Field notes from Mt. Akadake

March 30, 2013 3:03pmAkadake base camp

I’m currently hiking the approach into Akadake of the Yatsugatake range in Nagano, stopped for a few minutes rest.  The trail is a mix of ice, snow and slush.  With steel plated boots I edge into the soft ice, trudging my way up the valley.

Just came across an assembly of dedicative steles and minituare shrines associated with the Akamine Shrine, the Immovable Luminous King Fudō myōō and a confraternity called Shinmyō kō 眞明講.

7:22pm

My three climbing mates and I arrived into base camp around 5:00, set up camp, made a snow kitchen, cooked up dinner, and drank hot whiskey.  Now I’m bundled up my sleeping bag in the tent.  It’s freezing outside.Bunzaburou ridge

After years of grad school, kids and the daily hustle, I can’t remember the last time I was out alpine climbing.  In the interim, I’d forgotten what it feels like.  But my body remembers.  Subtle adjustments to higher altitude, sore hips and shoulders from the weight of the pack, icy winds grazing my face, snow pellets slipping into the exposed space between long underwear and boot.  Sensations not encountered in the ordinary day to day.  It feels good to be reacquiring  them now.

March 30, 2:04pm

Back at the car.  A phenomenal day.  Casual 7:30 am departure from our tents.  Equipped with axes and crampons, we headed up a series of snow encrusted ridges, arriving at the summit of Akadake at 9:30am.Approaching the Akadake pass  A tiny shrine on top with the characters Midō 弥堂 – “mi” being a likely a reference to Mt. Sumeru, the axis mundi peak in Indian cosmology.

The descent skirted a corniced ridge line.  Gusty winds threatening to sweep me off my feet howled constantly.  At a small Jizō bodhisattva statue, we dropped down into craggy flanks until reaching tree line and eventually our tents.  Snow showered us as we made our way back to the car.

As an individual of the modern age, I would never claim access to the mindset of those who tread these mountains long ago, erecting shrines and consecrating icons along treacherous paths, practicing austerities, bracing themselves against menacing spirits and praying to benevolent ones.  Awareness of geology and meteorology, training in modern mountaineering techniques, and use of sophisticated equipment gives me a highly distinctive experience.

Akadake summit

Akadake summit

But forgetting all of that and simply feeling the sheer awesomeness of the winter mountains today helped me imagine for an instant the numinous, and at times terrifying, cosmic realm that those who dared venture into the mountains once experienced.


The ume may be blossoming in Tokyo right now, but it was still snowing in Nagano yesterday.

For those relishing the spring weather this weekend but saying farewell to the ski season, here are some bittersweet photos from a recent Togakushi trip.  Given its proximity to Japan’s inland sea, the area gets dumped on by massive amounts of snow each winter.

Locals call the snow mahō no konayuki (which translates into something like “witchcraft powder”) for two reasons:  the snow that falls on the range comes as light, fresh powder (optimal for winter sports);  and the high quality of the snow is often attributed to Kuzuryū.

Kuzuryū (literally, nine-headed dragon) is the resident deity of the Mt. Togakushi.  As a dragon, it has been long worshiped for its control of water – ranging from rainfall for crops to flood prevention.  Thus, it comes as no surprise that Kuzuryū is now prayed to for a solid base of powder on the ski slopes each year.  For just as the community’s economy was long dependent on agriculture, now it relies on revenue from visiting skiers and snow boarders.

(Click photos to go to gallery mode.)


A dissertation theme finally coming into place…

It’s taken a year and a half of dissertation research to figure out, but after sorting through the primary sources for my project, a cohesive structure is emerging.  Here’s something from a recent funding proposal.

Introduction:

This dissertation investigates the historical emergence of Shugendō into a self-conscious, religious tradition.  Translated as “the way of accumulating special powers through practice,” Shugendō refers to a collection of institutions, rituals and concepts centered on sacred mountains in Japan.   While previous scholarship commonly situates the school as a folk religion or timeless element of Japanese culture, these modern constructs overlook the historical and regional contexts under which it developed.  Challenging this model, my project examines textual, epigraphical, and material evidence from the site of Mt. Togakushi, located in present-day Nagano Prefecture, as a case study through which I closely analyze the school’s formation from the fifteenth through eighteenth centuries.

Preliminary results from this research reveal that the agency of place—in this case, the mountain of Togakushi—played a central role in the formation of Shugendō.  Through a variety of techniques that included the adaptation of new practices, reconstruction of the mountain’s lineage, and the enshrinement of outside gods, practitioners strove to embed the school into their own landscape.  Through this process, I theorize that religion and place become mutually productive constructs.  Adapting Henri Lefebvre’s discourse on the ‘production of space,’ I argue that the imposition of a new history, identity, and character on to a site in effect, produces the place.[1]  These endeavors are especially relevant to the development of a sacred site, where the accretion of numinous elements (e.g., deities, worship areas, the composition of the mountain, itself) acts to increases the efficacy and overall allure of the location.  The inversion of this process is that ‘place’ becomes a fundamental building block in the formation of the religious school.  In the case of Mt. Togakushi, Shugendō thus is not emblematic of a universal religion but rather a school that becomes uniquely encoded in the mountain and surrounding region.

Considering this dual evolution of religious formation and place, this dissertation addresses not only the complex, religious history of Mt. Togakushi but the broader emergence of Shugendō in Japan.  In addition, it seeks to challenge an approach to Asian religions (other examples include Zen in East Asia, Daoism in China, and Shinto in Japan) that anachronistically situates them under modern constructs.  By turning attention toward the site-centric formation of an early modern religious school, we ultimately develop a better understanding of the historical significance of place.  This awareness in turn, casts the nationalized context of space and religion indicative of our own time into sharper relief.

Dissertation outline:

The dissertation consists of three main chapters.  The first examines the early emergence of Shugendō at Mt. Togakushi.  While previous scholarship loosely dates its origins at the mountain as far back as the eleventh century, I use contemporaneous textual evidence to argue that Shugendō as a distinct religious school took shape only in the sixteenth century.  Examining the agency of place in particular, the chapter reveals points of creative tension in the importation and adaptation of this new school to a mountain temple complex already steeped in its own traditions. 

            Chapter 2 explores a broad range of textual, iconic and epigraphical materials that reflect the continued development of Shugendō at Mt. Togakushi over the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.  I argue that practitioners of the school labored to carve out an identity and livelihood for themselves under the rubric of Shugendō.  This process involved the formation of an officially recognized branch of Togakushi Shugendō, the successful petitioning of expanded ritual practices, and the gradual embellishment of the mountain’s ancient history as being deeply rooted in Shugendō. 

            The final chapter follows this trajectory in the thought and practice of the priest, Jōin, who served as head administrator to the mountain from 1727 to 1738.  Through translations and analyses of his written works, I examine Jōin’s effort to bring Shugendō to the forefront of Togakushi religious life despite conflicting interests from the mountain’s Buddhist establishment.  This campaign, which ultimately divided priests on the mountain and led to his removal, demonstrates the tensions fraught in pursuing competing visions over the identity, status and livelihoods of the mountain’s practitioners.  Despite the failure of his work, I suggest that Jōin’s attempt to imbue Shugendō into the landscape of Mt. Togakushi reflects the significance of place in the formation of religious schools during his time.


[1] Lefebvre, Henri.  2004 (1974).  The Production of Space.  Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith.  Malden, MA:  Blackwell.

 


From Kinpusen to Kinbozan and the spread of Shugendo

For New Years Eve this year, I climbed Kinbozan, a peak overlooking the city of Kumamoto in central Kyushu.  For those living in Kumamoto, it’s a beautiful little hike (ignore the radio towers on top).  Reached by car or bicycle, it begins halfway up the mountain and offers a quick escape from the city.

In addition to its natural beauty, the mountain also exhibits a variegated landscape of religious features.  The complex atop look like a typical Shinto shrine, but a few unusual aspects hint at a former connection with Shugendo – a unique school of mountain asceticism that spread throughout the country during the medieval period.

Shugendo originated on the Kii peninsula, southeast of Osaka.  One of the main peaks for ascetic practices on the peninsula was Kinpusen (Nara Prefecture).  I the seventh century on the nearby mountain of Sanjōgatake, an avatar known as Zao 蔵王  is said to have  appeared before En the Ascetic.  In the centuries that followed, Zao came to be seen as one of the principle deities of Shugendo and En as the founder.

So what are the links between Kinpusen (Nara) and Kinbozan (Kumamoto)?  First, the two mountains share the same characters: 金峰山 (the variant character 峯 is used in Nara’s Kinpusen).  Second, the two peaks overlook accompanying villages, both named Yoshino 吉野.

Aware of these similarities, I wondered about the connection on the trail up.  The link was confirmed on top when I found two icons outside of the shrine: on the left was En and on the right was Zao.  Both are similarly the main objects of worship at Kinpusen in Nara.

Scattered across Japan’s main islands are other Kinpusens as well, indicating a spread of the cult at some point in history.  Given its early spread, the details are fairly murky.  Nevertheless, the fact that both Kinpusen in Nara Prefecture and Kinbozan in Kumamoto both lie close to the sea suggests that the one of the routes for dissemination of the Kinpusen cult may have been maritime. Recent research on the Kumano cult (another center of Shugendo just south of Kinpusen) likewise finds that maritime travel may have been a source of its popular spread.

Shugendo was proscribed by the new Meiji government in 1872 and as a result, its temples were largely converted into Shinto shrines.  Kinbozan is likewise now referred to as Kinbozan Jinja (Shrine), though the mountain’s name and certain extant features on it (click on pictures below) reveal a more complex history.


Takaosan

Last month, I posted pictures of the autumn foliage  at Mount Togakushi, which rises to 1904m (6246).  For the lower Mount Takao though, the maples were peaking this past week.  Only an hour west of Shinjuku on the train, I decided to head for the hills.

Not only were the colors beautiful, but the religious landscape of Mount Takao is fascinating as well.  Dotted with statues and shrines devoted to an assortment of buddhas, bodhisattvas, gongen and fabled priests, Takoasan’s vibrant mix of practices and beliefs (mostly Shingon Buddhist and Shugendō) is on full display as one hikes up the peak.  Here are some images from the mountain.

Access:  Mount Takao can be easily reached from Tokyo (Shinjuku) via the regional train system.  Click here for details on transportation and hikes.  The station, Takaosanguchi, places one about ten minutes’ walk from the entrance to the peak.  There are lots of cool shops and eateries on the way to the base.

There are lots of trails, so choosing can be a little difficult.  My suggestion: take numbers 1 or 2 in order to pass by all the temples and shrines on the way up.  These courses more or less follow the traditional route up the mountain.   For something off the beaten path that skips the crowds, opt for the Inarisan 稲荷山 course or number 6 (though its oddly closed to downhill traffic for certain seasons) on the way down.  There’s also a cable car for  slackers who want a ride halfway up ; )

Either way, for those in Tokyo looking for a bit of natural respite, Takao’s a must.


Kumano ofuda

Here’s one more that I missed from the last post.

Kumano is “Number One in Japan,” reads this ofuda 御札. The crows composing the characters for Kumano 熊野 (right side vertical) are a symbol of the region after Jimmu (Japan’s legendary first emperor) was guided there by a three-legged crow.

The agility of this extra-legged crow has made it more recently, a symbol of Japan’s World Cup soccer team, who pray to Kumano’s Hongu shrine for victory.


Edo period ofuda

I stumbled upon a trove of Edo period ofuda 御札, or protective talisman, while searching through archives at the Nagano Prefectural Historical Museum last week.  While some may have been purchased at a temple or shrine, others were likely distributed by oshi (pilgrimage guides) to their patrons, who may have lived far from the site.

Ofuda were generally hung inside the household in order to provide protection from burglary, natural disasters, and so forth.  They were mass-printed on woodblock and often bore the stamp of the associated temple or shrine.  The images and character styles themselves are quite beautiful.  I’m not sure of what all they say though have tried to parse out a few.  If you can add anything, let me know!


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