokorodokoro ya among the ruins
sumiregusa of my burned house
Nagamatsu Shūkyū-ni (永松諸九尼, 1714–1781)
3 Haiku emphasize direct experience over rational thought or intellectual ideas: 御佛に 尻むけ居れば 月涼し
mihotoke ni I turn my back
shirimuke oreba on Buddha
tsuki suzushi and face the cool moon
Masaoka Shiki (正岡 子規, 1867–1902)
ちる花に 仏とも法とも しらぬ哉
chiru hana ni in scattering blossoms
butsu tomo nori tomo Buddha and Buddhism
shiranu kana unknown
Issa (一茶)
4 Haiku evoke surprise, usually with an unexpected twist or revelation in the third line: 朝顔に 釣瓶取られて 貰い水
asagao ni since morning glories
tsurube torarete hold my well-bucket hostage
morai mizu I beg for water
Fukuda Chiyo-ni (福田 千代尼, 1701–1775)
5 Haiku suggest a mood of melancholy, loneliness, or nostalgia: さびしさの うれしくもあり 秋の暮れ
sabishisa no an autumn eve
ureshiku mo ari there is joy too
aki no kure in loneliness
Buson (蕪村)
「今帰る」 妻から返信 「まだいいよ」
Imakaeru “Going home now”
Tsumakaruenshin (text) reply from the wife
“Mada – iiyo” “No need to come home yet”
A contemporary haiku: 2nd place prize winner in Daichi Life Insurance Company Haiku Writing Competition 2010
Religion in Japanese Culture
In this book we have surveyed two dimensions of religious expression in Japan, as represented by Zen Buddhism and Shintō. Though Zen was introduced to Japan from China and Korea while Shintō is the indigenous or autochthonous religion of Japan, the two traditions have been synthesized in various forms of hybridity. One of the most evident forms of Zen–Shintō syncretism is the dual naming of Shintō gods and Buddhist mahāsattvas (buddhas and bodhisattvas), known in Japanese as shinbutsu-shūgō (神佛習合, the syncretism of kami and buddhas). Most Shintō shrines have images of buddhas and bodhisattvas (described as both butsu and kami), and many Buddhist temples host small shrines to local gods and goddesses.
Similarly, most Japanese are religiously inclusivistic. They marry in a Shintō shrine, bury their loved ones at a Buddhist temple, and make daily offerings at both the kami shrine (kamidana, 神棚) and Buddha shrine (butsudan, 佛壇) in the home. In social surveys Japanese often respond to questions of religious identity by checking every available box: Shintō, Buddhist, and even “non-religious” (無宗教, mu-shūkyō). Most Japanese participate in local religious festivals, make regular offerings to shrine kami, and register their households at prestigious Buddhist temples; and yet they see these as “non-religious” activities.
Why? In their understanding of what it is to be “religious,” exclusivity is a defining characteristic and is associated with the voluntary and deliberative religious choice of a Christian proselytizer or an ordained Buddhist monk or nun. In his book Why are the Japanese Non-Religious (日本人はなぜ無宗教なのか, Nihonjin wa naze mushūkyō nano ka), Ama Toshimaro (阿満 利麿) notes that, for most Japanese, it is only very “troubled” or “strange” people who identify themselves as “religious.” And so they wish to avoid the designation in order to “fit into” the broader society and to manifest a cheerful, uncomplicated, approachable persona.4
In the post-war period religion took a unique turn in Japan with the establishment of a number of new religions (shin shūkyō, 新宗教) that have drawn thousands of followers. Among the most popular are Sōka Gakkai (創價學會), Gedatsu Kai (解脫會), Risshō Kōsei Kai (立正佼成會), and Kurozumi-kyō (黒住教).5 The most notorious of the new religions was Aum Shinrikyō (オウム真理教), a “doomsday cult” that came to an apocalyptic end with a series of murders and with the 1995 sarin gas attacks on the Tokyo subway. It was only in June 2012 that the last of the conspirators – a key figure in the subway poisonings – was apprehended in a manga café in central Tokyo, after 17 years of being on the run. Though Aum is a unique case, many of the new religions suffered negative publicity in the wake of the tragedy.6
Some Japanese social critics have argued that the “decline” of traditional family structures, ethical values, and religious practices has created a sense of meaninglessness and purposelessness in contemporary society. Possibly the new religions offer benefits that are no longer found in traditional religious practices and institutions:
a sense of belonging and of higher purpose among like-minded believers;
a solution to modern problems of social alienation, loneliness, urbanization, and breakdown of the family;
a belief in the basic goodness and purity of one's heart;
total dependence upon benevolent buddhas and kami;
a spirit of resilience and perseverance;
a spirit of compassion, cheerfulness, charity, and giving, through volunteer efforts in disaster areas and on behalf of the elderly and indigent.
At the height of popularity of new religions in Japan, membership extended to as much as one third of the population,7 but in contemporary Japan “non-religious” identity is the chosen designation of three quarters of Japanese.8
Behaviors that are not readily identifiable as “religious” – choosing Japanese over imported rice, attending a sumo (wrestling) tournament, removing one's shoes before entering a home, composing poetry or drinking tea – have religious roots in Shintō or Zen. We know from historical and sociological analysis that these everyday acts are stems and branches of Shintō and Buddhist tradition. That is to say, “religion” is not limited to particular beliefs or institutional forms, but includes cultural forms and practices that, for most Japanese, are not related to shūkyō (religion) at all. We can conclude from this that religion in its explicit manifestations involves a self-conscious commitment to a distinctly religious institution or prescribed set of practices, but its implicit aspects embrace a wide range of everyday beliefs and norms. Just as Confucianism is the “cultural DNA” of East Asia as a whole, at a pre-reflective level Shintō and Buddhism are formative of Japanese values and self-understanding.
Notes
1 Quoted in D.T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1959), pp. 275–276.
2 D. T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1959), p. 280.
3 R. H. Blythe, A History of Haiku in two volumes, vol. 1: From the Beginnings up to Issa; vol. 2: From Issa up to the Present (Tokyo: Hokuseido Press, 1963).
4 Ama Toshimaro, Why are the Japanese Non-Religious? Japanese Spirituality: Being Non-Religious in a Religious Culture (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2004).
5 For detailed treatments of these movements, see Daniel Métraux, The History and Theology of Sōka Gakkai: A Japanese New Religion (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1988); Byron Earhart, Gedatsu-Kai and Religion in Contemporary Japan: Returning to the Center (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989); Stewart Guthrie, A Japanese New Religion: Risshō Kōsei-kai in a Mountain Hamlet (Ann Arbor, MI: Center for Japanese Studies, 1988); Helen Hardacre, Kurozumikyo and the New Religions of Japan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988).
6 Ian Reader, Religious Violence in Contemporary Japan: The Case of Aum Shinrikyo (Honolulu: Curzon Press, 2000).
7 The 1991 Shūkyō Nenkan (= Religion Yearbook, 宗教年鑑, published in Tokyo), reported some 40 new religious movements that claimed over 46 million adherents out of a total population of 123 million at the time. It should be noted, however, that the membership rolls were self-reported by each group and were not based on general population surveys; they are likely to have been exaggerated. The Aum incident and the growth of “non-religious” identity have reduced these numbers considerably.
8 “According to a 2000 survey by the Yomiuri Shimbun, 76.6 percent of the Japanese polled said they do not believe in a specific religion” (Hiroshi Matsubara, “Western Eyes Blind to Spirituality in Japan,” The Japan Times Online, January 1, 2002, at http://www.japantimes.co.jp/text/nn20020101b2.html#.UAmLzbVST0c, accessed 20 July 2012). For a critique of the designations “religious” and “non-religious” as applied to Japan, see Ian Reader, Religion in Contemporary Japan (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1991), pp. 1–22.
