Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. The Relationship Between the Imperial Nobility and Shinto

For the Imperial Nobility, I wished to apply the kana reading "ōkimi" (a grand honorific for sovereigns). In truth, using "ōkimi" presented certain complications, which led me to adopt the written term "Imperial Nobility." Here, I have used ōkimi to denote Japan's highest-ranking figure and their entire imperial lineage—that is, all members of the imperial household. Through this account, I maintain that the lifestyle of this Imperial Nobility constituted Shinto's foundation. What common people now call Shinto, I posit to be essentially the Imperial Nobility's faith disseminated among the populace.

Until around the Heian period, the Emperor’s imperial family was called Ō-uji, while households below the imperial family were referred to as other clans.
From the Nara period onward, the conflict between the Ō-uji and other clans became prominent.
In the proper sense, the empress consort was originally from other clans, and above them, there existed a more august empress from the Ō-uji—a hierarchy that necessitates retrospective acknowledgment.

In regions and villages that shared a lifestyle similar to that of the Imperial Nobility, a faith largely identical to theirs was practiced.
Moreover, during this period, there likely existed significantly different beliefs as well; however, these naturally came to conform to the faith of the Imperial Nobility through pragmatic submission.
Among them, there were also instances that had been consciously altered.
This could be observed throughout the Ōmi, Asuka, and Fujiwara periods.
The fundamental spirit of the Taika Reform had been, in truth, a religious reformation that sought to unify regional beliefs with those of the Imperial Nobility.
From the Nara period through the Heian period, while the era was transitioning toward being centered on the royal family, by this time the Ō-uji were already being sidelined as other clans gained influence.
Thus the Imperial Nobility ultimately ceased to appear on the surface, and other clans came to wield power.

To simplify matters with an example: the Imperial New Year Poetry Ceremony conducted around the fifteenth day of each New Year had by then become more of an esteemed literary event than a sacred one; yet when examining records from the late Heian period, though it had already been established as such by that time, it still remained a sacred religious ritual.
That custom is thought to have existed from even before the Nara period, tracing back through the Heian era.

This sacred religious ritual known as the Imperial Poetry Ceremony was originally conducted with men and women positioned on opposite sides to recite their compositions. When the Emperor presented His Majesty’s poem, court ladies would present theirs in turn through bamboo blinds. As an offshoot of this format, even during poetry contests frequently held from the Heian period through the Kamakura period, following this tradition, the verses of Emperors and Retired Emperors were attributed to court ladies’ names. In poetry contests held at noble households emulating court customs, the master of each house adopted the title of "court ladies." This practice is evident in Ōkagami’s documentation. Emperor Go-Toba, though the most skilled poet among successive sovereigns, attributed all his contest entries to court ladies’ names.

Even today, there are those who are summoned to the Imperial Poetry Ceremony; however, in ancient times, these summoned individuals were primarily military officials by background.
They were not military officials from noble families but rather those of the fifth rank and below, often from the lower ranks.
In other words, low-ranking military officials were summoned.
The emergence of renowned poets from military official backgrounds during the late Heian through Kamakura periods was precisely the result of this custom maturing.
For example, Minamoto no Yorimasa (Sanmi), Satō no Yoshikiyo (Saigyō), and Fujiwara no Yoshitō from Emperor Go-Toba’s reign numbered among such individuals.

The counterparts to the military officials summoned as participants were the court ladies of the palace. These too changed into lower-ranking court ladies as eras progressed, but they originally came from high-ranking Uneme. The scope of court ladies referred to as Uneme was broad, but by the Heian period, an upper class of court ladies emerged from among them, and Uneme's status declined. At the Imperial Poetry Ceremony, court ladies and military officials would take opposing positions, and this practice evolved into the palace poetry contests.

The formal poetry contests of the court did not arise solely from this single cause; however, by incorporating this format, they gradually developed into solemn ceremonies.

Why did Uneme and lower-ranking warriors come to participate in poetry contests?
As for Uneme, by the Heian period—as previously mentioned—they had become lower in rank, but before that time, they had been daughters of district governors—local provincial administrators.
They were summoned to the capital, completed their terms of service, and though rarely some remained in Kyoto, returning to their home provinces had become customary.
Those who returned transmitted the various court rituals to their own households or spread them within their families' spheres of influence.

Corresponding to these Uneme were also sons of district governors who had come up to the capital.
This was akin to the Ōban'yaku system—comparable to Great Guard Duty—which persisted into the modern era.
These individuals from district governor clans were collectively termed palace guards.
Though some palace guards later completed their terms and settled in the capital, prior to the Nara period most returned home to propagate the court's religious practices.

As the imperial court already contained military households boasting a history dating back to the Age of the Gods, whenever palace guards came up to the capital in great numbers from the provinces, there was an excess of personnel.
Thus, even members of the Ō-uji were naturally relegated to lower positions among those of high rank.
The retinue guards were those individuals.
The retinue guards were also referred to as attendants or retainers by the royalty and nobility they served.
In essence, their core identity remained rooted in being palace guards of the court.
One could also posit that court ladies in noble households were similarly assigned from the palace. Given that court customs gradually permeated downward and noble households themselves already followed courtly protocols, they could readily adopt the lifestyles transmitted through palace guards and court ladies.

By the end of the Heian period, military officials were treated lightly as mere summoned participants; however, Kiyosuke’s *Okugishō* seriously documented this matter in its opening volume.
In records from the late Heian period, they are viewed lightly, but originally, they were considered profound.

During the New Year’s Audience Ceremony, when the Emperor bestows the norito ritual prayer, the courtiers present sukotobito congratulatory addresses in response.
This served to bless the Emperor’s longevity while simultaneously renewing vows of submission.
In the Engishiki Norito, the meanings of norito and sukotobito are conflated in usage.

Japanese rituals repeated the same acts multiple times.
They did not merely repeat but simplified and reperformed.
When court officials formally presented sukutobito at the imperial court’s New Year’s Audience Ceremony，they reperformed more relaxed songs in response to these oral congratulatory addresses.
Songs had differentiated from sukutobito；they consisted not of ceremonial prose itself，but rather coalesced from monologic passages expressing personal sentiments and seeking understanding—elements that separated out over time.
That is，following sukutobito presentations，they would hold poetry gatherings embodying naorai’s communal spirit.

In contemporary Shinto, this had become considerably more relaxed; following formal rituals, they conducted what was called naorai at shrines.
Today, this had become almost entirely merged with banquets, but in ancient times, there were three distinct rites—sacred rituals (formal ceremonies), naorai purification feasts, and ceremonial banquets—conducted in three separate stages.
They gradually simplified and performed these three types of rites, with songs becoming central in naorai purification feasts, and dances and gestures taking prominence in ceremonial banquets.

After the New Year’s Audience Ceremony concluded, they conducted the naorai purification feast.
What corresponded to this naorai was the Imperial Poetry Ceremony.
At court, they had long called this the Ōnaobi-no-hi Festival.
Ōnaobi-no-hi and Kamunaobi-no-hi were the deities of norito.
Even in the transmitted norito ritual prayers believed to be divinely granted, errors might arise while reciting them.
If there was an error, calamity would be bestowed by the gods.

The deities who bring calamity are called Ōmagatsuhi-no-Kami and Yasomagatsuhi-no-Kami; though priests despised them, they were in fact vital gods.
In Shinto, while understanding of these deities had changed over time, they remained those who pointed out errors in divinely transmitted norito ritual prayers and their corresponding sukotobito congratulatory addresses.
Nowadays norito tend to be considered mere ceremonial recitations required by protocol, but in antiquity people had believed them to be divine words while using sukotobito to articulate their own thoughts.

Since they were passed down through humans, there were bound to be errors.
If one spoke mistakenly to the gods, one was punished.
When an error occurred, it was Ōmagatsuhi-no-Kami who would point it out.
When this was expressed through antithetical phrasing, it caused their nature to split, leading them to be called Yasomagatsuhi-no-Kami (Eighty Calamitous Deities).
Later generations came to view them as demons.
The deities who had to correct these errors to ensure none remained were Ōnaobi-no-Kami and Kamunaobi-no-Kami. In Shinto, they were regarded as separate gods, but this distinction arose from antithetical phrasing meant to maintain rhythmical balance—just as had occurred with Magatsuhi-no-Kami.

Afterward, when enshrining the two deities Ōnaobi-no-Kami and Kamunaobi-no-Kami, whenever an error occurred in a recitation, they would correct it.

In the Heian-period court, once the New Year’s Audience Ceremony concluded, an event equivalent to the Ōnaobi Festival was conducted.
This was divided into two: the Ōnaobi-no-hi Festival and the Imperial Poetry Ceremony.
The Ōnaobi-no-hi Festival was conducted following the New Year’s Audience Ceremony; however, it was performed not only to enshrine the deities but also to correct any errors in the words presented at that time.
During this Ōnaobi Festival, they sang songs.

At the beginning of Volume 20 of the Kokinshu, there is a song of Ōnaobi-no-hi.
Some may find it strange that this occurs in the New Year, but since it is Ōnaobi-no-hi, it is indeed present during the New Year as well.

"At the beginning of this new year, thus we perform -
(Where 'tsume' appears, it is undoubtedly an error for 'heme')

This was a Nara-period song from the *Shoku Nihongi* that had been transmitted in slightly altered form.
From this, it becomes evident that the Ōnaobi-no-hi Festival was conducted following the New Year’s Audience Ceremony.
In truth, what had originally been one entity—the Imperial Poetry Ceremony and the Ōnaobi-no-hi Festival—split and gradually came to be perceived as distinct entities."

During the Imperial Poetry Ceremony, men and women would divide into two groups.
The main participants at that time were the court ladies and palace guards.
The songs presented at this time were not new compositions; they offered songs from their own regions and dedicated them to the gods.
These songs were called regional songs.
They served as expressions of renewed obedience to the court, reaffirming their submission each year at spring's beginning.

However, even before that period, what should be considered the proto-form of poetry competitions had already been practiced in society.
These were known as utagaki poetry gatherings and poetic debates.
Gradually incorporating those methods into the Imperial Poetry Ceremony through competitive song exchanges led to the establishment of formal poetry competitions.

Each province possessed spirits that granted it autonomy.
There existed mysterious spirits—namely, divine authority—that held actual power over provinces. When it attached [to someone], they gained the power to control that land’s governance.

In the songs passed down through various regions dwelled their spirits; when those songs were sung, new power arose within the singer.
When the court ladies and palace guards presented regional songs, divine authority manifested in the Emperor.
Thus did the regions that offered songs come to submit to the Emperor.

"The deity of the land of rippling waves has grown desolate; how sorrowful to behold the ruined capital." (Man’yōshū, Book 1)

Scholars explain that the deity of Ōmi Province’s heart grew desolate—hence why the Ōmi court became so ruined—though Yamada Yoshio offers an alternative interpretation. From the perspective of soul theory, this represents the desolation arising from human souls detaching.
When souls detached and hearts emptied, desolation ensued.
By the Heian period, they had come to use reduplicated forms—"sabisabishi" for desolation and "sōsōshi" for such states—to express these concepts.
The heart stood empty and unsatisfied—a state of detached souls.
This song tells how Emperor Kōbun had to entrust the country to Emperor Tenmu after Ōmi Province’s soul—which should have remained attached to the sovereign—detached from Kōbun and transferred to Tenmu.

When provincial governors or their children from their respective regions sang the songs passed down in their households, that power transferred to the Emperor to whom they were sung.
The Emperor reigned over the land of Japan because he possessed all spirits throughout the country; without grasping this principle, one could not touch upon Shinto's very foundation.
While it is said Japan was conquered by military force or governed through sacred virtue, religiously speaking, it was because they offered their provinces' spirits.

The act of attaching souls to the sacred imperial person should have required only a single performance in principle.
They came to consider this must eventually be repeated annually.
To fulfill this role, toneri (palace guards) and uneme (court ladies)—sons and daughters of provincial governors—came to serve at court.
These palace guards and court ladies served the manifest deity of the court—the Emperor who transmitted divine proclamations and at times became a god himself—and when they completed their service and returned to their provinces, the court's faith spread throughout those regions.

The era during which this faith was practiced endured for a considerable span, but when the warrior class rose to power, the notion of conquering the land through military force took root—eventually leading people to retroactively apply this view to much earlier eras.
When the court ladies returned to their respective provinces, they became the highest-ranking priestesses of the provincial deities, while the palace guards wielded influence as district magistrates or clan members.
The fact that these people habitually embodied the capital's faith through their daily practice naturally propagated the Japanese imperial court's beliefs throughout the regions.

In antiquity, faith and political power were one.
Where religious power existed, political power inevitably accompanied it.
In other words, the fact that these palace guards and court ladies brought the court's faith back to their regions was the sole means by which the Japanese imperial court's power reached the provinces.

The Taika Reform stripped the kuni no miyatsuko—who had governed the provinces until then—of their religious authority, thereby causing them to lose their political power as well.
After the Reform, what had previously been called kuni no miyatsuko came to be referred to as gunryō.
The gunryō retained political power solely as mere officials and agents of the court; their religious authority was lost.
If they had not stripped the kuni no miyatsuko of their religious authority, the Imperial Nobility’s development would have been difficult to achieve.

The daughters of provincial governors were both priestesses serving local deities and their divine offspring.
Since palace guards were secondary provincial governors, by altering their lifestyle to courtly customs, the court’s faith extended to the provinces.
This method was carried out naturally and unconsciously at first, but later came to be performed consciously and continued until the Heian period.

At court during spring, they conducted the Imperial Poetry Ceremony where provincial governors' sons and daughters presented songs from their respective regions—a practice meant to offer up those provinces' spirits—which later transformed into poetry competitions.

When viewed through this lens, the Imperial Poetry Ceremony emerged as a more informal version of the solemn New Year's Audience Ceremony.

Beyond this poetry event, palace guards and court ladies would constantly attend the Emperor—that is, the Emperor as deity—and after returning to their regions lead religious lives, thereby spreading court customs and achieving religious unification.

This was none other than political unification as well.

What is called Japan's unity of religion and politics differed from common understanding; it signified unity in precisely this described sense.

When palace guards returned to their regions, these individuals became the core and established the Toneri-be under the Emperor they had served. This system—what was called the Emperor’s Ōtoneri-be, or more precisely, the Himatsuri Ōtoneri-be—had been shaped through generations. The Himatsuri-be—whose name originally meant "those who worshiped the sun"—were dispatched across provinces under successive emperors’ orders. By the Nara period, only the names of these administrative units remained, but since time immemorial, the Himatsuri-be—originating from the Toneri-be—had served the Emperor before returning home to govern their regions using mystical powers transmitted from the court: a faith centered on observing celestial movements. Through this process, those lands became the Emperor’s domain. In essence, men and women who left their provinces to serve at court carried back its religion, causing even regions with starkly differing beliefs to align with imperial faith. Thus, the court’s influence spread until these areas came to be recognized as imperial territories.

Moreover, those who adopted a lifestyle resembling the court's gradually gathered near the capital.
Generally, these individuals were referred to as ministers.
Previously, Omi were explained to mean high-ranking nobles.
In other words, ministers were lords of domains who held provinces and were semi-subordinate to the Emperor—Ōimi (Grand Abstainers) who occupied a position contrasting with the Emperor’s realm.
In the Shinto of the court, there were two types of ritual abstainers—Ōimi (Grand Abstainers) and Koimi (Minor Abstainers; the latter term being used for garments in Noh theater)—with the Ōimi being individuals who directly faced the gods and performed rigorous ritual abstinences.
In later periods, the status of these people gradually declined, but originally, those of higher rank had performed rigorous ritual abstinences.
Even today, during the Great Thanksgiving Festival, it is the Emperor who undergoes the greatest hardship.
He takes the bath three times.
At that time, the Koimi humbly offers ritual assistance to the Emperor.
Koimi held the highest position at court—someone who today would be equivalent to the Prime Minister.

The bath of the Kairyūden remained an absolute mystery beyond comprehension, but in any case, women performed that role. At this moment, the mystery was conducted. As for that of the palace, it had been practiced until the Heian period; this aspect had certain points that could be understood. In ancient times, at court, it was the Emperor who endured the greatest hardship. The suffering borne by the Emperor in personally conducting the rituals—which continued almost without cessation throughout the year—was extraordinary. Following the Emperor, it was the Koimi—the high-ranking nobles—who faced such trials.

Kōdatsube was a common appellation, not an official title.
Because it had been used with extreme freedom, by the Heian period—when women’s writings began recording vernacular language—it became a documented term.
To conclude this term saw no usage during the Nara period merely because it first appeared in Heian-period records constitutes a hasty judgment—it was indeed already current during the Nara era.
At that time, they simply saw no need for documentation, hence left no records.

Kōdatsube referred to the group associated with Kōtatsu.
Kōtatsu was a divine hall where those performing ritual abstinences would seclude themselves.
Such halls also existed at the Grand Shrine of Ise.
During festivals, this term denoted those who resided at ※（广＋寺）—the site where objects for divine descent were created.
In the Heian period, while fifth-rank officials and above were called denjōbito (palace attendants), Kōdatsube came to signify high-ranking court nobles of third rank and above.
By this stage, its original meaning as "those who gathered at divine halls for ritual purification" had been completely lost.
What began as a broad designation gradually narrowed until it referred exclusively to one particular group.

Thus, even when observing the lives of the nobles—the so-called Kōdatsube—it was often in the wake of those who had established domains near Yamato that they came into contact with the court’s lifestyle and beliefs.
Therefore, the faith and lifestyle of the court gradually eroded the nobles.
It gradually expanded to the regions and further spread among the common people.
Even among what we consider to belong to the common people, there are many things that originated from altered forms of court faith and lifestyles.

II. Divine Authority

The Emperor possesses a wellspring of fundamental power for governing Japan.
Without this concept, one cannot comprehend the dignity of the Imperial Family.
This was divine authority—though we had termed it 'foreign spirits,' we now substituted this with 'divine authority.'
That constitutes the translated term for mana—.

Since the Emperor was sovereign of Yamato province, he who bore Yamato’s soul became Emperor (the Three Sacred Treasures hold separate significance).
The soul of Yamato belonged to the Mononobe clan, and their method of handling souls was called the Isonokami Spirit Pacification Techniques of the Mononobe.
This aspect has been transmitted within Shinto sects.
Separate from this existed the soul that becomes Emperor—namely, the Imperial Spirit (as referenced in the Bidatsu-ki and other sources).

Should any violate this oath, may the gods of heaven and earth and the Imperial Spirit utterly destroy the seed of the vassal. (Emperor Bidatsu’s 10th year, intercalary second month)

To state this plainly, it is divine authority (miti). While often considered merely a sacred modifier, it actually represents the Imperial Spirit that descends upon the Sacred Person during the Great Thanksgiving Festival.

The separate construction of Yuki Hall and Suki Hall constitutes an ancient practice documented even in Emperor Tenmu's chronicles. As previously noted, these must have originally formed a single structure. The most contentious element remains the sacred futon installed within these halls—though some Shinto scholars groundlessly claim it contains Amaterasu Ōmikami's mortal remains, this constitutes irreverent speculation without factual basis.

Records state that during the Heavenly Grandson's descent from Takamagahara, he arrived wrapped in Mashitagutsutsuma cloth; I maintain that the Daijōsai Hall's futon preserves this ritual form. This tradition likely persists at Ise Grand Shrine today—the canopy seen in Ise's Daidengaku performances originates from this very practice.

Until the precious sacred soul had fully settled upon the Emperor, it was not permitted to be exposed to sunlight or outside air.
They believed contact with outside air would cause it to lose its sacred quality.
Therefore, they wrapped His Sacred Person in the Mashitagutsutsuma.
During this period of enshrouding, he was revived.

The one in Ise dated from an era far preceding Daidengaku—likely three hundred years prior—and until recent times, within the canopies of Kagura performances that traversed the provinces while preserving their ancient form, there had existed something called the Mashitagutsutsuma.

Every five years, the Daidengaku would travel around and envelop village youths under a canopy—preventing exposure to outside air and forbidding food—as they made vows and performed dances. While this continued, those youths would transition into becoming members of the village’s young men’s association. This marked their qualification to participate in Shinto rituals as the village’s central force. In truth, during festivals, it was these young men who held the qualification to become deities. Before the current Daidengaku tradition, traveling kagura troupes had circulated through various provinces bearing white canopies called Mashitagutsutsuma. There had even been an era when Ise’s onshi priests traveled with such kagura performances. The diagrams of these still exist today, though they appear highly unusual.

The fact of being wrapped in the Mashitagutsutsuma and revived exists only in the records of the imperial line. Within this setting, he did not partake of food, and ritual abstention was observed. After this custom had vanished, it conversely came to be considered that Ninigi-no-Mikoto—wrapped in the Mashitagutsutsuma—descended to this country and was revived in this land. We, seeing that the Imperial Court frequently employs the Mashitagutsutsuma in palace rituals, presumed it was brought down from the heavens—but in truth, it is more accurate to reverse this understanding.

In ancient times, there existed an era without a clear consciousness of death.
Even by the Heian period, people could not clearly discern whether one was alive or dead.
It is known that emperors and imperial family members were placed in the mogari-no-miya—temporary enshrinement halls—mentioned in the Man'yōshū.
The perception of the enshrinement period in these halls as lasting one year emerged only after aligning with China’s mourning system; previously, for a long time, life and death had remained indistinguishable.
If one did not die, they would revive; if dead, people believed the soul would dwell in another body. They covered both the Sacred Body that had borne the Imperial Spirit and the new body meant to receive the soul under a single futon while vigorously performing chinkon spirit-pacification rituals.
Even today, scholars surmise that ancient ballads are performed during periods when His Majesty resides in the Yuki and Suki Halls.

They believed that if the Sacred Person—having entered a period of ritual repose—did not revive, his soul would transfer to the newly prepared body placed within a single location.
Because the distinction between death and life remained unclear, they were able to place two sacred bodies in a single location.
As the concepts of life and death had gradually become clarified from both aspects, religiously there was resurrection while they came to recognize death as an actuality.
Even when those who were alive emerged, they conceived of it in the same form as one who had once died being resurrected.
Even in the faith of the Izumo Kunitsuko family, when the Kunitsuko died, they would tie the body to a boar-shaped stone and perform water burial, yet they did not consider him dead in the slightest.
During this period, a new Kunitsuko was established; however, just as with the ancient form at court, since they emerged from the same futon, they were regarded as being the same person as the original—that is, the deceased.
Therefore, there was no such thing as secluding oneself in mourning garments—that is, in mourning.

The term 'moto' was thought to refer to an underskirt or the robes worn by Heian-period court ladies, but in truth denoted a large cloth without ties—resembling a furoshiki wrapping cloth—that was called the Mashitagutsutsuma.
The act of "moni komoru" (secluding oneself within) meant entering this futon; during this period, ritual abstention was conducted with remarkable breadth and strictness—a practice they termed "mono omoi" (spiritual contemplation).
Through later mistaken associations, this came to be interpreted as having mourning connotations.

The original single hall was likely divided into the Yuki Hall and Suki Hall because people began conceptualizing life and death as distinct states.
Even when futons were placed separately in both halls, practitioners believed the older soul would transfer to the new body at that location.
Hitomaro's poem in the Man'yōshū—recording Emperor Tenmu's transfer to the Asuka no Makami no Hara mausoleum and subsequent heavenly ascension through a rock door—demonstrates how these beliefs had transformed.
Rather than literal ascension, this soul transference through ritual form constituted what became understood as religious resurrection.

The life of the Japanese people in this land possessed a long history—contrary to what some scholars claim of it being a mere thousand years or so, it was in fact something considerably ancient.
During that long history, amidst the transference of the Emperor’s soul being passed on, they gradually came to contemplate the Emperor’s death.
Originally, they had only conceived of resurrection and believed that the Imperial Spirit—divine authority—had descended.

After the Emperor moved to Yamato, [he] had to possess the soul of Yamato to govern it.
It was considered that those who possessed Yamato’s soul were the Mononobe clan.
Initially, this had been Nigihayahi-no-Mikoto.
Though Nigihayahi-no-Mikoto had already descended prior to Emperor Jimmu’s entry into Yamato—when the Heavenly Grandson was supposed to be the sole descendant—he suddenly appeared at the time of Emperor Jimmu’s Yamato entry, asserting his heavenly descent using a bow and arrow as proof.

Those who fail to properly interpret this account construe it as bearing political significance, but in truth, Nigihayahi-no-Mikoto was the soul of Yamato that had ascended to deification.
The one who had championed this Mikoto was Nagasunehiko.
When Nigihayahi-no-Mikoto withdrew his presence, Nagasunehiko swiftly met his demise.
For he had been stripped of the soul essential for ruling Yamato.
The clan that enshrined and worshipped that soul became the Mononobe.

Here, I will discuss how Japanese Shinto underwent organizational changes that came to recognize blood kinship between deities and shrine priests.

In the Izumo Kunitsuko family, they originally did not recognize any blood kinship between deities and Shinto priests. After Ōkuninushi-no-Mikoto’s submission, he secluded himself in the Ame-no-Hisumi Palace and had Ame-no-Hohi-no-Mikoto take charge of conducting the festivals. Later, when they came to enshrine Ōkuninushi-no-Mikoto, the faith transformed into asserting that Shinto priests serving deities were their divine offspring; blood kinship between deities and priestly families became recognized, and a unified principle emerged declaring priests to be divine children. Regarding this point, previous research had been heavily dominated by prejudice. To correctly discern ancient Shinto and advance along its new path, there must be no prejudice.

From these facts, it has long been believed that a blood relationship existed between Nigihayahi-no-Mikoto and the Mononobe clan who enshrined him.
The Mononobe clan was fundamentally an organization that managed souls, primarily undertaking the role of controlling spirits during warfare.
In this regard too, the conventional view that regarded the Mononobe clan as an organization handling weapons must be corrected.
That is to say, the Mononobe clan constituted a great house that handled not only the imperial spirit but also the soul of Yamato Province and those of other provinces.

At the time of imperial accession, not only did the Mononobe clan bestow and enshrine the soul, but representatives of newly subjugated tribes also emerged to perform this.
Prior to the Nara period, ministers (Ōomi) and chieftains (Ōmuraji) would emerge from among the courtiers and present their addresses before the Emperor.
Later, when the New Year's Audience Ceremony came to be emphasized, they began presenting congratulatory addresses.

Looking back now, while the presentation of congratulatory addresses should have sufficed once per imperial reign—except for newly subjugated countries—they likely felt anxious and repeated it annually.
With the same faith by which they repeated the Niiname ritual annually, they conceived that the soul was revived each year.
This belief in resurrection was deeply rooted in ancient Japan.

In modern Shinto, the meaning of chinkon (spirit pacification) appears to have changed somewhat due to some misunderstandings.
That is, it has come to mean tamashizume (spirit pacification)—the reattaching of detached souls to oneself—but in ancient times, it signified tamafuri (spirit bestowal), attaching external souls (divine authority) to oneself.

III. Way of the Gods

They referred to the Sovereign's actions as kami-nagara.
This did not mean "as a deity" (kami no mama) in the sense of acting as a deity, because of a deity, or due to a deity.
Nagara derived from no kara ("because of"), meaning such actions were performed through divine causation—or so scholars explained.
The characters 惟神 (Kaminagara) first appeared in the Emperor Kōtoku entry of the Nihongi, where they were alternatively written as 随神 (Zuijin).
When recording that the Sovereign performed acts as a deity, they used Kaminagara; when describing actions taken in accordance with divine will, they employed Zuijin.

There are those who consider the examples of Kaminagara terminology found in works like the Man'yōshū to be the oldest, but I do not share this view.
Even the examples appearing in the Man'yōshū show fluidity; thus, I regard as misguided the view that takes terminology examples from the Kojiki, Nihongi, Man'yōshū, and similar works as representing Japan’s most ancient usage.
Long before these records, there had existed an older meaning that underwent multiple transformations before being documented in works such as the Kojiki, Nihongi, and Man'yōshū.
Even concerning Kaminagara, while some argue that its appearance in the Man'yōshū represents its original meaning, this perspective unduly truncates and modernizes the developmental timeline of Japan’s national language.

Even when explicating the meaning of Kaminagara (Way of the Gods), for aspects that remained unclear through the Kojiki, Nihongi, Man'yōshū, and other texts, one had to employ new scholarly methodologies to conduct comparative studies of folklore, gather ancient terminological examples, cross-reference them with these sources, and proceed with thorough investigation.
The Shinto theories of old scholars were still acceptable, but the new ones had become philosophized and rationalized.
A representative example of this was Dr. Kakehi Katsuhiko’s Shinto.
That was nothing more than Dr. Kakehi’s personal Shinto and common sense; unfortunately, it still could not be called Shinto.

The Way of the Gods was the Sovereign's path; it was never ours.
The Ruiju Sandai Kyaku shows they tacitly permitted provincial governors like Izumo Kuni no Miyatsuko—those without political power—to retain their traditional titles.
Later records reveal how authorities prohibited even publicly recognized figures like Chikuzen Munakata Kuni no Miyatsuko from freely summoning provincial women under Uneme privileges, deeming it improper.
For that era's context, such autonomy in managing Uneme remained natural for provincial governors.
Even within court protocol, emperors—as living deities—received Uneme audiences.
These provincial governors had been emulating imperial customs.
As court Shinto gained prominence, what might be termed minor Ways of the Gods practiced by Izumo's governors became forbidden.
Though priests maintained these diminished rites among themselves, they never permeated commoner society.

When the Sovereign acted as a deity during divine rituals, that constituted the Way of the Gods.
Yet because the Sovereign performed rituals nearly year-round, the distinction between deity and human grew indistinct.
Shinto scholars regard 'living deity' as a linguistic metaphor, but ancient people truly believed their Sovereign to be an incarnate god—a divine being in flesh.

As I have explained, the Way of the Gods meant precisely this: the Sovereign's existence as a deity—indeed, their entire courtly life itself—embodied that Way.
Though modern Shinto has been moralized, it is misguided to perceive all things exclusively through moral prisms.
Without passions transcending mere morality, shrines degrade into mere commemorative stones.
The Shinto we conceptualize today must venture beyond morality to permeate life's very fabric.
Even when discussing court life, we must remember it encompassed not just moral concerns but manifold dimensions of existence.

When viewed from Shinto's long history, Hitomaro sang in the Man'yōshū—a work already belonging to an age of moral decline—of people's actions being made kami-nagara (in accordance with the Way of the Gods), without distinguishing between courtiers and laborers.
The fact that all of the Sovereign's actions were felt as manifestations of the Way of the Gods yet not viewed through any moral lens compels us to reexamine our understanding of what constitutes this Way.
Shinto in Japan remains a subject with abundant room for new research; it has not been exhaustively studied by scholars of national learning.
Moreover, one cannot assert that viewing it through philosophical or ethical lenses immediately constitutes the correct perspective.

IV. Changes in the Transmission of Ancient Poetic Texts

Determining the essence of things through etymological analysis was an endeavor fraught with peril.
Yet from one perspective, it seemed as though a light had begun to shine.
Until then, the texts of the Norito and Kojiki had been considered complete in themselves - any failure to interpret them was thought to stem from our own inadequacy.
What Suzuki Shigetane and Motoori Norinaga could not decipher remained impenetrable, for the key to ancient interpretation had already been lost.
They considered this a consequence of their temporal distance.

However, this fell into error stemming from hasty judgment.
If one compared the norito ritual prayers, Kojiki, and other texts, it became evident; however, within their passages already existed a great many contradictions.
For example, the term Ame-no-Mikage (Heavenly Divine Shade) had four distinct usages even within norito alone.
Even a term as seemingly established as Yamato, when traced through the Kojiki, Nihongi, Man'yōshū, and norito prayers, revealed at least four or five distinct shifts in meaning.
When comparing these texts, as shifts in meaning occurred, it became evident that the eras when they were used differed.

It was commonly believed that ritual prayers such as *norito* had been transmitted since the Age of the Gods or at least from the Asuka-Fujiwara periods as ancient texts; however, these were actually created from the late Nara period through approximately the first century of the Heian period. Though the Engishiki *norito* could not be called entirely new compositions, they had undergone multiple revisions by the time they entered the Heian period. While retaining ancient sources, the texts themselves were new. With old and new elements intermingled, by what standard should one interpret them? The usages from the Age of Gods, Asuka, Fujiwara, and Ōmi periods—and further down to those of Nara and Heian—were all intermingled. If only they had purely used era-specific terms, that would have been acceptable; however, within their transmission as incantations, the meaning became indecipherable. Thus, to render them comprehensible, they produced revised versions incorporating era-specific interpretations. The interpretations concerning words had undergone transformation.

It is believed that this type of revision was conducted not just once, but repeatedly.
Beyond the natural semantic shifts that occurred over time, there existed rational perspectives of their era that were added after the terms had been forgotten and became indecipherable.
Therefore, there were errors in the texts and words.
If such errors had not existed, there would have been no reason for Magatsuhi-no-Kami and Ōnaobi-no-Kami to manifest.

During the reign of Emperor Ingyō, trial by boiling water was conducted before the deity Koto Yaso Magatsuhi at Ajishirotsuoka in Yamato Province. Household genealogies—called *tsugi* in ancient times, *tsugibumi* when recorded, and later *yotsugi*—required verification. For imperial succession matters termed *hitsugi* or *amatsuhitsugi*, individuals were made to recite these lineages while submerging their hands in scalding water. This demonstrated their awareness of errors within orally transmitted traditions even during that era.

The chapter detailing the Heavenly Grandson's Descent remains crucial, yet discrepancies persist across the Kojiki, Nihon Shoki, and its variant texts. Though composed in Chinese, the Nihon Shoki renders its account of the descent to Hyūga in Japanese at pivotal moments. The most essential phrases preserved by ritual reciters grew unintelligible through rigid preservation; deemed too sacred for revision, they spawned divergent transmissions. Certain families maintained three or four corrupted variants of these traditions. Such textual fluidity made lexical transformation inevitable.

The oldest extant norito surviving today were likely recorded much earlier than the Engi era, yet none remain untouched by newer influences.
By the end of the Heian period, through circumstances verging on sheer coincidence, a single ancient norito miraculously survived.
The *Taiki* diary of Fujiwara no Yorinaga—infamously known as the Evil Minister of the Left of Uji—records the Nakatomi Amatsu Norito, a ritual prayer chanted by the Nakatomi clan during Emperor Konoe’s Great Thanksgiving Festival.
Though similar Amatsu Norito likely existed in other ancient families, they vanished into obscurity through excessive guarding of their mysteries.
It was only through the authority wielded by clan elders that they managed to transcribe even these esoteric prayers passed down among the Ōnakatomi—for after branching from the Fujiwara, the Nakatomi had come to be called Ōnakatomi.

This Nakatomi Amatsu Norito—which narrowly escaped destruction thanks to Yorinaga—was not preserved in its ancient form unchanged, I believe, but had been gradually altered over successive generations.
This ritual prayer too saw its most esoteric aspects omitted in writing and thus remained untransmitted.

The Engishiki Norito consist solely of those prayers that could be recited in public settings; the mysterious words once whispered in the inner sanctum of the gods—those secrets preserved by court uneme and others—have perished.
Even before perishing, they became fixed and indecipherable, or were revised and rendered half-comprehensible.
They must have thought that if the prayers became too deciphered, their sacred quality would diminish.

Not only can it not be said that the texts of the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki record contemporaneous matters, but unless this fact is kept in mind, research into the national language will reach an impasse.
If we break through this point, I believe that studies in the national language, national literature, and Japanese Shinto will undergo transformation.
The research conducted thus far had been based on overly conventional studies from a previous era.

V. The Evolution of Faith

People presuppose that Japanese Shinto and Japan’s national morality have remained entirely unchanged since ancient times, but in truth, they have been undergoing gradual transformation.
This may seem an unpleasant notion from the perspective of conventional thinking up to now, but it is precisely through such change that improvements have come about.
I believe our ancestors likely did not lead lives as favorable as those we lead today.

Another notion posits that while [the country] was once an ideal land, it has now declined into what Buddhism terms the "latter days"—an age of moral decay.
That is nothing more than a delusion.
It becomes evident that the morals and faith of old have gradually transformed over time.
That being said, one cannot assert that present-day morals and faith are directly improper.
After passing through an era in which turbulence was merely unified and systematized, one can later speak of their relative value.
To derive that principle, the current method proves inadequate; one must once again return to the past and reflect.

When examining Japan's sacred texts, the most vexing issue was the lack of clear distinction between gods and non-gods.
The records of spiritual people appearing in the Kojiki and other texts—if one assumed they pertained to the same period—would forever remain beyond true comprehension.
Even with the Kojiki, it was only when one recognized that there were matters dating back over five hundred years prior to its recording that understanding began to emerge.
Within the Kojiki there existed spiritual beings that had not fully become gods and those that had become gods.

In Japanese faith there inevitably existed a belief in souls imbued with mysterious spiritual efficacy.
This constituted the primal form of faith where they believed these souls when attaching themselves to human bodies held power to generate and produce things.
These souls were termed *Musuhi* (as recorded in Kojiki and Nihon Shoki).
Musuhi was not a god.
Even when consulting Shinto scholars one would find none conflating Musuhi-no-Kami with deities.
This formless entity represented an advancement beyond mere souls gradually evolving into true divinity.

When examining Japan's sacred texts, one finds deities and souls distinctly differentiated in writing—a practice with deliberate rationale.
Apart from mysterious spiritual souls, there existed a type of soul that granted power to humans—one considered to have belonged to the individual even after death.
A part of this soul adhered to those with sacred qualifications.
The other parts belonged solely to that individual.
The number of souls belonging to the country and its villages was fixed.
There was evidence for this.
Those souls exited and entered.
When a person died, it was believed their soul would attach itself to another body and return to life.
From this emerged the concept that souls were individually possessed.
What had been contemplated through this was the notion of a gathering place for souls.
This constituted what was most crucial in the sacred texts: kamidzumaru.

Ultimately, I believe Tamadzumaru Musuhi-no-Kami shares its etymological roots with kamidzumaru.
I maintain that tsumaru signifies concentration.
During Shinto's purification era, Takamagahara came to be rejected as the site of kamidzumaru—the divine gathering—though originally this concept had been attributed to a realm beyond Japan's borders, far across distant seas.
The souls amassed there were believed to arrive at appointed times; when one attached itself to a human form, it was thought to manifest as new life.

This transmarine realm—Tokoyo-no-kuni—came to be envisioned as a Pure Land, a paradise, or divine kingdom.
As purification progressed within court Shinto, this conception coalesced around Takamagahara as I previously expounded.

In ancient times, people believed that at the sea border—the horizon—the ocean abruptly dropped off, and that beyond it lay Tokoyo-no-kuni (Eternal Land).
The sea border receded the farther they traveled, so they could never reach it.
They could only watch as mysterious beings went forth.
Moreover, at this sea border where the heavens and sea merged into one, they came to believe that sky and sea were identical.
The boundary between water and atmosphere became indistinguishable, leading them to transfer their concept of "beyond the sea" upward into celestial realms.

This was the court’s conception; however, until much later—even into the Nara period—they continued to envision [the divine realm] as lying beyond the sea or beneath the ocean floor.
That [Tokoyo-no-kuni] gradually became one with Takamagahara, was purified, and they came to believe that there existed a deity occupying a comprehensive position there.
In Tokoyo-no-kuni (Eternal Land), the souls of the country and its villages were concentrated; therefore, the relationship between the country and its villages became intimate.
Naturally, by thinking along clan lines, they came to regard it as a place where parental and ancestral souls gathered; thus, a sense of familiarity toward humans emerged.
Simultaneously, a sense of respect developed.
This formed the basis from which the concept of gods arose out of souls.

VI. Several Examples -1

The Kojiki and Nihongi recount that when Ohokuninushi no Mikoto stood upon the coast contemplating the governance of Ashihara no Nakatsukuni, a deity came approaching while illuminating the sea.
When he asked its name, the story goes that it replied, "I am your peaceful spirit and violent spirit."

Shinto scholars debated this matter extensively, but ultimately provided explanations that merely fit into logical frameworks.
This refers to several types of potent souls that must be possessed by those destined to become emperors from afar or those who govern the land.
The peaceful spirit (nigimitama) and violent spirit (aramitama) are among them.
This soul attached itself to the aforementioned Ohokuninushi no Mikoto and obtained the qualification to govern this world.
Later accounts explain that this soul was enshrined at Miwa Mountain in Yamato.

On the other hand, this story had transformed into one about gods.
When Ohokuninushi no Mikoto stood at Miho-no-Misaki in Izumo, among the returning deities there was Sukunahikona-no-Kami—a dwarf-like god.
There they worked together and are said to have created Ashihara no Nakatsukuni before the descent of the Heavenly Grandson.
According to written records, Sukunahikona-no-Kami was cast away by millet and returned to Tokoyo-no-kuni.
It is also told that as Ohokuninushi no Mikoto mourned this loss, a light came illuminating the sea.
Thus there exist three distinct traditions accounting for these events.

This was merely a case of traditions becoming fragmented; the divine authority emerging from Tokoyo attached itself to Ohokuninushi and granted him the power to govern Ashihara no Nakatsukuni.
When people perceived it as a soul, it became the tale of nigimitama and aramitama; when they perceived it as a deity, it became the story of Sukunahikona-no-Kami.

Those who came from Tokoyo-no-kuni were mostly minor deities.
For example, Hotaka Shrine in Minami-Azumi District of Shinano Province is said to be the shrine of Monogusatarō (*Otogi Zōshi*). A child born to a court noble who had been exiled to Atarashi Village in Tsuruma District ascended to the capital and suddenly attained greatness because a soul had attached itself to him.
The crucial point remained missing from this story.
The tale of Monogusatarō was not only connected to Hotaka but also deeply related to the original form of Atago in Yamashiro Province.
Such holy men—who carried tales of the gods—existed throughout the provinces; traveling from Echigo along the river courses, they entered Shinano and took root there.

Stories of minor deities attaining greatness through human assistance abound in Japan's ancient folktales and myths.
The story of Sukunahikona-no-Kami is also of this kind.
Monogusatarō became a figure of greatness during the time when humans were raising him.
In any case, the small, mysterious deities that cross over from Tokoyo-no-kuni—the Eternal Land—were originally rooted in the belief in souls.
The violent spirit (aramitama) and peaceful spirit (nigimitama) came to be conceptualized as Sukunahikona-no-Kami through the ages.
From souls, they became gods.
Unless viewed in this light, the relationship between gods and souls in Japan's sacred texts remains inscrutable.
Even from this single example, I believe it becomes clear that there was an evolution in beliefs.
That is, since the court’s faith was the most advanced, it gradually systematized regional beliefs.

The examples I have just described are cases that underwent purification; however, as time passed, there also emerged examples that became impure.
Kappa are currently considered a type of yōkai, but they were originally water deities who provided water to rice fields.
Later, when people began offering objects as wagers in water worship and these offerings came to be highly valued, they began staking even their lives out of desperation for water.
At some point, when it came to be thought that deities demanded lives, kappa—now conceived as yōkai-like beings—came to be imagined in rural villages.
Reasoning backward, kappa were originally pure water deities.
That is, this is an example of a fallen deity.
Among those deemed illicit shrines and evil deities, many were originally pure.

Upon further consideration, even at Izumo Taisha—while the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki present it as enshrining Ōkuninushi—medieval records clearly show Susanoo being worshipped there instead.
This constitutes a case of deity substitution.

Furthermore, Suwa Myojin in Shinano Province had enshrined Takeminakata-no-Kami, yet by the medieval period saw this replaced by Koga Saburo.
Saburo, who had ventured into Ibuki Mountain's caves searching for his wife and transformed into a serpentine form, returned to the human realm through the Lotus Sutra's spiritual merits.
After his death, it is said he became Suwa Myojin.
That Suwa Myojin came to be envisioned in serpentine form did not stem from new beliefs but rather originated in the late Heian period.
The Anjūin Shintōshū—a compilation of Jōdo sect sermons—records this tale of Koga Saburo as Suwa Myojin's original manifestation.
Though I shall reserve discussion of how this curious narrative emerged for another occasion, why did such beliefs proliferate from the late Heian through Kamakura periods?
Indeed, within Nichiren Buddhism exists what is called Suwa Reio (Spirit King of Suwa), which refers precisely to Koga Saburo.
This exemplifies divine diminishment.

Conversely, there were also many instances where the status of gods had been elevated.
As the divine status rose, shrines came to fill the entire nation.
This accompanied the completion of the state structure.
In ancient times, gods were enshrined in sacred groves and mountains.
In response to this, there existed opposing arguments; some said that even the Miwa deity had no shrine, while others claimed Suwa Myojin also lacked one.
Whether shrines existed at Suwa and Miwa is beside the point; however, the assertion that there were no shrines must be understood as deriving solely from memories that certain deities indeed lacked shrines.

Besides the shrines that had long been called Amatsuyashiro (Heavenly Shrines) and Kunitsuyashiro (Earthly Shrines), the number of shrines gradually increased.
When examining national histories from the Shoku Nihongi onward—spanning from the Nara period through the Heian period—one finds that emperors customarily bestowed ranks upon deities.
In this connection, Buddhism teaches that kings possess ten virtues while gods have nine virtues, making kings superior by one virtue.
Later generations therefore explain there is nothing unusual about kings conferring ranks upon gods—but even without awaiting such explanations, the Emperor stood as this land's most revered deity by virtue of having manifested as a heavenly god.
Thus did emperors grant divine ranks and formally recognize both Amatsuyashiro and Kunitsuyashiro shrines.

It was a mistake to assume shrines had existed in great numbers since antiquity as they do today.
If we trace back to ancient times, I believe there were no shrines with constructed buildings.
What had been enshrined within dwellings likely evolved into shrines.
When people came to regard deities enshrined in palaces as august beings, they gradually began enshrining gods in such structures under the belief that deities themselves desired this.
In short, I consider this shift occurred because the populace had heightened their sensitivity to surrounding spiritual forces while simultaneously absorbing the court's systematized Shinto principles that permeated regional practices.

Faith did not remain unchanged from the Age of Gods but gradually evolved.
Since the Meiji era up to the present day of Showa, the organizational structure of shrines underwent multiple changes.
It is a fact that the elevation of the gods' position stems not merely from the intentions of rulers but also from natural demands.
Nothing remains exactly as it was from ancient times.

The discussion had grown somewhat complex, but shrines were undoubtedly yashiro.
Yashiro referred not to the house itself as a material structure, but rather to something equivalent to a house—something that should be regarded as a house.

"If there were no shrine of the thundering god, I would sow millet in Kasuga's fields." (Manyoshu, Book 3)

If there had been no shrine in Kasugano, I would have sown millet.
That is to say, while some have interpreted this sarcastically as meaning, "Had you no true wife, I would become your wife," I find such an interpretation alone unsatisfactory.
What was called a divine shrine did not refer to the structures we see today; in antiquity, people would mark ownership of land by roping off and designating fields.
Within these bounds, others could neither enter nor cultivate crops.
A yashiro—a god's dwelling—was not an erected sanctuary but rather an open space left undeveloped, demarcated with sacred ropes as the place where deities would descend during festivals.
Within these roped precincts stood pillars.

When one consults the Nihongi, it states that the two deities Izanagi and Izanami—having designated the Heavenly Pillar—constructed the Eight-Hiro Hall.
In prior interpretations, it was understood that they selected pillars to erect and thereby built the palace; however, the act of designating (mitateru) meant erecting [something] by regarding it as a pillar.
This was a provisional designation.

This was evident in both the Daijōkyū (Great Thanksgiving Hall) and during the Grand Shrine of Ise's Sengū ceremonies—where sacred pillars [saibashira] (also written as imibashira;
the central pillar of the main hall of the Grand Shrine) were erected—for even if one assumed this act symbolically completed a structure, it could be understood that such was its intended meaning.
That is to say, through pillar erection alone people envisioned an architectural completion.
The site where a sacred pillar stood became yashiro (sacred ground); when people constructed a hall there, it transformed from yashiro into miya (palace).
The dwelling place of the sacred one was thus known as miya.

The most appropriately preserved example of this was Suwa.
At Suwa Myojin, the Onbashira Festival conducted every seven years had lost its original meaning.
There were those who claimed this to be a continental custom, but that was mistaken.
Prior to constructing a palace, they would demarcate the sacred ground and erect pillars to create a place where the deity could reside.
An even simpler method had been merely stretching out marker ropes.
The pillars erected here could have been just one, yet in Suwa they erected four.
This preserved the ancient form and transmitted the authentic faith of sacred ground.
If we trace back further, it would likely have been a single pillar identical to the sacred pillars.
Suwa's sacred pillars also had no relation to the palace.
Here too there may truly have been an era of only sacred grounds before palaces were built.

It was a curious thing that merely erecting a pillar had been regarded as equivalent to having built a house; this was precisely what was meant by the account in the chapter of the two deities Izanagi and Izanami designating the Heavenly Pillar.
By the time the sacred texts came to be recorded, these terms had been transmitted as holy words, though their original intent had already been forgotten—people now believed they referred to splendid palaces.

They built the Eight-Hiro Hall, circled the Heavenly Pillar, and established their marital vow.
This custom held something peculiar—when people newly married and became a couple, they would build a house.
This was called tsumaya ("wife-house"), or alternatively tsuma.
The practice appears in the Manyoshu too.
Unless one erected a tsumaya, it could not be considered a formal marriage.
Building a house for marriage constituted an emulation of the ancient tale where Izanagi and Izanami circled the pillar.
This did not particularly mean constructing separate residences for newlyweds.
Conversely, this led to the notion that when building a new house, unless one created a new couple to reside there, it could not serve as definitive proof that a house had been built.
To become a couple required building a house; to build a house demanded creating a couple—this formed a paradoxical logic.
In Japan, people had calmly employed reverse reasoning and analogical methods throughout history. Strange as it seemed, their rationale held firm.

The account stating that after giving birth to the gods, the two deities Izanagi and Izanami gave birth to the Great Eight Islands could not be dismissed simply as a matter of faith—it presented considerable difficulty when attempting explanation. Why would gods with physical bodies give birth to land? That it was sacred—simply declaring this did not suffice. The Nihongi clearly stated that Awaji Island served as the placenta from which the Great Eight Islands were born. They referred to both the eldest brother and eldest sister as "elder brother". Therefore, they interpreted this place as having first given birth to Awaji Island. If such forced interpretations were acceptable, writing became unnecessary. When giving birth to land, it was believed that Awaji Island served as the placenta. In other words, it was a separate womb. As people of old, they gave considerable thought to such matters.

7. Several Examples (2)

Furthermore, in Japan, the conception of the year was inconsistent.
This was because the calendar had been changed many times over.
The Emperor possessed what was called the Hiochi Calendar, but later, it underwent frequent changes.

When we consider the ancient calendar, we find that when the Emperor would ascend to a high place and recite norito, spring would arrive.
Contrary to the notion that norito were bestowed at the beginning of spring, it was believed that spring arrived when the Emperor bestowed the norito.

If one were to perform commercial return, then indeed there would be a harvest.
If only you would return my underrobe (Manyoshu, Book 16)

If a norito were to be issued stating that the Emperor approved commercial return, I would have my underrobe returned—though what a pity that would be.
Since there was no norito for commercial return, they said there was no way to have it returned.

Commercial return remained concealed within Japanese history for a long time.
To presume that something never existed simply because it remains unseen in historical records is excessively hasty.
From the Muromachi period onward, the remarkable phenomenon known as debt forgiveness edicts suddenly appeared in records. This practice had long been carried out among the populace without appearing in either documents or history; it only emerged onto the historical stage as popular power grew stronger amid changing times.

Commercial return was a passive commercial practice implemented either to regulate socioeconomic conditions or as a form of trade policy, whereby sold goods could be reclaimed by their respective original owners within a certain period and contracts nullified—a system that should be viewed as a type of debt forgiveness edict. This mechanism closely resembled both the revision of marital vows and the retrieval of exchanged mementos, its usage imbued with a certain irony.

The foundation of these customs lay in the belief that the Emperor possessed a one-year calendar and that all things would return to their origins and be revived each year. This faith persisted, but when observing reality, humans remained unchanged while alive. Therein they came to perceive the contradiction between faith and reality. Even so, in regional areas, they found the burdens of buying, selling, lending, and borrowing unbearable, so they continued the practice until recent times in a manner of once every ten or twenty years. Reallocating land through a method similar to the Handen system, they would redistribute it. It was practiced until the end of the Edo period but ceased entirely with the advent of the Meiji era. Whether this practice was actually carried out during the Manyo period or had already become legend remains unclear, but when people spoke of "commercial return," everyone understood its meaning. When a man and woman formed a bond, they would exchange their undergarments and wear them. Garments were the dwelling place of the soul; thus, exchanging garments and wearing them meant exchanging their souls piece by piece. Because they had attached their souls to their garments and entrusted them to each other, returning the clothes meant severing their bond. The poem quoted here was a light jest—half-jealous, half-laughing—a playful, trivial composition. However, even when examining this poem, one could discern the ancient origins of debt forgiveness edicts.

Until the early Meiji era, when years turned bad—whether from rice pests or raging epidemics—they observed a second New Year during Obon.
Despite the sweltering heat, they erected kadomatsu pines and exchanged seasonal felicitations.
Through this act, they held faith that refreshed spirits would bring renewal to all things.

Even when examining the New Year, another New Year was found layered within it.
Following New Year's Day came the observance of the Seventh Day New Year, with the fifteenth day further being referred to as the Little New Year.
This arose from contradictions between ancient calendar systems and later-introduced ones.
The fifteenth day was also recognized in the Chinese calendar system as the Shangyuan Festival and held significant importance.
This perception dominated people's consciousness.
Compared to older calendars, the new calendar system set New Year earlier.
Nevertheless, rural areas maintained the Shangyuan day as their traditional New Year.

In some regions, they considered the day of Risshun (the beginning of spring) as New Year and also observed the seventh day as New Year.
In the southern part of Shinano Province, between New Year’s Day and the fifteenth day, they repeated New Year celebrations four or five times.
Consequently, year-end observances, New Year’s Eve, Setsubun, and other occasions were also performed repeatedly.
This way of thinking had not originated in the early modern period but had existed since ancient times.
Not only had the calendar been introduced multiple times, but the Japanese people also needed to repeat things numerous times before feeling satisfied.

In early spring, the gods crossed over from the Eternal Land.
The spring field ritual performed at spring's onset also existed in Shinano Province. Here, they would appear either as elderly figures or ordinary men and women—tilling fields, applying ridges, planting seedlings in symbolic acts—then plant pines in the snow and rejoice, declaring "the rice has grown!"
When they performed all the year's tasks through ritual enactments, they believed the land's spirit—sensing it must follow suit—would manifest in their actual farming just as demonstrated in the spring field ritual.
Though once in early spring should have sufficed, being unsatisfied, they performed it during rice planting and again around the 210th and 220th days.
By that time, the Kannamesai festival drew near.

When the Emperor bestowed the New Year's norito, He invariably assumed a resurrected form and ascended to the Takamikura.
In reality, He had to assume the form of His divine birth.

The ancient way of thinking followed circular logic; to accomplish one task required performing various related matters.
Even during His revival at spring's onset, He adopted ceremonial forms used at imperial princes' births—attended by Senior Bath Attendants, Junior Bath Attendants, Food Tasters, and Wet Nurses.
These Senior Bath Attendants primarily administered birth baths to imperial princes; Junior Attendants fulfilled similar roles.
Food Tasters chewed sustenance for mouth-to-mouth transfer while Wet Nurses provided milk.
Without repeating this formality, no ceremony achieved completion.
Later generations interpreted this form as commemorating a specific Emperor's divine birth—yet this practice transcended individual rulers through perpetual observance.
They employed this protocol not solely in spring but during all festivals.

Furthermore, there was something even more mysterious.
When the Emperor ascended to an elevated place and bestowed the norito ritual prayer, it invariably became early spring, and the platform he had mounted transformed into Takamagahara.
This faith formed the very foundation of Japanese Shinto.
Because this principle remained uncomprehended, explanations of Shinto inevitably became perfunctory.
When [the Emperor] climbed the platform and uttered sacred words, the earthly realm turned into Takamagahara.
At this moment, the Emperor became an amatsukami—a heavenly deity.
The names of places like Ama-no-Kaguyama in Yamato and Iyo, Ama-no-Takashi also in Yamato, and Yasugawa in Ōmi were all transferred from their celestial counterparts.
In later ages, people forgot this origin and came to believe these names had fallen from heaven.

A fragment from the Nara period, said to belong to a lost text of the Iyo Fudoki, records that Ama-no-Kaguyama also exists in Iyo and posits that celestial objects split into two and descended upon Yamato and Iyo—but this constitutes a later-era explanation.

During court rituals, they perceived heaven and earth as identical, and the places regarded as the heavenly Kaguyama were the Kaguyama in Yamato and Iyo.
The places called "heavenly such-and-such" were heavenly names that had been transferred when heaven and earth were viewed as identical.

The Son of Heaven, through His constant performance of rituals, had become so imbued with celestial essence that it became unclear whether He was deity or human.
In later generations—though this refers to around the Nara period—they commonly called [the Emperor] "living god," but in ancient times, [they] viewed [Him] as a deity and an extension of the gods.

Here, I would like to consider the meaning of the Son of Heaven.

The Emperor was the one who brought the divine words of the heavenly deities to this land.
In ancient times, people held the belief that through words things would change—a faith in kotodama.
Ancient Shinto theologians interpreted kotodama as residing in individual words or even single syllables, but in truth this spiritual power manifests fully only in complete sentences or established liturgical phrases.
They considered that written texts possessed mysterious and unfathomable power—meaning this force actively functioned—and further recognized that divine words held potency inherent within individual terms.
They called this kotodama and referred to its power’s manifestation as sakihafu (or sachihafu).

The Emperor transmitted the divine proclamations of the heavenly deities and issued commands to the people of that land and their spirits. During this time, He became one with the heavenly deities.

The imperial envoys declaring, "By imperial decree, adjust your seating positions," operated on precisely the same principle. For the Emperor, since sacred moments continued, He was a deity, but originally had been the Bearer of Divine Proclamations. In accordance with the divine proclamations of the Heavenly Deities, He brought them into realization within that land.

After that, they came to devise further methods for transmitting divine proclamations on behalf of the Emperor.

Thus, real power gradually descended into the hands of lower-ranking individuals, and during the samurai era, what is called gekokujō—borrowing a term from the I Ching—came to emerge.
This was a time when those of higher status and those below became equals.

The Emperor is a distinct being from the heavenly deities, but because He may attain equal status with them, in our faith, we have become unable to distinguish between the Emperor and the heavenly deities.
However, between the Emperor and the gods, they have come to conceive of something called a mediator.
In religious rituals, there exists a woman serving as an attendant.
The Emperor becomes a deity at each instant; furthermore, He lives in proximity to the gods and directly hears their divine will.

┌a'

ａ┤↑

└ｂ

a was the heavenly deity.
a' was the earthly deity bearing divine proclamations.
b was the attendant woman.
b—who as a member of the Imperial Nobility was obliged to serve a' and corresponded to one occupying the highest position—was religiously regarded as a's spouse yet in reality assumed the form of a'’s wife.
This form was likewise adopted during festivals.

In court rituals, it was the Emperor who enshrined the gods; divine descent pertained to matters of faith, with the kannushi being none other than the deities themselves.
Present-day kannushi correspond to what were once called saishu.
The deities themselves served as kannushi; shrine officials had descended to saishu status.
During divine rituals, His Majesty functioned simultaneously as kannushi and marebito—an utterly mysterious phenomenon.
Thus we discern that even self-interrogatory rituals existed within His sacred presence.
To modern observers, this appears incomprehensibly strange, yet it was regarded as entirely natural.
From our contemporary viewpoint numerous contradictions emerge, but within ancient life’s emotional logic these posed no impediment.
Though prone to fallacious analogies, this constitutes Japan’s foundational logic.

When Inmyō (Buddhist logic) from India reached Japan, and Inmyō clad in new garments was introduced from China, the Chinese-style [logic] and unaltered Buddhist logic came to revise Japan’s ancient logic, giving rise to contradictions there.
Even in calendar systems, they nonchalantly used three types—new, old, and one-month-delayed—and engaged in contradictory practices.
The last to enter was Western logic—this too being none other than Inmyō from India that had entered Greece and undergone transformation—.

According to this Inmyō-based way of thinking, Japan's ancient logic was one rooted in emotion.
If foreign systems of logic had not entered, another system of logic might have been established.
The aforementioned matters seem mysterious precisely because we consider them through modern environment and logic.
I think this is an important issue.

In Japanese faith there exists worship of goddesses, but in my view all goddesses were originally shrine maidens.
Here—if I may propose a hypothesis that can never be definitively resolved—Amaterasu Ōmikami too was a goddess who occupied the supreme and most exalted position.
I shall now attempt to outline the pathway leading to this hypothesis.

When examining the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki one finds a deity concealed within the shadow of Amaterasu Ōmikami.
This is the deity known as Takamimusuhi-no-Kami (also called Takagi-no-Kami).
For what purpose would there have been a need for this deity?
In ancient Japanese Shinto there existed a reason why this matter had to be considered.
This deity had always served as Amaterasu Ōmikami’s consultant.
Amaterasu Ōmikami was not the sun deity but rather the Great Sun-Consort deity.

Regarding this deity, there were two types: Ōhirume-no-Kami and Wakahirume-no-Kami, with the former being singular and the latter numerous.
When Susanoo-no-Mikoto had the piebald horse's hide thrown into the Saifuku Hall, it was Wakahirume-no-Kami who lost consciousness (Nihon Shoki, First Book).

The term "hirume" refers to the wife of the sun—that is, the spouse and queen of the sun deity.
Hirumenoru wa, no dearu.
It is the same as how the water deity’s consort is called Minume or Mirume.

In the Izumo Kuni-no-Miyatsuko Kamuyogoto,

On this ancient riverbank grows the young water marsh...

appears as follows.
The Kamuyogoto itself interprets "Wakamizunuma" as a plant.
In the Empress Jingū volume of the Nihon Shoki, there appears "Mizuha," described as fresh and verdant foliage; but upon closer examination, this proved to be the name of a female deity serving the water god, simultaneously being a divinity who always emerged during purification rites.
Minume or Mirume refers to the water spouse—that is, the water deity’s consort.
That is, Hirume undoubtedly signifies the sun deity’s consort.

As their faith gradually transformed over time, people came to regard the most revered and sacred divine consort serving the sun deity as a deity herself. In my view, Amaterasu Ōmikami too was such a deity in this sense. At this point, I believe she could be considered equivalent to the princess deities enshrined at shrines. Even when examining the sacred texts, one observes that the Great Deity was always consulting with Takamimusuhi-no-Kami. Whether this Takagi-no-Kami constituted a sun deity will not be addressed here.

VIII. Reform of Etymological Theory

As even the present example demonstrates, I contend that linguistic studies of the Kojiki, Nihon Shoki, Man'yōshū and related texts must be fundamentally re-examined from their very foundations. Terms presumed understood often reveal themselves through dispassionate reappraisal to have been accepted unquestioningly despite remaining obscure. This stems from the inherent ambiguity of etymological explanations. Long before scholars formulated their interpretations, there existed traditions so anciently rooted and firmly believed that they became impervious to scholarly doubt. Here lies the imperative to reconstruct etymological theory anew from its origins.

Etymological theories to date have taken the Nara period as their starting point and examined language from subsequent periods, but the Japanese language reveals a far older historical depth.
No matter how one considers it, materials for ancient studies remain scarce.
Unless one compares Japan’s folklore with that of other nations and conducts an anatomical examination—though fraught with risks—of archaic and obsolete words preserved in Japanese texts (a crucial methodology demanding fresh traversal anew), Japanese etymological theory finds its path beyond the Nara period plunged into impenetrable darkness.

The etymological theories then believed to be correct also had to change and evolve with the advancement of scholarship. For instance, while the term "tsu" was generally considered to mean "ferry crossing," in antiquity it had been written not as "tsu" but as "Mitsu." This appeared fundamentally connected to divine matters. When examining collected terminology examples, Mitsu typically designated purification sites used by nobility. Though easily misconstrued as an honorific-"tsu" combination ("o-tsu"), mitsu in fact signified "sacred water"—revealing mitsu and mizu to be linguistically identical.

In ancient times, water—sacred and originating from the Eternal Land—rejuvenated those who used it.
The source of that water was fixed.
There were established places where the Emperor performed purification rites and places where he was not to perform them.
The sacred liquid was mizu, and the place where it arrived during specific periods was called mitsu.
Mitsus were generally located along coastlines and were written as Misu.
Later, when its meaning became obscure, perceptions of the word shifted: people began interpreting '御' as an honorific prefix and isolating '津' as an independent term, thereby associating it through written form with the Chinese concept of 'tsu' (port).
People of old also considered matters through rational expediency.

The term "rationality" (*rationalism*) refers to this translation, but speaking of "rationality" becomes problematic—it means forcibly fitting things into logical frameworks, attaching convenient rationalizations, and making matters comply with forced logic. This constitutes a misapplication of rationality's essential meaning.
However, in recent times, they appear to have developed more preferable examples of terminology.
At any rate, through this rational approach, they claim that "mi" [in Mitsu] is an honorific prefix and "tsu" means a ship docking place, but while this may serve as an explanation for the Chinese character 津 ("port"), it does not suffice to explain the Japanese "tsu".

The reason Settsu Province was called Tsu no Kuni lay in its status as the most essential province for purification rites.

Empress Iwa no Hime no Mikoto—consort of Emperor Nintoku and renowned for her jealous disposition—once traveled to Kii Province to gather sacred cordate leaves (mitsugashiwa). During her absence, she discovered the Emperor had admitted Yata no Wakairatsume into the palace. Consumed by wrath at this betrayal, she cast every mitsugashiwa leaf aboard her vessel into the sea—an act said to have bestowed upon that place the name Mitsu no Saki ("Sacred Cape"). These mitsugashiwa leaves served specifically for purification rituals.
Iwa no Hime originated from an external clan.
This consort from another clan fulfilled the role of urging the Emperor to conduct purification rites.

IX. Traditional Doctrines

In this manner, as we progressively delved deeper, conventional etymological theories and traditional doctrines were gradually dismantled.
The Four Great Men of Kokugaku conducted their research by utilizing all knowledge available in their time.
In our era, we must again conduct research through the knowledge appropriate to our time.
While the research of our predecessors remains invaluable, we must surpass it and reform traditional doctrines.
Established theories are not fixed truths.
It is a matter of accuracy or inaccuracy.

X. Past and Present in the Interpretation of Sacred Texts

The interpretation of sacred texts had been conducted in various ways since ancient times, but faith itself shifted in accordance with reality. Therefore, when interpreting sacred texts, since one had to proceed by comprehending them as fixed classics, there existed a methodology for such comprehension. The methods and forms of assistance differed depending on the era. From ancient times until the Edo period, research had focused solely on the Nihon Shoki, while the Kojiki remained unconsidered. The Nihon Shoki was studied by Chinese scholars from the beginning of the Heian period. This practice was called the Nihon Shoki Kōen. Within this framework, elements diverging from the methodology of comprehension entered. Specifically, they incorporated Onmyōdō—known through Abe no Seimei—as a supplementary discipline. Onmyōdō contained both Chinese-style and Buddhist-style variants. As a result, interpretations of the Nihon Shoki were drawn into the monastic sphere, acquiring increasingly Buddhist characteristics. The syncretization of Shinto and Buddhism became an undertaking carried out by Buddhist factions centered around the Nihon Shoki.

Even as this process gradually advanced, the ancient spirit never perished, occasionally revealing glimmers of its presence.
This very phenomenon served as the impetus that spurred Edo-period scholars to establish a new form of Shinto.
The foundation of this reconstructed system incorporated elements from Onmyōdō, Confucianism, and Buddhism.
What modern interpreters consider pure Japanese Shinto has in fact been unexpectedly permeated by such foreign-derived knowledge.
Yet while some selectively appropriate only antiquity's admirable aspects as representing Shinto, we must discard such conventional wisdom and examine all matters pertaining to Japan—irrespective of moral valuation.
Through comprehensive assessment that acknowledges both merits and flaws, the emergence of a distilled Japanese spirit would prove sufficient.

The study of Shinto must return to antiquity and recommence from there.
As a matter of faith, this constitutes an entirely separate issue; however, in academic terms, I maintain it would be erroneous to regard what Dr. Kakehi expounds in his "Way of the Gods" as representing Japan's ancient spirit.
In contemporary society, Shinto has been distorted beyond measure to accommodate modern conveniences.

XI. Shinto and Buddhism

The term "Shinto" itself did not originate from Shinto but rather derives from a passage in the Chronicle of Emperor Kōtoku that states, "[We] revere Buddhist law and neglect Shinto..." However, this usage of "Shinto" differs from its modern meaning and actually repudiates indigenous local kami worship. In Buddhist terminology, what is called the "Dharma" constitutes an absolute philosophical truth, whereas "the Way" indicates heterodox teachings. After Buddhism took root in Japan, people came to regard it as the fundamental doctrine while perceiving Japan's native Way of the Gods as either heresy, the Way of Celestial Beings, or a Buddhist sect.

As Onmyōdō and Buddhism flourished, Shinto began to distance itself from Buddhism.
And yet Buddhists continued to assert—as an expedient means for expounding Buddhism—that such-and-such kami was a branch sect of such-and-such Buddha or that they were spirits inhabiting this land to uphold Buddhist law.
This line of thought was exemplified in the An'yu-in Shinto Collection.

The term "Shinto" was in fact an inconvenient designation for Shinto itself.
Tracing back to its time of naming, one cannot help but find it an imposition.
To speak of "the Way of the Gods" would still be preferable.
However, even when the words remain identical, their meanings shift across eras; thus both the origin and significance of the term "Shinto" had been forgotten.
Therefore, there was no issue in referring to it as Shinto.

XII. Shinto and Folklore Studies

How should Shinto proceed henceforth? Until now, they had disparaged folk Shinto, referring to it as vulgar Shinto without reflection. This stemmed from Edo-period scholars’ arrogance in dismissing vulgar Shinto as having been overly influenced by Onmyōdō, Buddhism, and other traditions—a result of their conceited belief that their own interpretations constituted ancient Shinto. However, the foundation of their theories lay in Chinese studies and Buddhism, whereas within vulgar Shinto itself, a pure ancient spirit—preserved unbroken since antiquity—glimmered forth.

It was folklore studies that discovered this pure ancient spirit.
If there had been even the slightest element of truth in what I discussed surpassing my predecessors' theories, it was due to folklore studies' revelation.
Through folklore studies' illumination emerged an older form of Shinto from within vulgar Shinto.
Proceeding thus would create new structures without destroying conventional Shinto—or so I reasoned.
The contemporary Shinto framework stood too hastily assembled.
What Edo-period scholars had urgently systematized became expediently utilized by Meiji authorities—a half-formed construct.
Left uncorrected within this flawed system,the nation's ancient folkways—still glimmering with primal spirit—would assuredly fade.
Yet Japan had miraculously preserved its archaic essence beyond other nations' measure.
Whether through stubborn memory or cultural tenacity，they maintained ancestral forms while translating traditions into modern idioms.
Through compromises with Onmyōdō，Buddhism，and Confucianism，they conserved antiquity within new vessels.

For example, the Bon spirit altar was not a Buddhist creation but rather a Shinto one that had incorporated some Buddhist elements.
Furthermore, Tanabata had been thought to have incorporated the faith of Qiqiao from Chinese Onmyōdō—that is, the form of star worship—prior to the Nara period, but in truth, it was indigenous to Japan.
The reason it persisted until later times was because it had merged with the form of Onmyōdō's star festival.
One must not look only at the surface and dismissively label things as "vulgar Shinto" or "Buddhist-influenced."

Among Shintoists were those who had been Onmyōji, Hōin, Yamabushi, and others that joined during the Meiji era to become priests. Over thirty to forty years, Shinto's form took shape—a structure that undoubtedly contained unnatural compromises with Onmyōdō, Buddhism, Confucianism, and other traditions alongside inherent flaws. We must delineate these elements while also seeking out Shinto's ancient spirit within the very practices conducted by Hōin and Onmyōji until now. This endeavor serves not merely Shinto itself but aims to reintroduce fresh vitality into Japanese lives once more.

I do not think the current age is bad, but it is a fact that it has become utterly decadent.
To achieve this, a fresh spirit must be breathed in through a literary revival.
The fact that Man'yō enthusiasm arose ten years ago could be seen as its precursor.
Now, while advocating a Man'yō-esque style, we entered an era devoid of a new spirit.
This is where ozon becomes necessary.
The deep blue air must be inhaled from the Eternal Land beyond the sea, from the distant Takamagahara (Heavenly Plain).

XIII. The Foundation of National Character

Since the Meiji era, superficial scholarship had flourished, but it was necessary to settle down more formally, fundamentally research the origins of the ancient spirit, and explore ancient logic.
That was the origin of Japan’s national character.
Since Professor Haga’s *Ten Essays on National Character*, whenever people spoke of Japan’s national character, they merely enumerated its virtues, but in reality, it was not composed solely of good qualities.
They had to dig deeper into the roots and investigate the laws of the surroundings and the logic of ethnicity from which national character emerged—that is, the methodology of ancient logic.
It was from this foundation that national character also arose.

For what reason did the idea of gekokujō—the overthrow of superiors by inferiors—arise while the spirit of loyalty to sovereign and love of country persisted? We must inevitably trace back to ancient logic and examine it through that lens. These various problems must, I believe, be approached anew with true passion—by reflecting on ancestral lives and thereby researching ancient logic.