Ahh… I’m finally nearing the stage of the dissertation where I can begin to have some fun (not that writing hasn’t been a joy in its own special way). Tonight, I experimented with Photoscape in drawing roads and place names on an image of a faded map (likely from the late Edo period) of the Togakushi region. I’m hoping it will help readers get a visual of the sites I discuss in the chapters. Here are the preliminary results. (Original image courtesy of the Shinshū Digikura digital archive.)
After about a year of requesting to view archives at Togakushi Jinja that are relevant to my research, I finally finagled my way into seeing a number of them on my last visit before returning to the States.
These documents were archived and catalogued in the 1960s and have since sat in a storage shed at the shrine, for the most part untouched. A huge thanks to local scholar and priest, Futazawa Hisaaki 二澤久昭, who spent hours rummaging through them (apparently in disarray) and then further hours helping me to decipher some of them. Futazawa-San by the way, descends from one of the Edo period cloisters (shukubō 宿坊) and has converted his into a wonderful Japanese inn and serves delicious food.
Here are samples of some of the texts we checked out.
These first three images are from a text titled the Dai hannya hōsoku 大般若法即 (Regulations of the Great Heart). I haven’t looked closely at it yet but the title refers to Prajñāpāramitā literature and the nature of the text is ritualistic. It’s not listed in the catalog so was a surprise to find.
The date on the last page here reads Keichō 慶長 3, or 1598. Old!
The two volume set below, titled the Shugendō hiketsu hōsoku 修験道秘決, was the most exciting text of my find and will probably factor into my assessment of Shugendō at Togakushi during the Edo period. Its undated but based on the content, must have been composed in a hundred year period between the 1720s and 1818.
The information for each yamabushi 山伏 (those who sleep in the mountains) presented here includes his rank, year of birth, year of tonsure, temple location and name, and his affiliated Togakushi cloister.
Often these yamabushi would serve as disciples to the priests of the mountain and eventually succeed them. For this reason, Shugendō became central to the identity, practices, and thought of Togakushi during the Edo period (I argue), despite its subordination to the Tendai Buddhist institution at this time.
At the end of the Edo period, there was a major drive at Togakushi to strengthen its branch of Shugendō. This next text, titled the Togakushi-san Kenkōji kanjō saikō gan 戸隠山顕光寺灌頂再興願 was composed by the mountain’s chief administrator (bettō) in 1861.
The effort only lasted a few years, as the temple-shrine complex was converted into a national shrine at the beginning of the Meiji period.
Below is a presentation I recently gave at Keio University on the nine-headed dragon (Kuzuryū) of Mt. Togakushi. Sorry English readers (its mostly in Japanese). The title translated though, is “From narrative and ritual object to resident deity: Tracing the formation of the nine-headed dragon at Mt. Togakushi.” Textual passages are also translated into English and there’s a brief conclusion in English at the end.
第二 九頭を持つ龍（Nine-headed dragons）
- 雨乞い：『行林抄』1152 (仁平 2年)
|大峯(水天嶺)||『大菩提山等縁起』||1152 (仁平 2年)||九頭龍王||無||無||不明|
|阿蘇山||『彦山流記』||1213年 (建保1年)||九頭八面大龍||臥驗||十一面観音||天台 ?|
In 849 (Kashō 嘉祥 2), a learned practitioner (gakumon shugyō sha 學問修行者) spent seven days on Iizuna-san 飯縄山. Facing west toward a great peak, he prayed (kinen 祈念). He threw a single-armed sceptre (dokko 獨鈷?) that took flight and then fell. He went to go see it. [It had landed] at a great stone cavern. At that site he chanted the Lotus Sūtra. During this time, a foul-smelling wind was exhaled from the south. A nine-headed, single-tailed oni (kuzu ichibi ki 九頭一尾鬼) arrived [and said,]
“Who chants the Lotus Sūtra? Even though I had no intention of harm (mugaishin 無害心), when I came to listen to those who recited it (chōmon 聽聞) in the past, they ended up dead after my noxious vapors reached them.
“I was the former administrator. I lived in greed and desire, carelessly using the donations of the faithful (shinse 信施). As a result, I received this body. This place has been destroyed and toppled down over forty times. I rely on the virtue (kōdoku 功徳) [of listening to you chant the Lotus Sūtra] and thus should able to attain awakening.”
Gakumon replied, “An oni hides its form.” Following these words, the oni returned to its original place. In that place, which is named “the dragon’s tail,” [the oni] entered into seclusion and sealed shut the door of the stone cavern.
From within the ground, a great voice chanted, “Take refuge in the assembly in which [I,] the honored Shō Kanjizai 聖観自在 [Shō Kannon] eternally reside; as a great avatar, [I] provide benefits to living beings at the three sites” (南無常住界會聖観自在尊三所利生大権現聖者).
This mountain is known as the temple of “the door [behind which one] hides” (Togakushi-ji 戸隠寺), because it conceals the dragon-tailed oni. The door of the stone cavern thus led to the establishment [of the temple]. It is also said that the from Mt. Iizuna, the [mountain’s] form resembles a door…
There was a man known as Gakumon gyōja 學門行者. The mysterious profundity of his original nature (honji 本地) and his rank among the worthies (son’i 尊位) is difficult to estimate. He had accomplished all the practices. Embracing the bright moon, he ventured through the vast night. Replenished by the morning sun, he gazed in all directions (meiku 迷衢). His wisdom and practice was extremely great and his virtue and efficacy (in the magical arts) (tokugen 徳験) was superior in the world. He established a temple (garan 伽藍) in every land. He spread benefits (riyaku 利益) throughout the Dharma realm (hokkai 法界). It is said that his life ended by ascending into the sky without a burial. Thus he is regarded as the [response] body of the honored Śākyamuni and a sympathetic transformation (ōke 應化) of Kannon.
In the beginning, the gyōja said, “I want to restore [the practices of] this mountain.” In the middle of the third month of the third year of the Kashō 嘉祥 (850) era, under the reign of Emperor Ninmei 仁明 (810–850, r. 833–850), he began by climbing [the neighboring] Iizuna-san 飯縄山. [Iizuna] is a high marchmont that soars into the milky way (ginkan 銀漢)—its white summit contrasting the azure sky (hekiraku 碧落). Imprisoned (katai 牢) demons and ghosts (chimi 魑魅) crisscrossed [its slopes]. There was no trace of human paths. Inquiry into its ancient past [reveals that] it had never been scaled. The snow was deep and there were precipitous cliffs. Amidst the clouds, fog and thunder, he lost his way and was unable to ascend. He retreated to the midway point (hanpuku 半腹) [of the mountain]. As an offering to the various deities and spirits, he recited scriptures and chanted dhāraṇī (ju 咒). Tearing up [a section of] his robe (resshō 裂裳; Skt. bimbisāra), he wrapped his feet [with the cloth]. He was ready to discard his life and in his commitment to the way. Making a stern vow, he announced, “I humbly request that the benevolent deities [of this mountain] increase my power, that the heavenly dragons roll up the mist, and the mountain demons (sanmi 山魅) guide me. Please help me realize my goal! If I fail to reach the summit, I will not achieve awakening (bodai 菩提).”
Having produced such a vow, he treaded across the dazzling white snow and ascended [through] sparkling (saisan 璀璨) green leaves. Finally, exhausted and depleted of energy, he could see the summit. Appraising [his whereabouts], he [realized that he had] suddenly entered the Milky Way (unkan 雲漢). Foregoing a taste of this marvelous paradise, he found a divine cave. Elated and awestricken, he found it difficult to keep his mind (shinkon 心魂) tranquil.
For a short while, he gazed about the four directions. From the southeastern foot of the mountain, vast plains unfurled with grasses and trees (sōmoku 草木). Looking out in the distance, he saw the golden swells and silver whitecaps (ginpa 銀波) of a great, flowing river submerged in [i.e. reflecting the] azure sky. There was the faint wake of a crossing vessel. To the northwest were narrow and precipitous ravines and a long and hazardous [ridge line] of mountains laced in deep snow and flowers of the five colors (gosai 五彩). The birds cried out in cold (inkan 咽寒) throughout the day (rokuji 六時). The green canopies of thousand year-old pines and spruce tilted toward the valleys. Deep blue-colored [two-story] manors (konrō 紺樓), surrounded on all sides by cypress and mandarin trees (kaisō 檜楱), towered above the boulders. Gazing across [the entire vista], four mountains streams [are visible]. This divine splendor was vast.
Amidst an abundant sunset, [Gakumon] performed a divination in the western cave. He prayed and repented, “Now sitting on a cornelian seat in this practice site, having arranged incense and flowers [as an offering to the Buddha], and performing chants, I see myself as an śrāvaka (shōmon 聲聞). ” Then he hurled a vajra sceptre (kongō sho 金剛杵) and made the following vow: “From henceforth, may Buddha’s Law (Buppō 佛法) prosper and may living beings find fortune on the ground from where light emanates.”
Then flying [through the air], the mallet swiftly crossed a distance of over one hundred chō 町. A hunter was there. Frightened by the light of the mallet, he quickly fled and emerged [before Gakumon]. [Gakumon] received him and prepared to tell him about the event:
“I will inform [you] with these words: That hunting ground is now a hunting ground that defends the Dharma (gohō 護法).”
[Gakumon] went to go visit the light of the mallet. At the cave [where it landed], he wished to bring forth the resident deity (jinushi 地主). As he prayed (kinen 祈念), a voice came from the depths of the ground. The loud voice chanted,
“Take refuge in the eternally-abiding assembly of the realm: Shō Kanjizai 聖観自在 (Shō Kannon; Noble Avalokitêśvara) of Great Compassion and Sympathy and the origin bodies of the four sites. The avatars of the three sites radiate light and provide comfort” (南無常住界會大慈大悲聖観自在四所本躰、三所権現放光與樂). The voice ended by saying, “The light of Shō Kannon’s image radiates [Kannon’s] noble form from afar. From the luminous seats of a single lotus plant with four pedestals emerge (yūshutsu 湧出) Shō Kannon, Senjū 千手 [Kannon], Shaka 釋迦 (Skt. Śākyamuni), and Jizō 地蔵 (Skt. Kṣitigarbha).” As joyful tears streamed down, [Gakumon] lowered his head in deep devotion (katsugō 渇仰) and performed chants (hosse 法施) at the site.
That night a foul-smelling wind was exhaled from the south. A nine-headed, single-tailed dragon (kuzu ichibi ryū 九頭一尾龍) arrived and said,
“A joyous practitioner arrived at this cave, chanting and rattling (shindoku 振讀) his staff (shakujō 錫杖). By repenting the six root [senses] and practicing the four [types] of tranquility (shi anraku gyō 四安楽行), the poisonous vapors (dokuke 毒氣) have all been vanquished and there is no longer any obstructions (gai 害). You immediately receive me, [so] I will give you the full account (zengo 善語).
“This mountain has been destroyed over forty times. I have engaged in temple duties seven times. The last administrator, Chōhan 澄範, was me. Because I carelessly used the possessions of the Buddha (butsumotsu 佛物), I received this serpent-like body (jashin 蛇身). From many eons up until the present, I have been hindered by the karma (gōshō 業障) of these [dragon] scales (uroko 鱗). I arose when I heard [your] staff and [chanting] Dharma voice (hōon 法音) and obtained liberation (gedatsu 解脫). You must maintain an awakened state of mind (bodai shin 菩提心) and quickly build a great temple (garan 伽藍; Skt. saṃgha-ārāma).”
(Before its arrival to Togakushi and other sites around the Japanese archipelago, the nine-headed dragon in East Asia exists among esoteric rituals and legendary anecdotes. In this realm, Kuzuryū is situated in the abstract, detached from place and identity. Its title remains more descriptive than nominal. Only when the dragon arrives and gains traction at a specific sites such as Mt. Togakushi does it evolve into concretized deity, Kuzuryū. This residence and ‘precipitation’ of benefits at the mountain simultaneously becomes instrumental in the production of Mt. Togakushi, itself, as a respected numinous and powerful site.)
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As always, the official climbing season for Mt. Fuji began last week on July 1st. And with the Fuji-san opening (山開き) so opened the mini Fujis (富士塚).
As Fuji worship expanded during the Edo period (1600-1868), Fuji confraternities (Fuji kō 富士講) popped up around the country, especially the Kanto area. These associations – some of which still exist – would pool money together so that a few members from each community could make the pilgrimage each year. The rest who stayed behind though could still hit the symbolic summit by climbing their locally established Fuji. Some of these mini peaks were small hills while others were made by piling up large rocks.
Some mini Fujis are still connected to shrines and confraternities. I visited two of them in Tokyo last week while they were celebrating the opening of the season: Onoteruzaki Jinja in Daitoku and Fuji Jinja in Komagome. Onoteruzaki only opens their mini Fuji on June 3o and July 1 of each year (climbing the real peak often began the night before on the 30th). Meanwhile Fuji Jinja celebrated with three days of festivities and auspicious crafts.
Part of my research this year has been devoted to a text entitled The Transmitted Account of Kenkō-ji of Mt. Togakushi (Togakushi-san Kenkō-ji ruki 戸隠山顕光寺流記), compiled by the monk, Jikkokusō Ujō 十穀僧有通, in 1458.
Among the many vivid aspects it provides on the religious culture at Mt. Togakushi in the mid-fifteenth century, a passage I came across on the mountain’s practice of nyonin kekkai 女人結界 (a boundary prohibiting women) especially sparked my interest. With some help from my research advisor, Suzuki Masataka (who’s written extensively on the practice) and medieval Buddhist scholar, Iyanaga Nobumi, I came up with a translation for the following passage:
“On the twenty-sixth day of the eighth month of the first year of the Kōhei 康平 era (1058), during the reign of Goreizei-in 後冷泉院, a bright light was radiating out from atop a giant tree fifty cho 町 from Honnin [now Okusha of Togakushi-san]. It seemed like a mysterious and unusual living being. The image was that of a divine true body (mishōtai 御正躰).
At that time, there was a young girl of twelve to thirteen years of age in such mental and physical agony that she passed out on the ground. When asked why, she said, “I am the avatar of Jizō 地蔵, the greatest of the three avatars of this mountain, who stands on the left side. That area is a bordered land (kekkai chi 結界地), upon which the trace of women has been removed. Because this defies the Buddha’s orders and ignores his original vow, the benefits of conversion are shallow and scarce. Please erect a building in this place and have me installed.”
Many had their doubts. They insisted that if this was really the divine oracle [of Jizō], then have [the bright light] moved into the sleeve of someone among the priests and laity. Then, it flew down into the sleeve of a śramaṇa among them who had great faith. He worshiped it, [making it] the site of the honored form of the bodhisattva Jizō. Not moving for days, he built a shrine with an attached hermitage. It became a hut in which to pursue the Dharma.
The place where the divine true body [of Jizō] flew down is called Fushigami 伏拝. The temple was first named Fukuokain 福岡院 and later became known as Hōkōin 寶光院 [now Hōkōsha of Togakushi].”
Nyonin kekkai became widespread among sacred mountains in the medieval period so it’s no surprise that the practice was adopted at Togakushi-san as well. What is fascinating here is the apparent critique of it at Togakushi in the comment–voiced by Jizō–that it defies the Buddha’s vow (it’s said that Sakyamuni welcomed both men and women into the sangha). As a result, conversion to Buddhism at the mountain provides limited benefit.
Is this Jikkokusō Ujō’s own opinion inserted into the text or does it reflect a wider spread sentiment? Whatever the case, its uncommon to see a critique of the practice coming from within a religious community in premodern Japan. Max Moerman (Localizing Paradise, 2005) discusses other examples, but this one seems particularly pronounced.
Fushigami (literally, to “lie down and worship”), an allusion to the Kumano site of Fushigami, is marked to this day on the old path (古道) between Togakushi’s Hōkōsha and Chūsha shrines. Given the geography of the mountain, this would mean that Hōkōin accepted women while the temple complexes of Chūin (now Chūsha) and Okuin (now Okusha) remained off-limits at this time.
The boundary was later moved in 1795, as evident from an engraved stone marker still standing in between Chūsha and Okusha. (Here’s a Japanese map of the shrines of Togakushi.) The practice was abolished in the Meiji period.
It’s anyone’s guess as to why the boundary was moved between the medieval and early modern periods. The erection of the stone nevertheless, suggests that the rule may have not been strictly enforced up until then. Why after all, reestablish a rule if no one is breaking it?
Alright, so Fuji is a bit of a slog. As the saying goes in Japan, “You’re a fool not to climb it once; you’re a fool to climb it twice.” (一度も登らぬ馬鹿、二度登る馬鹿).
It lacks the exposed ridge lines and cliff faces that attract alpine climbers. Beautiful ravines and waterfalls typical of other great peaks are few and far between. Even its iconic cone shape disappears from view once you’re on it. Instead, seemingly endless fields of boulders and scree fan out from its center in all directions, eventually merging with forest floor beneath.
And its a really, really long way to the top. Most people nowadays begin from one of its fifth stations (mountains routes in Japan are generally segmented in tenths from base to summit). Even this head start though leaves roughly 1300 to 2400 vertical meters (4300 – 7900 ft) above, overcome by switchback after switchback after switchback…
That said, the experience of scaling one of its faces brings you into immediate connection a terrain that you likely only experienced beforehand through its branded ubiquity on billboards, TV ads, and commercial print and of course, national symbolism. Once you’re climbing, these projections vanish amidst its vast scale and scope. People above resemble a line of ants for most of the route, while the trail start gradually becomes a tiny speck below.
As Japan’s tallest peak, Fuji ascends to 3776 m (12,389 ft). That would make it comparatively lower than many of the high ranges around the world. But while many of those peaks (the fourteeners of Colorado, for example) begin at high elevations, Fuji spans from sea level to summit – making altitude sickness common among hikers. And despite the predictability of much of the route, an immense crater inverts its top, resulting in multiple summits rising along a jagged, circular rim. These aspects – alongside its rich cultural and religious history – ultimately make the peak a must climb (once, that is).
The pics below are taken from the Fujinomiya 富士宮 trail off-season (late May) – unadvised unless you have advanced mountaineering skills. Here’s a good site for planning during the regular season.
Click to expand.
Reference: Earhart, H. Byron. 2011. Mount Fuji: Icon of Japan. Columbia, S.C.: University of South Carolina Press.