Pathway to Japanese Literature

The term "Missionary Literature" does not simply denote a mere combination of "missionary" and "literature," but carries a distinct idiomatic nuance as a compound expression.
In reality, Missionary Literature must be understood as signifying Sermon Literature; however, within our nation's ethnic literature, there exists what is specifically termed "sermon," which constitutes the greatest portion of Missionary Literature.
Yet because the term itself contained overly specific religious—Buddhist—themes, it was in fact a deliberately chosen expression to avoid such convenient terminology.
It has now become somewhat universalized, and even without explicit discussion, is instead coming to be considered in terms of Buddhist sermon literature's significance.
In truth, I have come to think it permissible for matters to stand thus.
Originally, while continuing my investigations under labels like "Literature of Wanderers" and "Literature of Itinerant Performers," it was during that period that this country's literary historians gradually began adopting Mr. Mouruton's various treatises on literary theory and history.
The aforementioned senior scholar's approach to literature had been profoundly influenced by French folkloric research methodologies that had already flourished previously.
For this very reason, from our research methods—which heavily employed a folkloric approach—even the most minute points revealed stark differences.
The American-style conventionalized methodologies felt altogether too casual.
There emerged a period when the term "Drifting Literature" gained favor among those who championed Mr. Mouruton.
To avoid such confusion, we deliberately adopted the literal expression "Missionary Literature."
Thus does it constitute a principle encompassing everything from pre-religious times through subsequent eras.

Particularly given my own inclination—that is, my desire to devote effort to elucidating the origins of folk literature—I feel compelled to clarify this point. And at the same time, I wish to maintain the perspective that views as central the religious movement of groups which—through transmitting and reciting both “non-literature” and literature—gradually gives rise to literature while also using this very same tendency to bring about its collapse.

Literature travels.

Though it is somewhat embarrassing how effective this title may seem, travel was almost fated to remain inseparably attached to Missionary Literature from its very inception.
From the first moment of its emergence, this was the case.
And even as "non-literature" gradually transformed into literature, travel itself ceaselessly became literature through that same process.
To such an extent did literature become synonymous with travel.
I have indeed expounded upon the literature of outsiders until my mouth grew dry.
From a distant realm called Tokoyo, strangers who should be termed *marebito* periodically visited this land.
Each time they came, they brought rituals and incantations.
Rituals generally evolved into religious festivals; artistically, they branched into theater, dance, and certain conjuring arts.
Incantations, through constant repetition of identical verses, gradually developed subdivisions and diversified into various oral traditions.
The primary condition enabling literature's emergence from non-literature lies in the crystallization of these incantations chanted by visiting deities.
Yet what proved more crucial than this was that these people were not true travelers—they had to be individuals living in inseparable connection with particular villages.
This phrasing admittedly contains some confusion.
A portion of inhabitants from the same village came to be religiously envisioned during perceived visitation periods as having journeyed from a distant land—typically imagined across the sea.
This likely represents the original authentic form that preserved traces even into later ages.
What might easily be mistaken for its immediate predecessor will now be explained.
There existed special villages—communities maintaining no ordinary social interaction with settlements except during brief ritual periods when visiting groups would emerge—generally considered smaller in organization than their host villages.
In essence, there were villages—hidden hamlets in remote mountains or secluded capes and island inlets—that visited to deliver blessings at each new calendrical milestone.
Through this dynamic, dwellings of Sea People or Mountain People came to be established within visible proximity to those central villages forming ancient Japan's societal core.
This explains why literary themes concerning ama divers' and mountain outcasts' lives grew increasingly prominent through inherited tradition.

Later, even when no longer treated as merely touching upon literary elegance, these traditions nevertheless persisted long as linguistic vestiges through their formal remnants alone.
Even those of this nature, in their earliest forms, are seen rather unexpectedly as having originated from villagers dispatched by their own settlements.
In essence, certain divine persons who would arrive as deities during festivals—temporarily sequestering themselves in mountain recesses or island hideaways for ritual seclusion before returning in divine guise—adopted a semi-settled pattern.
Thus, this isolated existence in lands distant from villages gradually extended until communities emerged that specialized in ritual services deeply tied to particular settlements.
Ultimately adopting the form of what might be called slave villages for ceremonies, relationships between villages became fixed and permanently enduring.
Moreover, they came to be conflated by outsiders with the type of groups we will next discuss, their connections to settlements growing increasingly fluid.
Some established ties with multiple villages, spawned countless patron communities, and transformed into blessing-bestowing mendicants by trade.
Therefore, I believe many tribes termed Mountain People and Sea People were originally offshoots of the Japanese ethnic group.
And conversely, I consider there were likely numerous cases where captives and newly subjugated people—those venerating foreign deities—came to be viewed as the ones who blessed court and regional authorities through their power.

The third category consists of genuine traveling groups—what should be termed itinerant performers.
This very one interweaves relationships with those mentioned earlier and their surrounding context.
To clearly distinguish them is rather unnatural and would lead to erroneous conclusions.
The indigenous people or later settlers—never acquiring nationality and repeatedly moving—differed too greatly in lifestyle from the ancient central ethnic group of Japan.
Moreover, because the range of villages they visited was exceedingly vast and far-reaching, even when some managed to conceal themselves among the populace by the time of medieval samurai ascendancy, their stragglers still maintained the form of transience inherited from over a thousand years prior.
And even now, it is believed that those thought to be descendants of such tribes remain among the ama divers of the Southern Islands and as fierce mountain-dwelling tribes traversing old Japan.

From the naive perspective inherited from ancient times, people had considered only this form of existence.
They believed these to be entities that truly existed.
This contained both truth and error.
Yet what originally led them to conceive of such tribes’ existence was none other than processions of gods—beings welcomed with even greater awe than those very people.
It lay in their belief that processions of foreign deities would periodically visit settlements, passing through while bestowing blessings until their return.
As this faith deepened, there also came frequent instances of suddenly encountering entirely new deities’ arrivals.
Both these periodic visitations and impromptu ones were believed through the same vague ancient mindset.
They regarded them as both fearsome and trustworthy.
The verses these gods brought—and indeed dances and theatrical performances—gradually solidified over time into distinct forms as this land’s artistic expressions.
Even during eras when no true visitations by these strangers occurred, village elders strove ceaselessly to maintain secret societies for nurturing successors who would inherit sorcery as small settlements’ new spiritual core.
Thus young men who had undergone periods of ascetic life performed sacred dramas of divine processions in liberation-signifying rituals.
These were theatrical performances centering on processions or overcoming earth spirits.
Moreover, harsh training regimens, repeated labor cycles, and actions surrounding spirit possession states gradually became formalized and consciously refined into performing arts.
In essence, their faith’s prototype was the supernatural being called “the rare visitor (guest) from Tokoyo.”
When rationalized, this became numerous souls centered on two ancestral parental figures constituting villages’ forebears.
In our country’s ancient rituals, those preserving archaic meanings most faithfully were precisely ones equipped to welcome multitudes of processional guests.
Regarding vermilion utensils and trays—considered markers of leadership authority transfer within the Fujiwara clan—I have long maintained their significance lay in acquiring power to host these guests: the authority of being a “master.”
Recently Scholar Murata Masayoshi informed me that beyond these “Two Sacred Regalia,” something called choryo (fodder measures) exists.
Though not yet fully interpreted, one can infer from the characters that it likely denotes an ancient weight-measuring device—perhaps its container—that might be termed either “kusa-hakari” or “hikusachigiri.”
This would suggest something signifying horse fodder provision exists.

That horse

That horse—it begs me for grass.
I shall gather grass and feed it.
Shall I draw water? Shall I gather grass and feed it? — That horse.

Sasahi no Kuma—at Himakawa River, halt the steed and let it drink awhile.
Shall I glimpse even a shadow—(I, keeping apart)—?

――Kokinshū: Midday

Again,

Where shall I tether the steed?
Asahiko shines his light—upon the jeweled bamboo grass at the hill’s edge.
Upon the jeweled bamboo grass.

――Kagura: Midday

On this hill—a grass-cutting lad.
Do not cut so.
Though I wait and wait, I would prepare royal horse grass for your coming—*Man'yōshū* Book 7.

Similar examples existed to an annoying degree.
We had long viewed a maiden’s impatient longing for her lover as merely a manifestation of her restless heart and considered it simply a pitiable archetype.
But I found myself wanting to say: “Hold on a moment, old assumptions—”
Our long-time closest companion Mr. Nishizumi Masayoshi’s new work *Kagura Research* was a groundbreaking masterpiece.
In this chapter, I intended to have Mr. Nishizumi and I share a discussion for a while.
The Kagura’s “Hirume Song” was, of course, a morning song that followed immediately after the preceding “Asakura.”
To explain in detail: with kichirichi and by gazing at the morning star, the morning song commenced.
And in truth, with just Asakura alone, Kagura had already become acceptable as a nocturnal “play-off.”
Therefore, it stood to reason that the Hirume Song followed as an extension of this.
As you could see, Hirume and That Horse were substantively unchanged.
Additionally, depending on the text, the various songs that followed were “farewell play,” serving merely as purification of the grounds.
That is, Asakura, Hirume, and Sonokoma were nothing more than differentiated forms of a single entity; thus, Kagura was indeed something confined precisely to this point.

The spirit evident throughout these was none other than “the elevation of deities” and nothing more than “lingering attachment.” Thus, wishing for the deity’s vehicle to slow its pace became simultaneously an act of satisfying the deity. All instances of sending off deities had been conducted in this manner. Therefore, taking the steed as its central motif, the Kokinshū’s Kagura song “Sasa no Kuma” employed the concept of “Lingering regret! Deign to come again” by skewing it toward the sentiment of lingering attachment. In Kagura, this was likely sung with the intention of expressing “tsunagamu” (tethering), but as a whole approached something closer in form to divine praise—and somehow became a disjointed mood song. The *Man'yōshū* version might appear to express the sentiments of a day filled with moments of waiting, but had it been genuine, such expressions would not have been used. Gradually archetypes generated deviations thereby bringing this about; were one to utilize this in Kagura and similar rites it would serve effectively as a pledge for their next coming. Songs prohibiting grass-cutting possessed several different forms outside this model. In any case providing fodder to “that horse” for guests arriving from distant journeys constituted one expression of hospitality—like “that horse” itself wherever its purpose might lie thus did songs that seemed hollow come to radiate vividness.

Dengaku was likely thought to be a mixture of the indigenous “Ta-asobi” field play with various forms of Tōka stamping dances and Shushi geinō ritual master performances. However, it must not be considered merely as garden performances or parlor arts. It became clear that these were elaborate group processions—ritual journeys—with a primary focus on “gate entrance” ceremonies. That is, during their ritual processions, there were households they would stop by to perform part of their art. Judging from names like water stations, food stations, and fodder stations, these were likely modeled after the post roads used by travelers. The food station was where they probably shared communal meals at those households. While water stations could serve people too, they were mainly imagined as stations where horses drank. Fodder stations were naturally conceived as places providing hay for horses. Considering this, we understand why the Fujiwara clan’s hereditary leaders treasured fodder measures as heirlooms. Might items called “fodder” have actually been decorative headgear for those dressed as horses? Yet in antiquity—though this defies imagination—they likely used straw baskets for horse provisions instead. While “chu” is read as “hikusā,” unlike “maku” dried fodder or “saku” chopped fodder, it is not customarily read as “makusā.” Though used for horse feed, it had other purposes too. Suwa Shrine possessed trees used in festival circuits along with other local products. They referred to this practice as Taku. While interpretations vary, it is certain that chief priests conducted ritual circuits in most cases. Among these, I believe the existence of what was called “hikusā taku” must also relate to fodder. Upon reaching the main household, they had to perform their most potent ritual art at the middle gate—where guests were barred from entering or exiting. Precisely for this reason, even when Dengaku later fragmented across provinces, all retained at least the name “Middle Gate Entrance” for one piece. This is thought to preserve traces of Dengaku’s “Noh” in what survives only nominally as Natsu no Haru Tatakimon no Nō—the Spring Gate-Knocking Noh of Atsuta. This middle gate stood where one passed through the outer enclosure’s gate before proceeding into the inner courtyard.

It was the entrance leading to the palace and what would later be called the “Shinden.”
It was precisely because they were deities who traveled in groups that they performed their art at this entrance when attempting to enter through the middle gate.
The line “...entering through the Middle Gate of the East” in the “Crab” song from the “Beggar’s Chant” in *Man'yōshū* Book 16 refers to the middle gate entrance because it is a song by celebratory professionals.
Later, the middle gate came to open east and west, adopting a symmetrical form with Izumiden and Tsuriden extending to the left and right; however, in ancient times, it was thought to have been built on one side or the other according to the terrain.
Therefore, depending on the case, there may have been instances where the south served as the front and the north as that position.
Moreover, in the case of the imperial court, regarding all four gates as equally important had been an old custom; yet when observing how this tradition gradually became drawn toward south-facing ideology, one must consider the Genkimon gate of the inner court or the Sakubeimon gate located due north in the outer enclosure.
In the northernmost outer enclosure was the Ikan-mon, which had long been called the Fukaigo-mon (Unopened Imperial Gate).
That is, it was a structure corresponding to Suzaku-mon, the main southern gate.
As for the reason it gained that nickname, they explain it through the inauspiciousness of His Majesty Emperor Kazan’s abdication and escape through this gate; however, being purely a folkloric interpretation, it is thought not to be historical fact.

Kita-mikado

It was evident that gates called “akezunomon” in shrines, temples, or private homes had been used exclusively for opening to welcome deities on fixed occasions such as festival days or New Year’s Day.
For this very reason, it was thought that even the Unopened Gate directly north of this palace gate had occasionally been opened at fixed intervals in ancient times.
The various northern gates had served as entry and exit points for the Empress, Chūgū, and others of the Rear Palace.
Therefore, it followed that the Ikan-mon too had been deeply connected to the Rear Palace.
Once it became what was called the Unopened Gate, its functions came to be transferred to the Tatchi Gate.
Among four types of spirit-pacifying rituals conducted at court, the Chinkon-sai had been an ancient rite of the Yamato court.
In contrast, while differing inherently in nature from both Seishodo’s Imperial Kagura and Naishidokoro’s Imperial Kagura—and with several other similar types potentially blended in—the existence of what was known as Kita-Mikado’s Imperial Kagura showed discernible vestiges.
However, whether it had existed independently or merely formed part of this Kagura remained unclear.
Perhaps this Kagura song’s name preserved traces of how it had entered court from northern regions.
Ultimately, might this not belong to the same sequence as Kehi no Kagura recorded alongside others in *Shōtoku 3rd Year Copied Ancient Song Collection*?
Within court precincts, only this gate could officially bear the name Kita-mikado.
I imagined there had once been a Kagura performed outside Ikan-mon where imperial guard calls were proclaimed and ritual steps executed.
For instance, one could consider that a Kagura belonging to a certain deity had entered Seisho-dō—located in Buraku-in’s rear building—after passing through Ōten-mon (and naturally Suzaku-mon).
What preserved this history became Seishodo’s Imperial Kagura.
Speaking based on Mr. Nishizumi’s *Research*, we might simply be referring to one designation among several court Kagura types.
Even after Seishodo burned down, performing “Seishodo Imperial Kagura” under that name near other palace buildings remained permissible.
This had been conducted for all Daidairi grounds.
Naishidokoro’s Imperial Kagura appeared somewhat smaller in scale and related to precincts where His Majesty conducted daily activities.
Needless to say—rather than deities entering for Kagura performances—the Kagura had been performed on condition that deities had already arrived.

Later, priorities became inverted as people began allocating time specifically for Kagura, but ultimately Kagura was considered not to have originated within the court itself—rather, it was the ritual steps performed by outsiders who entered from beyond during winter festival days. Judging from the Kagura procedure, the Imperial Kagura of Naishidokoro began with the leader’s imperial guard call. It was said that “Naritakashi” (resound high) would be repeated twice. That is, it took the form of the main deity of the group-traveling deities having appeared here. While such forms were secondary or later when viewed from the original meaning of imperial guard calls, in any case, when seen in folk song notations, they had come to resemble a single lyric: “Let it resound! In secrecy. Near the Grand Shrine, resound high. Ah. Resound high.” “Ah, you there! Attendants! In secrecy. Near the Grand Shrine, resound high. Ah! Resound high.” From this perspective, the significance of “resound high” could be perceived. It was an imperial guard call conducted at the palace gate. When tracing its lineage, the Imperial Kagura of Naishidokoro indeed originated from Iwashimizu Hachiman. However, this lineage could not be said to be entirely free from confusion with the Imperial Kagura of Seishodo.

The songs of the Kara no Kami and gestures such as waving withered reeds were highly regarded; according to certain types of Kagura, the Kara no Kami songs were duplicated. From this perspective, I think it may suggest that they entered to bestow courtly blessings as the local deities of Heian-kyō—Son and Kara no Kami.

To attempt to clearly delineate court Kagura—believed to have existed beyond the three types of divine performances—by distinguishing which was which would be unnatural; moreover, given that even the lyrics serving as their criteria were in disarray, it became an impossible proposition. However, regarding the classification of the Kita-mikado Kagura—so to speak, an art form of the middle gate entrance—whether it had few lyrics or was something entirely distinct will, I believe, remain a subject of inquiry going forward.

To shiiba branches they affixed banners—in whose era did they first name it the Northern Imperial Gate? —The Concluding Song of Kita-mikado

Mishima cotton upon their shoulders—in whose era did they first name it the Northern Imperial Gate? —The Opening

Taking the eight flat trays in hand—in whose era did they first name it the Northern Imperial Gate? —The Concluding Song

In the subsequent two songs, the latter phrase typically becomes “Shall I, Kara no Kami, perform the ritual?”
One of them contains substitute wording.
As discernible from the whole, it appears the transmitted texts of “Kita-mikado” imitated the flexible usage of concluding phrases seen in Kara no Kami songs while keeping the opening phrases intact.
That is to say, they are substitute songs.
Even considering their repurposing of Kara no Kami songs—though an argument for their close relationship could indeed be made—this Kagura is thought to belong to a different category of itinerant deities.

Judging from its performance procedures, Kagura was correctly the ritual performing art of deities outside the court.
In other words, it showed a tendency to develop into a form of open-air performance.
However, coincidentally drawn by the convention—characteristic of Japanese rituals—of being refined into grand traditions, it came to take on a form that might be termed “garden performances.”
Therefore, I believe we can trace that there were also portions adopting the *peizen* format outside this form.
In that case, it closely resembled Tōka and Dengaku, yet there were certain differences.
In Kagura, as vocal pieces, the tanka form being primarily regarded was one such aspect.
The second aspect was that it resembled what has long been referred to as “divine play” and could be incorporated into the same interpretive framework; moreover, this characteristic has manifested in the name “Kagura” over time.
Therefore, considering that it was initially referred to by names such as “Kagura” makes it easier to conceive of its ancient form.
The third point is that the so-called “Kagura” had joined the procession as the central element of its circuit.
Furthermore, the sacred object placed on its divine seat seems to have been of an unusual style.
Furthermore, the true form of the deity residing in that divine seat seems to have ended up being neglected in later Kagura.
Therefore, the older the Kagura, the more it must have been a group procession centered around a divine seat where a sacred object was enshrined.
In Kagura, must it not have resembled a demon-masked, hooded Kagura lion modeled after Azumi Isoara?

From the fact that Saio outside the court seemed to have frequently used puppets, I believe we can also imagine the form of Kagura. Rather, might this not mean that the deity itself took a form resembling an idol, and that by bringing it forth, its divine spirit abruptly manifested? For instance, as evident from the missionary activities of Hachiman—deeply connected to Kagura—they proceeded with a doll purportedly modeled after the Kōraisan deity (identified as Takenouchi no Sukune) at the forefront. Consequently, the Ōtarao and Ōtarame deities of Kōra became widely known, giving rise to the worship of what was called Daitarō Hōshi. Even lacking direct evidence of Hachiman being represented as a doll itself, if we consider that depicting his closest deities through idols and manipulating them—albeit gradually—produced certain effects, we may infer the existence of a divine seat within the Iwashimizu lineage. A deity like Hachiman indeed traveled extensively; his journey from Usa to venerate the Great Buddha of Tōdaiji—an event during Emperor Shōmu’s reign—enables us to discern both the nature of such group processions and the form taken by their principal deity.

Itinerant Performers

I discussed how the Kagura deities travel and thereby generate and spread a particular form of literature.
The Kagura arriving at Kita-mikado were likely deities from the north; even when later attributed to Hachiman, traces suggesting their origin as Kehi deities remain discernible.
The identification of Hachiman with Emperor Ōjin may have been rationally explained through Kagura traditions earlier than through the contrived efforts of figures like Gyōkyō of the Ki clan.

Phrases such as “the upasaka performs at the mountain’s shiiba base” appear to have many associations with later forms like what is called Hōin Kagura. However, while songs can be interpreted in myriad ways, the very fact that such songs came to be used may be said to represent the form of literature associated with itinerant deities in later periods. As literature brought by these traveling strangers, Kagura retained its traditional style while renewing its content. While the oldest forms had adopted incantatory structures, by the Heian period they had come to center primarily on such song forms. And yet, even thereafter, such rituals may have been repeated countless times—hundreds upon hundreds—for all we know. Then shifting once more, even an era dominated by *imayō* arrived. They transformed such that by the dawn of the warrior age, *Banquet Songs* became primary in this context; then shifted again as Sekkyō’s biwa accompaniment gained prominence, allowing Sekkyō to establish itself as the mainstream for an extended period—and eventually branched out to give rise to Joruri. Thus did blind missionaries gradually come to prominence.

It seems we have now reached a time when we may properly discuss the era preceding *Kagura*—the genesis period of Japanese literature.

Among the various forms initially listed, those involving long journeys had to become the principal focus in this paper.
Therefore, this initial discussion also took *Kagura* as its principal subject from the very beginning.
This did not merely stop at being called the distant ancestral domain from which they emerged.
In the course of their travels—stopping at various nations and villages—they placed emphasis on performing rituals.
Not only did they perform actions as deities as a matter of course, but they even came to forget they were impersonating deities.
Then arose their actions as humans—the clear awareness that this constituted their role as celebrants.
In the ancient language of our people, the act of blessing—still recognized by those with education to the extent that its essence can be perceived even if uttered abruptly—was called *hoku*.
or was also called *hokafu*.
Both underwent voicing and came to be read in such forms as *hogu* and *hogafu*.
That noun is *hoki* or *hokahi*.
Therefore, once the role of celebrants came to focus on receiving offerings from people, the term itself began to carry connotations of contempt.
Those craftsmen—referred to as *hokihito* or *hokahibito*—saw their titles abbreviated, passing through *hokito* to become *hoito* (the assignment of the characters 陪堂 [Baidō] being a contrivance of Buddhist scholars and lexicographers)—and later came to be called simply *hokahi*.
Therefore, on one hand, these individuals’ profession was something to be greatly feared; while in the villages they passed through, they sought to avoid incurring resentment and envy—and through their rituals endeavored to leave behind favorable outcomes—a sentiment readily comprehensible.
That is, even if they were no longer gods themselves, they were those who bore gods and wielded gods.
Therefore, in most cases, they would have them eat plentifully or take food back with them—aiming to show gratitude and avoid incurring harm.
Thus they naturally ended up circulating through many patron communities.
The assignment of the characters for “mendicant” to *hokahibito* was not necessarily accurate.
The meaning leans more toward “giving from this side.”
Just because they adopted such a lifestyle did not mean all were necessarily descendants of displaced people as previously described.
There were also many examples where villagers skilled in sorcery organized such groups based on their way of life.

Among them, knowledge concerning food storage inevitably developed. Karei (karehi/dried rice) and fermented fish (sushi) are examples of this. Moreover, those travel tools gradually came to be utilized by ordinary people. The so-called "travel containers" (gyōki) are read as *hokahi*. In works such as the *Wamyōshō*, the characters 外居 were assigned to this term because by that time, the *ha*-row and *wa*-row phonetic groups had already become interchangeable; however, their semantic values remained distinct. This was because many *hokahi* lacked legs altogether—the theory that *gaikyo* refers to outward-facing parts of cat-shaped legs proves untenable when we consider they were essential implements carried or transported by mendicants during their rounds.

When examining these containers' uses through later periods, their primary function appears to have been as vessels for sacred objects and likely enshrinement receptacles for principal deity images among itinerant divine performer troupes. Those employed both as deity receptacles and utilitarian objects retained the name *hokahi*. Another possibility arises when considering earlier or concurrent usages—namely, the comb box. Regarding this container, Professor Yanagita Kunio has already noted its implications; what likely originated as soul containers became repositories for sacred hair-raising implements over time. While combs eventually shared space with other items within them, their original ritual purpose persisted in collective memory. Moreover, later generations' imagined reconstructions of the principal deities once enshrined within these travel containers would likely strike modern observers as profoundly phantasmal.

Upon entering the warrior age, travel containers were long used as head caskets.
The travel containers of Tokyo Shiba Daijingu—called *chigi*, *chige*, or *chigibitsu*—are said to be the head caskets used by Ōkubo Hikosuke.
And yet, even there, the fact that they were food containers has not been forgotten.
Moreover, even today, in the Kantō and Tōsan provinces, there persists a custom of presenting food for festival rites and wedding or funeral ceremonies in these containers, referred to as *hokai* or *hoke*.

On the other hand, the box carried by azusa shrine maidens—though differing in shape from travel containers—was said to have contained a dog’s head within it. There can be no doubt that the persistent external speculation—that among the belongings of itinerant divine performers lay items containing fragments of sacred objects believed to be principal deity images—possessed a religious foundation enduring enough to be transmitted through generations.

The sacred implements carried by celebratory mendicants were, so to speak, a form of divine seat; they simultaneously served as food utensils and transport vessels. They would suspend these from poles, carry them on staffs, or balance them atop their heads as they walked. At times, they would even sit upon them while delivering benedictions. The Katsura women who endured into the warrior age stood as prominent surviving examples of *hokahibito*—those who carried *hokahi* containers while performing *hokahi* rituals during their journeys. That they employed the characters for “travel containers” (行器) to represent *hokahi*, coupled with the fact that ordinary travelers came to carry imitations of these vessels, allows one to gauge how profoundly the processions of divine intermediaries must have imprinted themselves upon the communal consciousness.

Yet it cannot be claimed that all these itinerant performers necessarily possessed *hokahi* travel containers; similarly, among those termed *hokahibito*, one may infer there existed individuals bearing distinct divine receptacles. In essence, innumerable varieties of *hokito* and *hokahibito* perpetuated their missionary travels in vivid form—from eras predating the state’s establishment through to the early medieval warrior period. One must acknowledge that while such groups showed little apparent transformation over five centuries or a millennium—and while aspects of their practice absorbed profound influences from successive epochs—they nevertheless preserved ways of life extending back to an almost unfathomable past.

blessing rites

Even those who carried the divine seat around and eventually developed the Kagura school of ritual performance were also united in being *hokahi*. Kagura emerged from entering the formal constraints of ancient pacification rituals practiced in the Yamato court, prioritizing dance to manifest the effects of *henpai* ritual stamping. It can be said that *hokahi* combined into one entity these dual forms: using “declarations” to subjugate spirits, and spirits themselves making “declarations” to pledge submission. And among *hokahi*, those that prioritized physical gestures were called *kotohogi*. In general, those called *hokahi*—there was none that did not fall into this category. In other words, there was neither a pure commander nor what could be called sudden obedience; they had always conceived of a spiritual representative who embodied both elements. Therefore, while those who came to subdue spirits for the court and society resembled guests from the eternal realm, in truth, they were often the local land gods and their attendants. I believe that the attendants—including supplementary attendants—who have been conditionally categorized within Kagura, Azuma-asobi, and similar rituals hold the significance of companion deities, that is to say, a divine retinue. These local land gods—also referred to as guest deities, Matara gods, Rasetsu deities, garan deities, and so forth—were beings equivalent in meaning to the *kotohogi* of the Tōka festival, donning bizarre costumes and presenting utterances that provoked laughter. Aiming especially for vulgar guffaws, they would recount exaggerated erotic tales along with comical and sarcastic remarks. Therefore, from the perspective of textual composition, it appears they chanted by further deconstructing what should be called *ihahigoto*—incantations of pacification—as their foundation. When seeking the starting point of humor in Japanese literature outside *uta monogatari*, one must first look to this point. For humor as an attitude cannot arise solely from “song.” In *uta monogatari* (song-tales), humor arises from the technique of compellingly and skillfully explaining song-proverbs and similar forms through methods that strain belief. However, there were indeed other elements of laughter beyond those just mentioned.

Carrying such incantations, they came to circulate through various patron communities. As that progressed, it became Senju Manzai. This emerged early in the Heian period and yet, having undergone little of the transformation one might imagine, connected seamlessly to modern manzai performances.

However, beyond these celebratory professions that incorporated laughter as an element, there existed an even more archaic group of ritual performers.
The divine person troupes that journeyed through various sacred sites—carrying their own sorcery, which they believed derived its efficacy from expounding epic narratives primarily connected to the origins of purification rites—were precisely those groups.
Here, along with proclaiming their faith, they held the fundamental purpose of developing new territories.
In other words, the spread of a faith became the expansion of its nation’s territory.

As Divine Person Troupes serving the Emperor, the scope of missionary work conducted by the Ōtoneribe—attendants who closely attended him each morning, more precisely termed the Hio Ōtoneribe or, abbreviated, the Hio Hioshiibe—extended the Emperor’s land beyond the areas designated by the Heavenly Deities.
For the Empress as well, private estates gradually formed under the same significance.
In this manner, privately approved lands gradually emerged for these other great nobles.
In such lands existed protagonists of epics connected to either their founders or the origins of sorcery revered by their villages—narratives recounting fragments of the original landowners’ lives.
Thus historical relationships were established between lands espousing shared origins.

Centered on people and deities of the past, what might be called various networks of belief were laid out across the entire nation.

Who carried this out?
Needless to say, they were the itinerant performers.
And yet—which group among them most profoundly accomplished these meaningful endeavors without conscious intent?
That was none other than the Sea People.

Apart from this domain, it seemed that many who might well be termed Mountain People—those who advocated purification through mountain sanctified waters—roamed widely across the land.

*O mountain people of Anashi’s peak in Makimoku—as all eyes behold—adorn yourselves with mountain vines.*

The missionary wanderings of the Anashi divine persons are known through the *Harima Fudoki*, but considering that this very verse belongs to the "vine wreath" prop used in Kagura songs compels reflection on various matters. Beyond traveling, the Mountain People also participated in festivals of nearby villages. They frequently spoke words of blessing. This practice had been conducted since before the Nara capital and persisted even into the Heian period, when the Mountain People's attendance at grand shrine festivals—such as those of Hiyoshi, Matsuo, and Ōharano—all followed this same pattern.

The fact that both the Sea People and the Mountain People came to sing short songs can also be said to indicate that there originally existed long verses.
When incantations or epic poetry were replaced, tanka—which had emerged as fragments of these forms—came to be used instead, and singing them was considered to have the same effect as chanting long verses.
But at the same time, it came to pass that long verses would sometimes be chanted as explanations for short songs.
The order is precisely reversed.

In such cases, they called this "*uta no moto*" (Song Foundation).
The "foundational words of song" (*moto-tsugoto*)—in other words, the ancient form of song-tales—was a form from an era when it was not necessarily considered to exist solely for the sake of songs.

The further back one goes in time, the more it became a principle that epic poetry or incantations—serving as their foundation—were used rather than songs.
When songs came to be performed, it seems that "proverbs" were also recited simultaneously.
Proverbs had long possessed an enigmatic form of expression that guided people’s minds into a semi-conscious state, while simultaneously containing elements of allegorical admonishment and ritualistic oath-binding.
Even within their simple parallel form, they contained profound knowledge of ancient people.
Therefore, regarding proverbs, there were many cases that required explanation, and elders serving as their explainers existed everywhere.
Thus, regarding proverbs, narratives inevitably developed.
In the case of proverbs, it was precisely this relationship between song and incantations/epic poetry that became inverted.
It can be said that what are called song-tales, which arose from songs, advanced by modeling themselves on the relationship between proverbs and their narratives.
When proverbs were expressed in their most quintessential form, they approached the realm of riddles.
Or rather, it would be correct to say that riddles emerged from this.
Making mutual contestation an important part of ritual ceremonies was an ancient custom.
Between gods and spirits, techniques to mutually block each other’s chanting in unison had been accumulated over time.
Failure to respond promptly meant defeat.
Originally, these were likely genuine question-and-answer exchanges relying on quick wit, but they gradually became fixed, with both sides repeating set patterns.
It would have been merely that there were slight improvisational changes and leaps in sequence.

In song-tales, works naturally came to possess tragic content due to their compelling sense of verisimilitude; in proverb tales, however, efforts to avoid widely known traditions and instead strive for unexpected turns led them to aim for the effect of fabricated stories, increasingly leaning toward crafting comedic yet uneasy conclusions.

Saibara (court songs)

(Which one?
The endpoint.
Crossing that rugged hill)

“Origin”
Where is it?
The dead end.
“End”
That way won’t work.
(Crossing that rugged hill, still…)

(Small black vines of the deep mountains.
(Kure, kure…)
(Small black vine))

“Origin”
“If speaking in mountain vines: ‘End,’ wind it more…”
The mountain’s small vine.

(When trying to strangle the heron’s neck.
(It’s being so long))

“Origin”
(When trying to strangle the heron’s neck.
“End.” But then it’s being unreasonably long,

(Don’t step on the cracked heels!)
You at the rear!
We have eyes too!
(You at the front!)

“Origin.”
Don’t step on the cracked heels!
You at the rear!
“End.”
Don’t speak!
I’ve got eyes too!
You who go first!

(Let the court attendants handle it.
Let those at the rear handle it.
We’ll handle it too.
Let those at the rear handle it.)

“Origin.”
Young men, come!
Follow!
“End.”
You too, come!

Follow!

(That mountain.
(Se Mountain.
(That side of Se Mountain)

“Origin.” Because it is the mountain beyond, that is why it is Se Mountain.
“End.”
At Se Mountain—thus, the Se Mountain beyond.

(At the Konoe Emperor’s side, they dropped the koshi.
(If there are no roots to the hair)

“Origin.”
At Yōmeimon Gate’s forefront, they let the crown’s koshi fall with a faint clatter.
“End.”
“What recourse remains?”
“For lacking the hair’s fundament.”

(The gifts of womenfolk—withered silkworms in frost-month and year-end.)

“Origin.”
“Then let us inquire—”
“This boast of women mastering Six Arts—”
“End.”
“November-December’s scant sleet—useless all.”

(Swing-door now!
Fire-panel door.
Fire-panel door now—swing-door!)

“Origin.”
The door clattered open—bata-bata.
“(Troublesome too)—heave yet jammed—‘End.’” (This vexatious thing!)
The jammed door and clattering door.

(Lift and shake.
Lift up.
(Lift up.
(Lift and shake.)

“Origin.”
If it’s a door, shake it open.
Pry it open.
“End.” Pry it open.
Shake it open.

(If one departs through valleys below,
(If one takes the hills above, another will follow the valleys below.)

“Origin.”
If you go from the valley below, I will take the heights above.
“End.” If you take the heights above, I will go through the valley below.

(If one departs from this side, another will go from that side.
(If they depart from that side, they will go from this side.)

“Origin.” If you pass through here, I will go through over there.
“End.” If you go through over there, I will go through here.

Producing such vernacular renditions was not only tedious labor, but there would naturally be mistranslations as well, and I myself held alternative interpretations. Since these were impromptu dialogic exchanges, they were termed *hayauta*, though they hardly qualified as what one might call proper songs. Within these exchanges, "Konoe Gate..." was likely an immediate retort, and "the talent of women..." was probably a proverb.

It goes without saying that attempting to derive Kagura’s original meaning—let alone its developmental process—from its lyrics was a reckless endeavor. The reason lay in how many substitute songs had made their way into it over time. Yet when examining *hayauta*, one could clearly discern impressions of mountains and distant travels woven throughout. Moreover, phrases like “At Konoe Gate they dropped the koshi” evoked images of the tall koshi headdresses worn by costumed performers in Tōka dances and the associated ceremonies at the Middle Gate. While the singing style was undoubtedly rapid, this speed stemmed from the brisk exchange inherent to dialogues and carried significance as impromptu question-and-answer sessions. Through these exchanges between ritual leaders and witty men—as *hayauta* grew popular enough to infiltrate even *shirabyōshi* songs—banquet song *hayauta* was thought to have emerged from the practice of chaining together numerous *imayō* in competitive repartee. In any case, within Kagura performances, witty men became those who drew audiences in through such techniques, with an air of lingering reluctance permeating the entire atmosphere.

When examining the traditions of the Sea People through the *Kojiki*, *Nihon Shoki*, and *Man'yōshū*, much could be discerned from the nature of their narrative songs or even inferred from their very names. Furthermore, there existed another significant group thought to have entered the imperial court through the hands of the *umikotobe*. While some doubts remained regarding this matter, for us it had already undergone preliminary examination. At present, the traditions of the mountain people and those belonging to the Yamabe had become renowned for their spirit-pacifying rituals and accompanying dances, while their longer narrative forms appeared to have been largely lost. In this endeavor, selecting Kagura as our theme—both to commemorate Mr. Nishizumi’s work and because there was indeed reason to establish a focal point here—held its basis. In the *Nihon Shoki*, regarding “mountain,” there was a suggestion that a substantial body of traditions had likely existed. After Emperor Ōjin’s death, Nukata no Ōnakatsuhiko sought to take control of Wato’s *tanden* (imperial rice fields) and *mikuriya* (storehouses), asserting that these *tanden* were originally “land of the mountain guardians” and therefore rightfully his. Ōnakatsuhiko was said to be the younger brother of Ōyamamori no Mikoto by the same mother, but in truth this represented a matter of status. When Emperor Ōsazaki summoned Yamato no Atae Maro and inquired about its validity, [Maro] replied: “I do not know.” “Only my younger brother Ago Kago is aware of this matter,” he reported. Thereupon, he urgently summoned the said individual who had been on a mission to Korea. In Ago Kago’s response: “The imperial rice fields of Yamato are the august fields of the Son of Heaven. Even if one were called a prince of the Son of Heaven, they are not permitted to govern [these fields].” The reason he answered thus was that Ago Kago possessed the selected authority—as a *kataribe* qualified to inherit sacred narratives—among the Yamato no Atae clan members. And precisely because they were of the Yamato no Atae clan, their ties to the mountains ran deep. They were people of the Yamato no Kuni no Miyatsuko family who possessed the qualification to serve the mountain deity. Had this been merely a matter of being called a guarantor, there would have been no reason to specially summon a select member of the clan all the way from Korea.

The fact that such “mountain traditions” existed among the mountain people, the Yamabe, and those divine persons of their kind—and that they early inclined toward condensing poetic texts into songs, particularly tanka—constituted a specialization of ritual chant texts. As for myself, while I recognize how the Sea People extended their developmental power—born from occupying vast living territories rich in marine bounty—even propelling their own ritual performances forward by the Heian period, I believe it was originally Yamagura (mountain Kagura) that held greater significance. When examining *torimono*, are they not almost all things related to mountains, mountain people, and mountain waters?

To view things in such stark contrast may indeed be misguided, but I will state it thus for posterity:
The Sea People’s jōruri, the Mountain People’s kouta.
That is, the former carried lengthy epic poems until the end of the Heian period, while the latter are seen to have actively carried tanka poetry as early as the Nara period or even before.
For example, Yamabe no Sukune Akahito and Takachi no Muraji Kurohito were all people deeply connected to the Mountain People.
As for Kakinomoto no Ason Hitomaro, he was a branch member of the Wani clan of Yamato, and even when considering his ancestral home and clan, his connection to the mountains ran deep.
Such a perspective cannot be entirely accurate.
But I must tentatively consider this perspective.

A Single Word

What I must say has merely made a start.
It is from this pattern—of these displaced peoples of sea and mountain wandering throughout the land, spreading epic poetry and lyric poetry as they went—that I will now discuss how their activities gave rise to diverse literary forms across the provinces.
Moreover, the core of it all—no matter how one puts it—lay in the trends of the capital.
I should have discussed more calmly how this alternation of performers gave rise to various forms of literature and performance through religious and sermonic means.
But before entering into that, I had already far exceeded the limitations.
I must unavoidably lay down my brush here.
However, Japanese Missionary Literature—even until the end of the Edo period thereafter—may have changed in form, but its theme remained singular.
Missionary Literature—expounding the wandering metempsychosis of gods and buddhas—were varied forms of transformation.
And as it grew more modern, it merely tended to become a noble figure and an idealized young man.
And thus, in the Edo period, we notice roughly four major categories: *sekkyō*, *jōruri*, *saimon*, and *nenbutsu*—these being the final forms of long-continued epic poetry.
Other than these, countless other performing arts and literary forms emerged, but it is also an unforgettable fact that all were sustained through being carried along upon the oratory of enslaved religious artisans.