Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

As one gazed out at the seemingly endless stretch of white beach, beyond lay a sea that swayed where even the eye could not reach. The blue ends of those waves seemed to rise of their own accord, spreading upward until they filled the sky overhead. When one turned to look, it continued all the way to where the mountain's outer line stood blocking, demarcating the horizon. Looking around and up and down, the only thing that met the eye was this. To the degree that the sun shone and the wind blew, it was a desolate world. What stirred such listless eyes to open was the shadow of a dugout canoe that emerged suddenly from between the waves and sky—without exaggeration, one felt this way—appearing almost indistinguishable from a bird.

From a distance, the roofs of houses—mistakable for rocks on the shore—lay scattered in clusters, as if forgotten.
Traversing sand dunes that seemed to tread upon flames, upon arriving, there was not a soul making even a peep—despite the number of houses here being enough to make one think otherwise.
Thinking I heard a baby’s cry, I turned to look—only to find a goat, just a single one, bellowing as if longing for rain.

Even a traveler who wouldn’t mind collapsing anywhere might sometimes find themselves strangely gazing at the vivid line where the distant sea and sky met, lost in contemplation.
Even in Okinawa’s islands—in regions like Yanbaru to the north—wherever one went, there had been many such villages as this.
Burdened with an unmanageable body and continuing to wander these coastal paths, there were still many such travelers in this same world.
Moreover, differing only in whether they were noticed or not, there were still tens of thousands of people living on—lost in contemplation along that soundless seashore.

Even if lost in contemplation, the traveler did not stop—and through their eyes that kept walking onward, the lives of islanders seemed worthy of a sigh drawn from still deeper depths.
Such an existence—one they wished both to proclaim and mourn in its wearisome repetition—still played itself out across those islands strewn like stepping stones south of Satsuma-nada and north of Taiwan.
Yet there had truly been an age when people believed this to embody humanity's most proper order.
As for those ancient times when works like the *Kojiki*, *Nihon Shoki*, and *Fudoki* either took form or remained unformed—anyone lacking this quality of contemplative stillness could never have grasped their essence down to the marrow.

I would like to discuss, even if only in part, the formation of Japanese festivals—a portion of my hypothesis that had gradually shifted from the probable to the necessary.
Even if Basho had not served to make the people of this fleeting world feel loneliness to the extent he came to do, I think he might still have offered them a taste of what it was to live in contemplation.

The seasonal festivals—which should be understood as extensions of the Monthly Festival expanded and assigned to specific seasons—were fundamentally provisional rituals.
However, on the contrary, it was after such festivals began that various shrines' unique fixed festivals arose.
Among the seasonal festivals, the summer festival—the most flourishing in urban areas—was in fact the last to develop.
Next there existed a festival that had branched off so long ago that even calling it new could not match its long history.
It was the autumn festival.
In rural areas this too was conducted under what was called the concept of the "main festival."

The origin from which this Autumn Festival branched out was the Winter Festival. However, there were two types of Winter Festivals: those deeply connected to Autumn Festivals could indeed be better called Autumn Festivals themselves. The Winter Festival—the true etymological origin of the term "winter"—was conducted when the year reached its extremity. When considering its oldest form, it appears to have been a ritual conducted back-to-back with the Spring Festival. Therefore, the Winter Festival became an independent ritual that was originally conducted as a premise for the Spring Festival. Yet at times, the Winter Festival carrying the significance of the Autumn Festival and the Winter Festival serving as the precondition for the Spring Festival appeared to form a continuous ritual. Thus there would be a Winter Festival immediately after the Autumn Festival, followed by a Spring Festival after the Winter Festival, and these gradually came to be spaced apart. As a result, festival rituals became interwoven and grew increasingly complex.

Even in rural villages where autumn festivals took precedence, none neglected the summer festivals.
However, in rural festivals, summer seemed to be regarded as the season for pilgrimages, with families or individuals visiting sporadically in scattered fashion.
There existed elements inherently bound to this festival.
Namely: portable shrines, or halberds and ritual offerings centered around long poles—or sometimes effigies.
Though these too had become entangled with autumn festivals, properly speaking, they belonged to summer.

The halberds of Gion, collectively termed *Yamahoko*, could broadly be divided into two lineages: *Yamato* and *hoko*.
The mountain-style [halberds], more appropriately, were objects meant to be paraded during autumn festivals.
The erected structures of the Goryō-e—deeply interwoven with the establishment of the Gion-e—had incorporated the form of the “hyōyama,” a ceremonial float used in the imperial Daijō-sai.

A fact observable from the early Heian period onward was that festivals incorporated musical performances and ritual dances as essential components within their terminology of festivals.
By that time, the relationship between festival rites and ritual music/dance became inseparable.
Therefore, in later times, there were instances where "holding festivals" (*matsuru*) and "ritual play" (*asobu*) came to be used interchangeably.
In any case, the reason why what we call the Summer Festival came to be termed a *matsuri* lay in the development of summer kagura—ritual dances performed during purification rites.
On another front, the fact that the Gion Festival came to be seen as one model of festivals also served as a contributing cause.

Kagura served as an essential element of the Soul-Pacifying Festival and, when examining its ancient form, also formed part of the Great Purification Ritual. Since its fundamental significance lay in winter, Kagura's performance during summer demonstrated its nature as a newly emergent practice. Exorcisms and purification rites were to be considered prerequisites for soul-pacifying. The Summer Purification branched from the Winter Purification but emerged later, lacking the latter's foundational conditions. Yet as people increasingly treated the Winter Purification as mere formality, prioritizing its summer counterpart became markedly prevalent over time. The Kagura once performed during winter purification fragmented into distinct seasonal rites. Concurrently, there emerged a practice incorporating into summer purification the music and dance from Iwashimizu Hachiman's mid-autumn rituals—one origin point of Kagura itself.

The Hōjō-e at Otokoyama conducted on August 15th was a syncretized form of purification rituals.
Incorporating that kagura into the Summer Purification rites—which had long been practiced—followed a natural progression.
Through the relationship between festivals, ritual play, and kagura, the Summer Purification came to be called the Summer Festival.
It was the influence of Onmyōdō that transformed faith into this configuration.
From the late Nara period into the early Heian period, as a means to suppress the Five Vengeful Spirits that had wrought havoc, they came to enshrine Susanoo-no-Mikoto—deemed the god of plagues and calamities. Moreover, to establish doctrinal legitimacy for this practice, they invoked the Sanskrit names of deva deities, resulting in appellations such as Gozu Tennō or, in certain regions, Mutō Tenjin.

In Japanese Onmyōdō—particularly among local practitioners—there was a tendency to study this academically as Buddhist scriptures; specifically, within the scriptures themselves, there emerged a form of gathering knowledge concerning the heavenly deities—that is, “Shinto” in the Buddhist sense.
Japanese Shinto, in addition to taking on names of Buddhist heavenly deities, must also have adopted Chinese-style names.
The power of the true name that emerged in the Buddhist teachings—the supreme texts in the world—could subjugate even the most unruly vengeful spirits.
Therefore, the central emergence of the Gion deities occurred later than that of the vengeful spirits and the Five Places.
The festivals of Sai no Kami, Yachimatahiko, and Hime merged with Goryō worship, giving rise to the Goryō-e, where they fervently performed acts of appeasement to beg for their departure.
The shift of their influence to Gozu Tennō and their gradual reformation into a style of praise became what is known as the Gion Festival.
Although its form may have changed, from a factual perspective, it remains one in its aim to purge the epidemics and locust plagues of summer festivals; and another festival has taken on a form where the principal deity was replaced.
The farmers’ beliefs of the Heian period, which had viewed locust plagues and epidemics as interconnected, closely resembled the Chinuka-sai festival—written as “calming the flowers.”

The Chinuka-sai was an event held at the end of March but belonged to the category of summer festivals.
It was also called the Yasurahi Festival because they repeated the refrain “Yasurae. Hana ya” at the end of each stanza of its dance songs.
In ancient times, people viewed tree blossoms as symbols of rice blossoms; their early scattering was seen as an omen of poor yields in that year’s rice harvest.
The song’s lyrics also included phrases like “Take your time,”
and by invoking “Blossoms” through cherry imagery, they sought to auspicate the rice.
This came to be regarded as an incantation for cultivated fields, leading people to devise its use for preventing locust infestations.
From rice pests in the fields, they immediately associated them with epidemics among household heads, and since the Nara period, these practices came to be seen as akin to epidemic-dispelling stomping dances performed during the spring-summer transition.
This too gradually lost its significance after the establishment of the Gion Festival.

These rituals of appeasing evil spirits and malevolent deities had also been referred to as festivals since ancient times.
This signified submission to divine spirits, closely resembling the term *matsurofu* in usage.
In essence, summer festivals originated from the protocols of purification rituals, and their recognition as formal festival rites did not extend beyond the Heian period—marking them as relatively recent developments.
The procession of the portable shrine was central to the Summer Festival and was held at waterside locations suitable for purification rituals.

The widely conducted Mikoshi Cleansing Ritual, while being a conflation of other festival practices, was likely rooted in the belief that after the gods had tested [the waters], people would perform purification at their respective rapids. The ceremonial halberds were a ritualized form of the practice wherein purification wands were presented and then cast into rivers and seas. Therefore, even the boat crossing of the Owari Tsushima Gion Festival took the form of transporting purification wands to a certain point on the water. In contrast to the festivals that emerged from this purification, there existed the influential rice-planting ritual, which belonged to the realm of spring festivals.

II

The autumn festival was, as anyone would immediately think, a harvest celebration. However, the actual harvest festival was properly conducted after entering midwinter and had been conducted this way even into modern times. If one were to narrowly define the autumn festival further, it would be—as predecessors had also stated—the *Niiname-sai*; however, a premise that ought to have been considered had been overlooked here. [The autumn festival] was an extension of ritual practices limited solely to the *Niiname-sai*—conducted in their divine capacity by the deities themselves of the Ise Grand Shrines. The first fruits of early rice from the offerings of various provinces were fully gathered by early September, and by mid-September, they were first presented to Ise, becoming a ritual where the Two Shrines and the Saigu commenced partaking of them. It was through this localization that the autumn festival originated when the deities of local shrines also partook of the remaining first fruits from offerings presented for the *Kanname-sai*. Was it not that the deity who received the new harvest offering of early rice and the deity who partook in the households’ new harvest offerings—attending alongside each household master to share in the first fruits of the *Oki-tsu*, *Mi-tsu*, and *Toshi* offerings—were considered distinct entities? After two months had passed, in mid-November for the first time, envoys bearing offerings were dispatched to the imperial mausoleums of His Majesty’s close relatives, where the first fruits were presented. Almost simultaneously with this, the Emperor’s *Niiname-sai* was conducted.

In the eastern provinces prior to the Nara period, the Niiname-sai appears to have been conducted once a year.
They would cook and present early rice.
The household members left behind their shrine maiden—a virgin (whether a housewife who had maintained virginal status for a period or a clan priestess)—and gathered in either the detached building (which served as the new offering hall) or the estate garden.
The deity thus welcomed would spend the night with this shrine maiden.
The term *ichiyazuma* ("one-night wife"), previously interpreted as archaic slang for courtesans, in fact denoted the language exchanged between these divine visitors—gods manifest during such mystical nights—and the household's virgins.

The Imperial Kanname-sai may have originally been conducted only once in ancient times, as the custom of receiving the first ears of rice from various provinces became established and came to utilize early rice. However, within the scope discernible from historical records, early rice was dedicated to the gods for use in the Kanname-sai; meanwhile, the first fruits of Oki-tsu, Mi-tsu, and Toshi offerings were distributed beyond the imperial reserves to shrines participating in the Prayers for Good Harvest Festival and Monthly Festivals, as well as to the spirits of senior members of the imperial family. The original meaning of the Kanname-sai lies in its form as a transformed *“ho” festival*—blessing the *“ho,”* which served as a precursor to that year’s rice harvest—and it cannot be said to have existed earlier than the harvest festival. This *“ho”* festival came to be vigorously conducted at shrines, while the harvest festival appears to have become a household winter event.

As one walked the narrow path toward the Autumn Festival’s drumbeats, cascading water gushed against weir channels while locusts clung to chests, waists, and hems like pelting rain.
In some places rice-drying frames remained unbuilt; elsewhere paddy banks already stood complete.
Yet no plans had formed for visits to nearby hot spring towns.
An elderly man wandered restlessly—his composed demeanor belied by anticipation of what might be called a brief midday respite before looming hills.
The young man beat his drum fiercely as if to crack its head open—perhaps believing such fervor would fatten rice grains.
Unless deemed special rites at shrines across the prefecture, none performed harvest-like festivals even when winter reached its eleventh and twelfth months.
Those that persisted wore guises like “Ohitaki” fire rituals or “Yokagura” night dances veiled as year-end purifications.

The grand norito ritual prayers and court-style ho festivals accompanied by divination became shrine events, while the village’s ancient harvest Niiname-sai—which had continued from even older times—transformed into private household ceremonies.
Because they had sampled the early rice, there were also villages that adopted different methods.
Rice cakes, millet cakes, hand-pressed rice balls, rice with sweet bean paste, red bean rice—the traditions of village offerings diversified in various ways.
There were houses and villages that did not make rice cakes for New Year, and a custom of staying awake throughout the night on the year’s final evening was also observed.
All were traces of the offerings and ritual abstinences conducted on the night of the harvest festival.
The fact that it had come to be associated with the night of Ōtoshi was indeed a matter with historical basis, showing that the harvest festival was also conducted on the night awaiting spring.
However, as festival durations prolonged and people came to consider the continuous ritual segments as holding important significance, it became natural for them to gradually be conducted on separate days.

In November during the Niiname-sai Harvest Festival, ancient soul-pacifying divine rituals—likely shrouded in many secrets—continued to be performed. When December arrived, the Kagura of Seishodo was held, followed by the Great Purification and Section-Breaking being conducted. On that night, continuing from the Naohi-gami Festival, there seem to have been other rituals besides the Worship of the Four Directions that are no longer regularly performed today. Later, though no longer held on New Year's Day, the ritual that was supposed to be conducted first as a New Year's morning rite was the Hōga.

Hōga was an act performed by subjects, and prior to this, the Emperor would proclaim and issue the New Year's morning edict.
The fact that his status as a deity himself had been forgotten—that he came to be regarded instead as a ritual officiant—likely dated back to a time older than even the Nara and Fujiwara periods.
Yet at this moment, the Emperor was both a visiting deity who had come from afar and a deity of Takamagahara.
Thus he had shed his qualification as a mere proclaimer of divine edicts in his capacity as an actual deity.
At the very instant of proclaiming the New Year's edict, he became the deity himself.
The elevated seat upon which he ascended for this recitation demonstrated that the qualification as heaven's supreme deity had been bestowed—this was the Takamikura.
And thus it gradually came to be considered a throne reserved exclusively for the Daijō-sai.

The Daijō-sai was the Niiname-sai marking the imperial reign's commencement.
It demonstrated that the Daijō-sai edicts and accession ceremony edicts had been one and the same.
From accession until the following early spring remained a period of ritual seclusion for the Emperor, during which he would don the so-called madowo and ofusuma garments to seclude himself.
When spring's eve arrived, the Prince of the New Day was born; after undergoing purification rites, he entered the court.
Thus did his divine self—as both visiting deity and priest—receive himself as master.
This constituted both the Great Purification Ritual and Soul-Pacifying Festival, encompassing both Daijō-sai and Niiname-sai.
Two distinct forms emerged: when acting as Takamagahara's deity through inherited prayers versus becoming deity incarnate through ritual enthronement—a distinction marked by ceremonial formulae and sacred seating.

In truth, the first year of accession should have been the following spring.
Following the Ōden-sai and the Section-Breaking of Purification came the Daijō-sai; this was succeeded by the Soul-Pacifying Ritual, then immediately followed by the Naohi Incantations; as night broke into dawn, the Takamikura Norito was recited.
All these had originally been rites performed by the Emperor himself, but gradually people forgot and omitted them, leaving such matters to be entrusted to the Emperor’s ritual role.
The Worship of the Four Directions was in fact the recitation of imperial edicts from the Takamikura.
Thus it was established that he was both the deity himself and the deity’s proxy.

This marked the inception of the imperial reign. That this ritual incantation was annually reiterated with each early spring becomes evident upon examining provisions within legal codes. The proclamation of this edict reset the year to its commencement, reverting all—human ages and palace edifices alike—to their prior state, thereby renewing everything as primordial essence. All preceding events dissolved into an antiquity devoid of occurrence. Accession ceremonies became concurrent with imperial successions; the Daijō-sai and Niiname-sai transformed into post-harvest midwinter observances; purification rites serving as rebirth ablutions for the Prince of the Sun absorbed Taoist influences while shifting in symbolic import; New Year's felicitations gradually prioritized receiving tributes over issuing decrees. Yet however frequently calendars were reformed, the conceptual framework—deeming Ōmisoka (Year's End) winter's closure and Gantan (New Year's Day) spring's advent—persisted undiminished. This continuity transmuted even seemingly artless sentiments like "spring arrives ere year's end"—positioned as the Kokinshū anthology's opening verse—into enduring literary motifs. Furthermore, societal renewal occasionally saw New Year recommence from Obon festivals while debt amnesties were declared. Such phenomena transcending later Inmyō logic and Confucian orthodoxy all stemmed from faith in the potency of reissuing these accession edicts—the very substance of norito ritual invocations.

When speaking of autumn, the notion of defining it as encompassing the seventh, eighth, and ninth months was gradually cultivated after adopting calendrical systems; yet we find instances where people, pledging to distribute the first fruits of November's Niiname-sai to the wind deity, left records containing usages such as "we shall present them at this year's Autumn Festival..."
This norito ritual prayer is thought to retain many portions composed during the Nara period still largely intact.
Thus, what we call the Autumn Festival came to be known specifically as the harvest festival.
Since this autumn does not correspond to June's Tsukinami-sai or September's Kanname-sai, it undoubtedly refers to autumn from before calendar usage—a term marking the conclusion of rice field labor.
The interweaving of Niiname-sai, markets, trade, and feasts around this term suggests autumn may have represented the harvest festival period itself.
As a hypothesis, I propose they might have meant the extraction of conditional vows and fulfillment of pledged obligations.
The phrase "we shall present them at the Autumn Festival..." simply denotes "the festival at harvest time," showing greater flexibility compared to modern Autumn Festivals' fixed forms.
Moreover, here the term *matsuri* appears not to signify merely a ceremonial event.

I had presented two examples of festival terminology, but this one differed again, signifying "offering."
The verbs *tatematsuru* (to present) and *okimatsuru* (to enshrine; written as 奠) among other forms of *matsuru* represented the act of offering food, clothing, and other items to deities and spirits.
My late teacher Dr. Mitsuya Shigematsu had reinforced the theory that this "tatematsuru" constituted the etymological origin of "matsuru."
Among the etymological theories of *matsuri* discussed up to that point, it stood as the most superior.
Though it appeared to contradict my teacher’s theory—and I felt some unease in doing so—I believed there remained a bit more to explore.

III

Beyond autumn festivals signifying the Niiname-sai Harvest Festival, the faith-based events frequently observed in autumn included sumo wrestling, Water Deity Festivals, and Soul Pacification Festivals. From early autumn through regions where festivals were held even at September’s end, shrines hosted events such as children’s sumo and youth sumo matches. This could not be dismissed as mere imitation of the court’s Sumō Festival held in July. Some might view this practice as annual divination between villages or crop competitions. Yet more intriguing was its connection to water deities. Sumo wrestling—traditionally attributed to Nomi no Sukune—revealed its ties to rice field irrigation even through legends like that of the “Waist-Breaking Rice Fields.” Tracing back further, conflicts such as that between Hoderi and Hoori—which explained the origins of Hayato performers and sumo—stemmed from epic narratives rooted in ritual prayers describing contests between water deities and earth spirits. This intertwining of sumo with aquatic divinities likewise manifested in the mythologized rivalry between the Suwa and Kashima deities: the sea-crossing god accompanied by Ame no Torifune no Kami became enshrined at Kashima, while the terrestrial spirit was worshipped at Suwa.

The folklore of kappa—who delight in sumo and are said to challenge humans upon sight—has ancient roots. Even sumo events in the Kyushu region appear to have been significantly bolstered by river festivals targeting these yōkai-like water imps.
And what was supposed to be performed in the Spring Festival was likely modified according to local circumstances into events such as May’s rice-field rituals and July’s Water Deity Festival.
However, the period when gods who come from the sea ascend the rivers and visit the villages gradually became established.
“Summer and autumn mingle; the early rice fields dimly…”
Around this time, it becomes apparent.

Thus, the marebito gods from beyond the sea—who were meant to visit once yearly—now came frequently; with Chūgen as the dividing line, people began conceptualizing the year in two parts, giving rise to a belief that the period from July onward constituted a cyclical return to spring and summer.
This shift also stemmed from the growing prominence of summer purification rites.
Given the conviction that these rites inherently involved the marebito gods’ visitation, communities inevitably came to perceive summer’s transition into autumn as marking the dawn of a new year.

This period was also when Buddhist households observed the Obon Festival.
From the end of the year to early spring, the marebito deities from beyond the sea would emerge, and their attendant spirits—now numerous—would follow them into the village.
The souls of those who had died after undergoing the village's coming-of-age rites had all journeyed to Tokoyo-no-kuni, that land beyond the sea; it was these souls who now returned.
When rituals for the incantation god—who reset time and brought spring—came to be performed again at summer's end, even Tokoyo-no-kuni's spirits would revisit human villages once more at autumn's beginning.
This merging with Obon transformed into what became known as the Autumn Soul Festival.
The notion of marebito visiting during Chūgen had already taken root during an era when villages migrated inland from coastal settlements and mountain communities grew influential.
Thus these visitors came to be envisioned ascending far up rivers flowing seaward.

Even in the era when deities were welcomed on the coast, there were regions where—for these visiting gods—a single shrine maiden lived apart from her village, weaving cloth inside a hut constructed as if bridging ocean waves, referred to as either “sazuki” or “tana.”
As she was a virgin dwelling in a weaving hut erected on raised planks, they called her the Weaving Maiden.
The reason she was also named Otototanabata stemmed from being an adoptive sister to shrine priests and occasionally serving as candidate for chief shrine maidenhood.
The era arrived when these Weaving Maidens’ way of life was swiftly forgotten.
Yet through legendization, their memory persists to this day.
The Ōtaebushi song titled “The Song of the Weaving Maiden” preserves verses like: “Beads entrusted to heaven’s Otototanabata shimmer immaculately…”
Such phrases transmitted through works like *Jindai-ki* (Chronicle of the Age of Gods) emerge from recollections of water deities’ shrine maidens arrayed in ceremonial splendor.
This early autumn tradition—linked to river waters and featuring a male figure first welcomed by weaving women—achieved near-perfect syncretism with rituals venerating Tanabata’s Weaver Girl and Cowherd Stars.

Besides floating Tanabata offerings and erected decorations down rivers, there were also places where shelves or ropes were hung over the river to make offerings akin to those on Bon altars. Moreover, customs of driving away and discarding pests and sleepiness had even been incorporated. From this perspective, even as the form of the Water Deity Festival transformed into the Star Festival so thoroughly that no trace of artifice remained, still, somewhere within it lingered the shadow of antiquity. This Water Deity Festival had originally been identical to the summer purification rites; while entrusting the welcoming of deities into villages and homes to the Obon Festival, they retained only traces of water deity receptions and purification within the Star Festival rituals (Tanabata). And so, they inaugurated a new Water Deity Festival, charging it with responsibilities ranging from irrigation management to drowning prevention.

The Obon Festival too appeared to preserve more elements of ancient beliefs than Buddhist doctrines.
When compared to records from the late Asuka period that carried foreign overtones, later iterations revealed a far more pronounced Japanese character.
Bon altars likewise demonstrated forms transmitted through Onmyōdō rather than Buddhist rites.
Among returning spirits, distinctions were drawn between venerated entities, attendants, and unattached souls.
In some regions, belief persisted in groups of sacred spirits returning from year's end through New Year's Day without differentiation from the Toshitokujin deity visiting New Year altars.
*Tsurezuregusa* recorded impressions of Soul Festivals held on New Year's Eve in eastern provinces.
Thus spirits returning during Obon became both focal points of Water Deity Festivals and groups of marebito participating in summer purification rites.

The soul-pacifying rites had not been forgotten even in summer.
The nobles' longevity prayers within the New Year's Greeting Ceremony—already recorded as having been performed in the Asuka court—constituted an offshoot of the Soul-Pacifying Festival, being identical to the "felicitous utterances" for living spirits that extended from the day after Tanabata to Obon's eve, as documented in writings from the Muromachi period onward.
This was a ritual of visiting one's parents, masters, or ceremonial guardians.
In the imperial court, the Emperor himself would pay respects to the Retired Emperor and Empress Dowager through morning audience processions.
The yabuiri leave granted to female relatives and servants also represented an archaic custom of parental visits timed around Jōgen and Chūgen observances.
That is to say, it too constituted a mode of soul-pacification.

Thus examining this pattern, autumn festivals came to incorporate many elements of the Ho Festival and Kanname-sai rituals, while the Niiname-sai—which ought properly to be called the true autumn festival—gradually faded away.
Furthermore layered upon this were differentiated forms of summer purification rites sharing origins with summer festivals: these became the Tanabata Festival and Water Deity Offerings; sumo wrestling persisted only as festival entertainment; Obon underwent complete transformation; while Bonrei's "auspicious words" became an indistinct annual observance.

The combination of such Summer Purification rites and the Ho Festival was the mikoshi togyo (portable shrine procession) of Sumiyoshi’s Takara no Ichi (Treasure Market).
It was also called the Masu Market because wooden measuring boxes were sold there.
From this perspective, it was an Autumn Festival, but when viewed through rituals like mikoshi washing and child sumo wrestling, it became a purification rite and also a Water Deity Festival.
Moreover, it was said that those participating in the Month of the Gods were seen off a few days after September’s end; this likely incorporated the ritual of sending off the rice field deity into purification concepts at autumn-to-winter transition.
The notion of dispatching the rice field deity at autumn’s end—the idea that agricultural rites belonged solely to autumn—arose partly because people came to believe through linguistic convention alone that the deity would return even in October, when autumn had not yet factually concluded.
The Autumn Festival of the Ho Festival too may have been shaped by such legendary limitations surrounding autumn and winter—perhaps even giving rise to notions like advancing the Niiname-sai ritual.

Traces of customs that incorporated winter rituals into autumn became increasingly visible.
Among these, because they were winter rituals, practices such as moving their performance up to before January seem to have emerged.
In the Jōdo Shinshū sect, practitioners performed the Hōon-kō memorial service for Shinran-ki one month early in October, calling this practice *otorikoshi* (moving up).
The belief that November’s winter solstice signified winter’s end likely further encouraged this trend.
However, because there was also the belief that the Niiname-sai and Chinkon-sai represented winter’s peak, matters that should have been in December were moved up to November.
This appears to have been a variation of the Tsukinami-sai.
The winter festivals at major shrines around the capital had mostly become November events.
The On-Matsuri of Kasuga Wakamiya—a festival which had the characteristics of a spring festival spanning from New Year’s Eve to New Year’s Day—was conducted at the end of November, featuring rice-field dances and harvest celebrations.
The fire-burning ritual combined elements such as Sagichō on January 14th and the New Year’s Eve divination through pillar burning at Gion; it was intended to take place on the day preceding one that marked the arrival of early spring.
Therefore, rituals that should have been performed on the day before Jōgen, Setsubun, or Ōmisoka had become fixed as November rituals.

IV

Markets were originally held in winter, and this day had been the Mountain Deity Festival.
The Mountain Goddess served as the Market Deity.
This deity was at some point replaced by Ebisu; moreover, shrine maidens serving the Mountain Deity came to be regarded either as manifestations of the deity itself or as yamamba—supernatural beings akin to mountain witches.
Thus, the year-end day when the Mountain Deity attended the Harvest Festival became the traditional market day.
In this sense, rituals like Tenmangū Shrine's Setsubun Usokae Shinji preserved forms identical to New Year's Eve markets.
Both their Mountain Deity Festival and the Market Deity Festival's Ebisu Lecture came to be advanced to October.
Moreover, what appeared to be winter purification rites transformed into Seimon-barai rituals conducted alongside Ebisu Lectures.
The Tenth-Day Ebisu observances of New Year's—whether on the fourteenth day or Ōmisoka—not only bestowed prosperity but performed purifications too; these too became events held on nights awaiting spring.
This practice came to be moved up along with Market Deity and Mountain Deity festivals, now held within October.
The fire-burning at Mountain Deity shrines ultimately proved identical to November's fire rituals.

Until the visiting deities from Tokoyo—arriving from the sea—were once again subsumed into Ebisu, the sea deity, the mountain deity took their place in performing purification rites.
This is discernible from the participation of individuals identifiable as mountain people in the Grand Palace Festival and Great Purification Ritual of the imperial court.
The mountain people were divine beings of the mountains; their priestesses transformed into yamamba who danced at markets on market days.
This became known as the Yamamba Dance.

Anashi-yama in Shiki District, Yamato Province appears unrelated to water at first glance, but as a source of the Hase River, it maintained profound aquatic connections.
Anashi Hiojinokami deities were distributed across various regions, all sharing deep ties to water.
The items carried by mountain people—called *yamazuto*—were traded with villagers during market days.
Mountain garlands included mistletoe, Japanese cypress, hikage ferns, and fern leaves serving as purification markers; gathered items comprised decorative flowers (bush warblers, millet ears, barnyard millet ears) and staffs.
According to Mr. Yanagida’s analysis, even the gourds among these gathered items—those belonging to mountain people—functioned as ladles.

The term "mountain people" became increasingly confused from when the Chinese character for "hermit" or "immortal" began being used phonetically to write it. Generally speaking, even before that time, it remained unclear whether these mountain people were manifestations of the mountain deity itself or merely village youths in disguise. It was known that those mountain people who came to the Heian-period court and major shrines had adopted the appearance of low-ranking shrine attendants.

Oh, mountainous—those who went to the mountains; the hearts of the mountain people remain unknown.
Mountain people—who? (Prince Toneri—Man'yōshū, Book 20)

In this poem, Emperor Genshō was a mountain person, and at the same time, the residents of the mountain villages (Soekami District) were the mountain people who came to the Nara court’s festivals.
I became interested in these two homophonic words with differing meanings.
The character 仙 is also read as yamabito (mountain people), but in the Iroha Jiruishō, it is read as Ikibotoke.
Ikibotoke was the Retired Emperor, and the Mountain Deity People were both the mountain deity of the mountain villages and the villagers who were also mountain people.

Oh, rugged mountains—when I went to the mountain village, the mountain people made me obtain their mountain gifts.
This (Retired Emperor—Man’yōshū, Book 20)

This became the Emperor’s work that formed the basis of the original song.
Here too, one discerns [the Emperor] taking pleasure in the layered phantoms of overlapping words.
By interpreting the mountain people as immortals—“When I visited the village where dwell those who extend life, a mountain person emerged and granted me this gift of the mountains”—the fascination expressed through “This is it” remains decipherable even now.

When the capital was situated in the fields of Takechi and Shiki, shrine attendants from Anashi Mountain would come; after its relocation to Nara, they began to come from mountain villages instead. These mountain people gradually became fictionalized and came to be perceived as the Mountain Deity, mountain spirits, or even mountain monsters. The shrine attendants of Anashi, though being mountain people themselves, traveled across various provinces to proselytize. Observing this, one sees they were not individuals entirely cut off from village life. Yet only on market days and when attending purification rites at court or noble households would they don mountain garlands—and likely cloak their entire bodies in mountain vegetation.

When it came to Yamashiro-kyō, the mountain people likely came from Hiyoshi. Just as Anashi, which dominated Miwa, had been situated atop Mount Miwa, the mountain deity governing Kamo had to be none other than the towering Hiyoshi deity. Therefore, initially, these mountain people likely served as shrine attendants of Hiei. Moreover, through this act of obsequious service, they sought to placate the divine will. In both Kamo and Hirano, the mountain people's participation in festivals took this form of ingratiating devotion. The reason Matsuo came to be regarded as the same deity as Hiyoshi probably lies in Hirano being Ōyamato-no-kami while Kamo maintained traditions identifying it with Ajisukitakahikone-no-mikoto of the Miwa lineage. The shrine attendants of Hiyoshi appear to have resided near Matsuo Shrine, making their connection to Katsura Village not entirely implausible.

The twin garlands of the Kamo Festival were made of hollyhock and katsura.
Therefore, the mountain people of Heian-kyō likely maintained a simple appearance.
And once the purification concluded, as a mark for those who had received the divine presence, they likely moved through the crowds distributing the twin garlands of mountain offerings.
The most formalized aspect of their divinely transformed costumes was this act of winding garlands about their heads.
These twin garlands—now transformed into emblems of ritual purification—had become indistinguishable from sacred ropes and ceremonial wands.

Winter festivals were, first and foremost, soul-pacifying rites, and also originated from purification rituals.
There were moved-up spring festivals, those originating from winter monthly festivals, and those belonging to new chamber rituals.
The first thing we must determine is the ancient significance of the word *fuyu* ("winter").
Just as "autumn" in antiquity meant a brief, joyous period around the time of reaping, so too did *fuyu* appear to have referred to an extremely brief span.
Senior scholars said *fuyu* meant "increase," positing it as cognate with *mitamafuri* ("shaking the divine spirits") in soul-pacifying rites—thereby asserting that divine spirits multiplied through this growth (*fuyu*) of awe-inspiring power.
That is, they interpreted it as signifying the proliferation of awe-inspiring spirits.
Was it "to touch," "to increase," or "to prosper"?
Even in ancient texts, this must have already been unknowable.

The Prince of Hata no Hi, Ōsazaki Ohosazaki, wearing his sword.
Base: sword; tip: increase.
Winter trees’ boughs—under the withered tree’s rustling (*Ōjin-ki*).

However, when we examine this Kunibu song, the significance of the so-called Kunibu no So performance becomes clear.
This was a longevity ritual conducted by the Kunibu people—one method of soul-pacifying.
This sword was not an everyday object but a divine treasure for soul-pacifying; like the Futsu no Mitama—the secret instrument of soul-pacifying at Isonokami—its tip branched into numerous prongs.
The term "sword" denotes a double-edged blade, serving as the general name for tachi, with its fundamental form being that of a double-edged sword.
At the tip, it branched into several parts.
Having said this, they shifted to wooden purification tools used in rituals.

They burned Kareno with salt, made its remnants into a koto, and as they plucked its strings—the nazu wood that touched the rocks within Yura Strait’s narrows.
Rustle rustle (*Nintoku-ki*).

To say this was, in fact, akin to Kunibu songs.
It was likely not the final song concluding the ritual chant.

The term *fuyuki* did not refer to winter trees but rather to what was called mistletoe (a parasitic plant).
“O mistletoe.”
“That,” they continued, associating from root to crown, “the mistletoe in the shade of the thick branching boughs of that host tree.”
“With this rustle-rustle of trembling sound—just so—may Your divine form and sacred life remain pure and hale,” they continued, raising a chant neither fully formed nor unformed, until finally letting it fall into the rustle-rustle of the nazu wood from their ritual tools.
The ancient tradition of naming Kareno as a boat was dubious.

“O nazu wood.”

“Which nazu wood?”
In this manner of speaking: “O trunk! Now we bring this tree’s trunk to the seashore, burn it, and let it be purified.”
“This koto too is made from the part of its trunk that pierced through; though the sound from plucking it does not undulate, it resonates like the narrows of Yura Strait.”
“Though nothing touches those rocky shores, it is the sound of this nazu wood—prepared to brush against and caress Your divine form—grazing Your sacred robes.”
“With this rustle-rustle, may Your divine form and sacred life prosper evermore.”
In this manner, they shifted focus from the emperor’s thaumaturgic power to the mistletoe—adorned on their heads as ritual tools—and further to the nazu wood used for stroking and branch-breaking in rites—likely a sacred tree akin to boxwood or hinoki cypress (also called *hiyon*). In doing so, they unconsciously incorporated repetitions of “tree” into architectural benedictions, along with soul-pacifying pivot words: *fuyu* (“winter/proliferation”), *saya-saya* (“rustle-rustle”), tidal waters, koto harps, *yura* (“undulation”), *furu* (“to shake”), and *nazu* (“caress”).

Mistletoe, as was the case in foreign countries, was also regarded as a sacred plant in our own.

Taking hoyo—mistletoe—from the treetops of the foot-dragging mountains; adorning [ourselves], we celebrate a thousand years (*Man'yōshū*, Book 18).

It was Yakamochi’s poem.
They inserted this wood into hair ornaments and performed New Year’s blessings.
This was one of the mountain people’s mountain-shadow rites and mountain-vine ceremonies.
It was a pivot-word play on *hoyo* and *fuyu*, equivalent to layering *nazu* (“to name”) with *nazu* (“to caress”).
In *fuyu*, “proliferation” (*fuyu*) naturally encompassed “touching” while also carrying connotations of adhesion.
Through the Soul-Pacifying Ritual, they believed external awe-inspiring spirits would adhere anew to the body with revitalized power.
Even when these forces branched into multiple manifestations through ritual development, faith held that their original potency remained undiminished.

After the purification preceding the Soul-Pacifying Ritual, the garments bearing the defilement of old souls were given to the purification participants. Emerging from this custom, what adhered to these garments came to be viewed not as defilement but as split souls. Therefore, in the Heian period, the custom of distributing garments at year-end was practiced. To say they gave spring garments was a later interpretation; they had intended to distribute souls. That is the faith of the adhesion-proliferation of souls. In this context, *fuyu* is not a verb such as “to increase” (*fuyu*) but a root noun meaning “split objects”; however, such linguistic formations are rare in analogous cases. Even when root nouns appear at the beginning of words, those occurring at the end are exceedingly rare.

This indicated that this term had been transmitted through incantations and epic poetry for an exceedingly long period. Possessing a split soul, according to later interpretations, came to mean receiving the protection of the original spirit's owner. Thus, characters read as "onrai" (imperial favor) came to be interpreted as *mitama no fuyu*, signifying not merely divine protection but also divine patronage. Even terms such as *tamau* ("to bestow"), *tamawaru* ("to be granted"), and *mitamatamau* ("to receive divine spirits") arose from this belief in soul division. The term *mitama no fuyu* likely originated from soul-pacifying incantations, though its applications appear to have gradually branched out over time. It employed what might be termed a multi-subject parallel exposition method.

The household’s celebratory words served simultaneously as blessings for the household head’s life and health and as prayers for the prosperity of household assets. At times, they fulfilled the purpose of auspiciating hopes—for newlywed couples to achieve harmonious unions and for children to be born and multiply. It is likely that this soul-pacifying period during which *mitama no fuyu* manifested came to be regarded as the Winter Festival. Thus winter alone became demarcated as the span from post-harvest to spring; as connections between harvest completion, soul-pacifying rites, and New Year’s Eve gradually attenuated—creating temporal gaps—the conceptual foundation of winter itself transformed. People seemingly ceased to perceive the three-month winter period marked by calendars as excessively prolonged.

V

I have already touched upon spring festivals to some extent.
At this point, I wish to elucidate the primordial meaning of festivals and bring this essay to its conclusion.
The ancient people—who embraced empathic identification before adopting beliefs about soul division—maintained that when one chants incantations empowered by a deity of spells, that deity’s spiritual force transfers into the chanter, transforming them into the deity itself.
The divine will stood as both command and decree for humanity.
To materialize these incantations proclaiming divine intent was solely to transmit and enact them.
Though divine thaumaturgic power manifests its effects without human mediation, any error in its recitation becomes a grave affair.
Thus did there arise the necessity to select a Divine Oracle-Messenger.
The root *matsu* within *matsuru* (“to enshrine”) frequently carries connotations of expectation, yet conveys a more urgent sense of anticipatory resolve.
It even bore implications of anxious yearning.
The manifestation of divine intent came to be termed *mamoru* (“to safeguard”).
This accounts for why divinatory signs are called *machi*.
That state of awaiting divine will or mandate—termed *matsu*—finds expression in ritual elements like *machi sake*.
This was no mere “waiting wine” or “omen wine.”

When *matsu* was transformed as a root while preserving its original meaning, two words emerged: *matsuru* (to enshrine/proclaim) and *matasu* (to transmit).
*Matsuru* was the act of proclaiming divine will.
This appeared to signify not the deity itself proclaiming, but rather transmitting [the divine will].
“Sukunabikona-no-Kami’s divine vitality flourishing and prospering, abundant vitality swirling and revolving—behold the Matsurikoshi sacred sake!”
When examining the *Chūai-ki* passage, one interpretation holds that Sukunabikona-no-Kami—flourishing with divine vitality and swirling with abundant vitality—proclaimed the incantation deity’s sake-consecrating words to produce this sacred sake; alternatively, it could mean that deities continued proclaiming Sukunabikona’s inaugural incantation with flourish, thereby creating the sacred sake.
In either case, this *matsuru* could not be said to involve Sukunabikona himself proclaiming his own incantation or presenting the sacred sake he brought forth.
However, it was known that *matsuru* contained the meaning of chanting incantations.
*Matasu* meant having [it] transmitted, thus belonging to the divine side.
It involved transmitting divine will and sending it forth to be made manifest.
This expanded into terminology broadly applicable to dispatches and missions.

Therefore, in its primary sense, the festival was a ritual involving the recitation of incantations and imperial edicts.
The secondary meaning was to serve by embodying the intent of incantations in order to materialize divine will.
Furthermore, it also came to signify the reaffirmation of materialized divine will.
Things of this significance were numerous in old festivals.
The former—particularly the second—came to fall under the aspect of ritual governance.
As it became skewed, reaffirmations proclaiming the perfection of the divine food-land’s ritual governance grew prevalent.
This is the Niiname-sai.

The festivals below this have already been explained.
Thus, the Winter Festival branched off from the Spring Festival, and the premise of the Winter Festival split off the Autumn Festival.
Furthermore, after Onmyōdō had fully assimilated Shinto, summer purification rites became more prevalent than winter ones, and from this arose the Summer Festival.
And thus, the modern Summer Festival, which flourished most in recent times, was in fact nothing more than a variation of the purification rites that had been conducted as the premise for all festivals.

This constitutes the broad account concerning festivals.