Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Iha Fuyū

I wished to speak about yuta, which had recently become a social issue in Okinawa Prefecture.
“A Historical Study of Yuta!”
While this might have seemed an exceedingly peculiar problem, I believed that conducting a historical study of yuta—those who stirred Naha’s women’s society after the great fire—was not entirely without merit.
There might be those who considered yuta and such matters utterly foolish, but since this foolishness actually existed in Okinawan society, there was no helping it.
In accordance with the philosopher Hegel’s statement that “All that is real is rational,” I maintained that everything existing in this world had a reason for its existence.
The resonance of Okinawan women with yuta was precisely where the problem lay.
Women accounted for nearly half of human society; in Okinawa’s population of five hundred thousand, over two hundred fifty thousand were women.
It was regrettable that issues concerning women, who constituted such a significant number, were being treated with neglect.
Be that as it may, it formed a strange contrast that while Ibsen’s *Nora* and Sudermann’s *Magda* were being performed in central theaters at the time, matters of yuta were being enacted in Okinawan theaters.
Therefore, I could not help but assert that the old women of Okinawa operating around yuta lagged two thousand years behind the new women active in women’s issues.

Now then, before entering into the main discussion, it was necessary to briefly discuss the unity of religion and politics in Ancient Ryukyu.
In general, during ancient times, the elements that held significant power for national unity—beyond mere authority and military might—were blood ties and faith.
In other words, ancient states were family groups organized by those who shared common ancestors and at the same time religious organizations formed by those who shared common deities.
In all things, differentiation arises only after evolution.
Thus while in modern times political organizations and religious groups have separated from one another to maintain distinct forms and contents, if we trace these various groups back to antiquity they gradually converge and overlap until finally sharing entirely the same scope—so that the state as a political organization simultaneously served as family group and religious organization, a condition universal among ancient states when they first appeared in history (see Chapter Nine, “My View That the Separation of Shrines and Imperial Residences During Emperor Sujin’s Reign Marks a Major Epoch in National Unification,” in Kawakami Hajime’s *Studies in Economics*).
I discovered that such facts exist in Okinawan history as well.

When one studies Okinawan history, it becomes clear that while the formal structure of the Three Kingdoms had long been destroyed by Shō Hashi, their substance persisted until the time of King Shō Shin, when the lords of the Three Kingdoms were relocated to Shuri. This centralization was akin to reducing the vast stage—which had witnessed the rivalrous division of the Three Kingdoms across a hundred-ri circumference—to a mere one-ri area centered on Shuri’s small hill. The surviving retainers of the Three Kingdoms continued occupying the Sanbyōdō (three administrative districts), failing to achieve harmony. To rephrase, Okinawa—though politically unified—remained religiously (that is, spiritually) disunified. In any case, while the political organization centered on the Shō family simultaneously functioned as both a familial and religious group, the newly incorporated groups were those perceived to differ in bloodline and enshrine distinct deities. Accordingly, in Shuri, those from Shimajiri were placed in Mawashi no Byōdō, those from Nakagami in Haebaru no Byōdō, and those from Kunigami in Kita no Byōdō—native Shuri residents were interspersed among them to facilitate assimilation into Shuri culture. The Aji lords of the Three Kingdoms stationed officials called *jitōdai* in their domains and continued visiting their ancestral graves periodically even after taking up permanent residence in Shuri. However, since frequent returns to their homelands risked reviving reactionary sentiments—a policy misstep—the Shō family politicians mandated establishing remote worship sites in each Sanbyōdō district. Thus Haebaru no Byōdō erected Shuri Donchi in Akata, Mawashi no Byōdō built Makabe Donchi in Yamakawa, and Kita no Byōdō constructed Gibo Donchi in Gibo. All followed the architectural model of the Shō family’s shrine—the Kikoe-ōgimi Palace—where ancestral deities, fire gods, and iron gods were enshrined. Over time, three ethnic groups coalesced into a single nation; within this amalgamation, the deity of the Shō family—the most influential—advanced to become the shared object of worship for all coalesced clans as the deity of this newly emerged nation.

In my view, the Kikoe-ōgimi Palace—originally located near Shuri Castle, or rather within its precincts—saw its divine authority grow ever more potent with the passage of time, until it ultimately selected a fixed location to enshrine itself there. Even now this remains true, but particularly in ancient times, when the fiction of blood ties arose among people, this would eventually forge new bonds of patronage with their lord, thereby artificially transforming non-kin into blood brethren for the first time. In other words, just as Tamae in the play *The Loyal and Filial Woman* boasted to Murahara Fujin of being “close kin sharing one deity,” so too did the survivors of the Three Kingdoms rejoice in proclaiming themselves near relatives of the illustrious King of Chūzan—kin who shared his god. This is what we call the “psychology of the weak.” The ancestor worship religion of this prefecture that you all witness today was formed in this manner. This truly held an exceedingly profound sway over the hearts and minds of the people at that time, as they came to attribute all fortune and misfortune entirely to the divine will of their ancestors (This remains true even now). Therefore, in the society of that time, the act of venerating ancestors was the most crucial duty for preserving the collective fortune and misfortune of the community—politics was none other than religious rites, and religious rites were none other than politics. In this manner, the so-called state of unity of religion and politics came into being. Okinawa, which had been politically unified, was also religiously unified. Indeed, this national religion was indispensable for unifying the people’s lives at that time.

As I have stated above, when centralization was carried out in Okinawa four hundred years ago, the unity of religion and politics became all the more necessary.
Now, even before this time, there had already been a division of labor where men engaged in politics and women engaged in religion; however, during the era of unity of religion and politics, since the two were inseparable, they acted as one body at that time.
Therefore, when studying this era, if one separates the two and examines them individually, it will end in failure.
Just as the king was the highest authority of the people in the political sphere, Kikoe-ōgimi was the highest priestess of the people in the religious sphere.
The *Nyokan Gusōshi* states: “This Kikoe-ōgimi stands supreme among the thirty-three lords; formerly holding the highest rank attainable by women, her position was reformed in the sixth *dingwei* year of the Kangxi era of the Great Qing to one second only to the Queen Consort.”
It was akin to the Saio priestesses who served at the Ise Grand Shrine; in ancient times, unmarried princesses (in Okinawa, princesses did not marry down in ancient times) were appointed to this position.
In the era before Greek-Roman culture had reached them, women of the Germanic peoples were generally ranked a step below men; however, it was believed that women possessed a kind of mysterious power—that they had the ability to prophesy and were endowed by the gods with a peculiar supernatural force.
The notion that women should be those engaged in religious rites was likely a universal concept throughout the ancient world.
In actuality, women’s status in Okinawa during ancient times was considerably higher than it is today.
Be that as it may, in later ages, as this national religion began to decline, princesses who had once married and returned came to be appointed as Kikoe-ōgimi.
Under the Kikoe-ōgimi existed the Ōamushirare—the shrine officials of the Three Donchi (Three Shrines) that I previously mentioned.
To these positions, women from high-status families in Shuri were appointed.
Of course, in ancient times, unmarried women were appointed to these positions.
Now, since the term *amu* means “mother” and *shirare* means “to govern” or “to rule,” it becomes clear that Ōamushirare carries political significance.
And beneath the Ōamushirare existed over three hundred rural shrine officials called *norokumoi*, to which women from local powerful families (of course, unmarried women in ancient times) were appointed (those of higher status among the *norokumoi* were referred to as *Ōamu*).
To elaborate further: the Makabe Ōamushirare governed over a hundred Norokumoi in the Shimajiri region, Kume, and both Sakishima Islands; the Shuri Ōamushirare governed over sixty Norokumoi in the Nakagami region; and the Gibo Ōamushirare governed over forty Norokumoi in the Kunigami region.
And at the time of appointment or dismissal for these Norokumoi, they would go to their respective supervising Ōamushirare to receive their official orders (all these shrine officials were hereditary positions).

In an old Okinawan song:

Iheya no amuganashi warabe amuganashi ikiyashi nanaoya-jima okakeshiyaiga

There exists [a song] that goes thus: [lyrics above], expressing the sentiment, "Though this newly appointed Ōamushirabe shrine official of Iheya is young in years, how could she possibly govern the Iheya Islands?" (Many similar examples exist elsewhere.)

From this single instance alone, I believe one may clearly apprehend how the Kikoe-ōgimi, the Ōamushirare beneath her, and the Ōamu Norokumoi wielded political influence in those days.

And these female shrine officials all rode horses during rituals and such.
Examining the *Nyokan Gusōshi*, we find passages such as: “The Shuri Ōamushirare Negami no Amushirare would dismount their horses outside Keiseimon Gate… The Shuri Ōamushirare Negami no Amushirare would then ride from outside Keiseimon Gate as before to Sakiyama no Utaki.” Furthermore, the section on inaugural rituals in *Kikoe-ōgimi Goten oyobi Gosho Gishiki no Otsugidachi* states: “Three female Amushirare (along with two Noro from Chinen), wearing white headbands and riding horses, were to proceed in procession—Kikoe-ōgimi herself was to ride her horse but refrained from doing so out of deference…” From these records, it becomes unequivocally clear that in ancient times, everyone from princesses at the top to country girls at the bottom rode horses.
And even today, this legacy persists in the countryside, where Norokumoi may still occasionally be seen riding horses during ritual ceremonies.
I once went to Yaeyama and saw over ten Yaeyama maidens walking astride horses, and at that time, I thought that Okinawan women in ancient times must have been this valiant and vigorous.

As you are all aware, there was the Yaeyama expedition during King Shō Shin's reign, when Kimihae of Kumejima participated in the military campaign.
This is documented in the *Nyokan Gusōshi* and celebrated in *Omoro* chants.
In reality, Okinawans of that era believed Kimihae's strategies proved decisive in conquering Yaeyama.
The warriors aboard ships were said to draw courage from this heroine's *Omoro* hymns and *Otakabe* prayers.
This account—alongside Empress Jingū's legend—testifies that ancient Japanese women held significant status (Yonaguni Island preserves oral traditions of Queen Sakaī Isoba's rule).
I suspect Chinese sailors who wrote of "many queens" in Kyushu likely mistook politically active *norokumoi* figures like these for royalty.
This merits rigorous scholarly investigation.
In any case, ancient gender distinctions—both physical and mental—likely lacked today's stark disparities.

Those above the norokumoi mentioned earlier were, in terms of political strategy, artificially created positions—each being a full-fledged government official. The old Ryukyu government then positioned these norokumoi under the naturally formed nebito (women who served the clan deities [ujigami], that is, the root deities [negami]) and had them govern these officials. Beneath these nebito there also existed numerous shrine attendants. The *Konkōkenshū* states: “Sashibo (or mutsuki) pertains to kude, and kude refers to spirit mediums; what are now called shrine attendants correspond to this.” Since clarifying the nature of these shrine attendants was essential for understanding Okinawa’s family system, I shall now present a passage from Elder Kishaba Chōken’s recent work *Tōtei Zuihitsu*.

As an ancient custom of our country, when a household continued through seven generations, it inevitably gave birth to a deity and venerated it.
That deity instituted merely two ranks.
For it was through the departed spirits of ancestral forebears up to the founding ancestor that deities were formed.
And they designated two female relatives as deity-Kode and appointed them to this role.
One was designated as Omekeikode and the other as Omenaikode (in dialect, male siblings were called *omekei* and sisters *omenai*), and they oversaw all matters pertaining to the worship of the deity.
Their rituals were called the Wheat Ear Festival each February, during which they offered wheat ears.
In March, they held what was called the Wheat Festival, offering sake, incense, vinegar, and dried meats.
In May, they held what was called the Rice Ear Festival (offering rice ears).
In June, they held what was called the Rice Festival, offering sake, incense, vinegar, and dried meats.
Also, using funds levied from the clan, they would produce sacred garments for the ancestral deities, and at each ritual, two deity-Kode would don them to worship the deities.
During the March and May festivals, all men and women of the clan would gather, burn incense, and worship.
They received libations from the Kode.
And on the anniversaries marking the deity's manifestation—the third year, seventh year, thirteenth year, twenty-fifth year, and thirty-third year—they prepared sake, incense, vinegar, dried meats, and millet cakes to offer them.
All such expenses were entirely borne by the entire clan.
When the thirty-three-year period was completed, in the following year they again produced a deity and performed rituals at each anniversary period as before.
The appointment of those Kode depended solely on the command of the ancestral deities.
The ancestral deities existed beforehand.
The ancestral deities would attach themselves to those destined to become Kode and to shaman women, causing them to speak; or alternatively, when a woman destined to become Kode fell ill and consented to assume the Kode role, she would immediately be healed.
Through this means, they became able to serve as Kode.
Kode was a lifelong position.

When a Kode died, their successor was again selected in this manner.
Therefore, even if someone desired to be appointed to the Kode position voluntarily, they could not be.
Even if one wished to be released from it, they could not.
These Kode were likely identical to the shi—ritual stand-ins established for every ceremony in ancient China.

The Kode would make pilgrimages every five or seven years—such as Nakijin worship or Eastern Circuit rituals—taking two or three clan members to ancestral burial sites where they venerated forebear deities and conducted mountain-river rituals. Upon completing these pilgrimages and returning home, they held a report festival for household deities.
On these days, parishioners (i.e., relatives) would go out to meet them at a place called Sākankē about half a ri away.
Indeed, these shrine attendants (or nebito) became those who bound kin groups religiously—that is, spiritually.
When visiting rural villages, one found one Negami house (i.e., Nedokoro) per village(?), though historically these had been located at village centers serving as focal points for familial settlements.
Thus through studying these Negami houses, one could generally comprehend a village’s history.
I once considered whether calculating Okinawa’s total Negami count might reveal approximate population figures from Amamikyo’s migration era—or at least from ancient times.
Now representing these observations diagrammatically would yield the following structure.

This was nothing less than a militarized structure—a system where under a single command from the Kikoe-ōgimi, all norokumoi, nebito, and shrine attendants across Okinawa mobilized. In my view, Japan’s ancient Shinto shrine organizations—owing to foreign cultural influences—never developed to this extent. Indeed, this ethnic religion cultivated Okinawa’s large-family system, ultimately giving rise to a robust nation-state during King Shō Shin’s reign.

Lately, Japanese scholars had been noisily expounding on ancient Shinto and family systems, but were they to glimpse the religious life and familial institutions of the Ryukyuan people, I believed they would find their understanding scarcely half-formed.
Could it be that Okinawa alone preserved Japan's complete family system?
I once authored a paper titled "The Unity of Religion and Politics in Ancient Ryukyu" for the *Okinawa Mainichi Shimbun*, and upon sending its clipping to Mr. Yanagita Kunio, he had promptly drafted a response containing numerous critical observations.
One passage read:

Having now finished reading [your work], I received great stimulation. There exists an enthusiastic research group called the Shintō Talk Society among Mr. Katō Genchi and others; I wished to have them read this as well. As you know, mainland Shintō had been dominated for a generation by the doctrines of the Hirata school, which did not tolerate opposing theories—yet in its original form, it resembled Okinawan customs not merely in one or two aspects. Over the past half-month, I collected old anthropology journals to further examine the religious life of the Southern Islands, and after doing so, I discovered increasingly astonishing commonalities… Considering that Southern Islands researchers could discern the prototypes of ancient religions due to the scarcity of such great monks and eminent scholars there, I found this enviable; conversely, I attributed this to the absence of great scholars like Motoori and Hirata [in Okinawa].

There were indeed such instances, and that was precisely the case.
Okinawa’s folk religion had been entrusted to women and girls who knew neither Confucianism nor Buddhism, which paradoxically proved advantageous for preserving its original form (it remains noteworthy that Okinawan women traditionally did not engage in scholarly pursuits).
Mr. Yanagita had further requested of me: to study Yuta as thoroughly as possible before their extinction.
This fundamentally became the motive that led me to commence my historical study of Yuta.

Now, having deemed it necessary for understanding Yuta, I had discussed the unity of religion and politics in considerable detail; from here, I intended to finally enter into the main discussion and observe the position of Yuta in Ryukyuan history.

As is well known, while all religions contain mystical elements, Okinawa’s ethnic religion too contained such mystical elements—or, to phrase it critically, superstition.
From shrine attendants of minor clans to those of major clans, all were anciently believed to possess mystical powers and proclaim divine oracles; however, since there existed shrine attendants in name only who lacked such powers, others emerged among the populace to proclaim oracles in their stead, ultimately making this their profession.
This came to be called Toki or Yuta (and later included those who made this their profession as shrine attendants).
Their duties involved proclaiming divine oracles (termed *Misuzuri* or *Miseseru* in Old Ryukyuan) but later came to encompass summoning spirits of the living and dead—a practice where they invoked deceased souls to speak through their own mouths, known as *Kakaimon* in modern Okinawan.
This act of causing a deity’s spirit or spirits of the living and dead to possess one’s body and speak was referred to as *Ujashun*.
Considering this perspective, there might exist a semantic relationship between the term "Yuta" and "Yunta" (to speak).
Moreover, they engaged in divining auspicious times and personal fortunes, earning them the epithet of know-it-alls.
The term *Yuta* somewhat corresponds to the Japanese *miko* or *onna-kannagi*, making it appropriate to apply the Chinese character 巫 (*shamaness*).
The term "Yuta" appears nowhere in old texts like the *Omoro Sōshi* or *Nyokan O-sōshi*; however, the *Konkōken-shū* states: "Timekeepers, fortune-tellers, shrine maiden types—alongside day-readers and ritual responses—all appear in the divine song booklets."
In contemporary Okinawan, divination is called *Tokiurakata* or *Tokihanji*, with this *toki* denoting male *kannagi*—that is, male shamans.
This term persists in rural areas of the prefecture.
I once heard an elderly man skilled in *uranahi* described as a Komadoki.
Yet today in Shuri and Naha, one hears only the compound term Toki Yuta (巫覡), with *Toki* itself nearly becoming obsolete.
The designations "Tokitori-ya" (time-takers) or "Eka-toriya" (day-takers) for shamans suggest origins in temporal divination; yet considering the Japanese term *yume-toki* (dream interpretation), one might also trace it to the noun form *toki* (解き) from the verb "to untie."
In any case, people today having forgotten *Toki* and calling male shamans *Ikegayuta* ("male Yuta") likely stems from Toki's decline as Yuta increased in modern times.
Judging solely from historical records, Toki's influence appears to have surpassed Yuta's in antiquity.
In Volume 8, Chapter 2 of the *Omoro Sōshi*, there exists such a passage.

*Omono neyagarigiya*

*Toki to taru masashiya*

おふれ よそわてちよわれ

*Serumu neyagarigiya*

*Kiyanouchinukimaru ga*

*Toki to taru masashiya*

*Gusuku ni Gusuku, Toki to taru*

*Odon ni Odo, Toki to taru*

Omono Neyagari was a person of the King Shō Shin era and was someone who had mastered the art of divining the auspiciousness and inauspiciousness of days.
This person—also called Kiyanouchinukimaru (referring to the royal capital)—is said to have been one who divined the days for constructing two castles and determined the times for building two royal castles.
Furthermore, in the same Volume 8, Chapter 13:

Oh poets of the Omoro,

*Suwe no Kuchimasashiya*

There were such instances, but this meant: “Oh poets of the Omoro, your prophecies hit true.”
Judging from these two examples, poets and prophets appeared to have been one and the same at that time.
The *Konkōken-shū* contained the passage: “Kiyanouchinukimaru was a master time-taker; Mokudayo no Kane was also a master time-taker.” Here, Mokudayo no Kane referred to the renowned Mukuta Ōtoki, while Kiyanouchinukimaru—commonly called Chanuchi, whose grave lies near Urasoe—was his top disciple.
I would elaborate on their relationship later.
In any case, even examining this Omoro made clear that these shamans had entered and exited the royal court during that period.
Moreover, examining Haneji Chōshū’s *Shioki* revealed that before Haneji Chōshū’s time, a shaman called Toki no Ōyako had handled governmental duties.
The era when politicians governed by consulting divine oracles was unmistakably shamans’ golden age.

When examining accounts from the *Ōdaiki* (Chronicles of Kings) or oral traditions regarding the circumstances of King Shō En—Iheiō, founding ancestor of the current Shō dynasty—ascending the throne, I found that after a revolution erupted in Okinawa and Shō Hashi’s dynasty fell, a grand assembly for electing a new king had been promptly convened within Shuri Castle’s capital precincts. From amidst the crowd, an elderly white-haired man named Asato no Hiya raised his voice and—

*Tiger’s child is tiger, dog’s pup is dog; those who feed us are our lords, the Uchima Onkusari are our lords.*

When he chanted in this manner, the entire crowd joined in harmony, and thus there elected a monarch for the realm stood chosen.
This was what became known as *seiyō* (world chants). In ancient Ryukyu, whenever what was called a *yogae* (revolution) occurred, the king’s election had generally followed this format.
The term *seiyō* meant “chanting of great national events”—a practice where social pioneers combining prophet and poet would receive divine commands and convey them to the people through verse.
In modern parlance, these figures discerned and articulated society’s open secret—a social mood drifting like clouds or smoke—at times when the populace remained unaware or could not fully voice it themselves.
More succinctly: they embodied the zeitgeist.
Upon examining Carlyle’s *On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History*, I noted that certain ancient European languages treated “poet” and “prophet” as synonyms—reserving *vates* for those uniting both roles—and surmised that Omono Neyagari and Kiyanouchinukimaru belonged to this vates tradition melding poetry with prophecy.
I concluded that Asato no Hiya too had been such a figure—an awakener crystallizing his era’s spirit.
To phrase it less charitably: he bore shamanic traits.
This *seiyō*-based electoral method now strikes us as nearly inconceivably strange, yet it had been common among all peoples during humanity’s pre-enlightenment epochs.
Ancient Ryukyu lived through revolutions—an age of heroes when vast disparities in character, talent, skill, ability, and physical strength compelled multitudes to prostrate themselves before singular mighty figures, obeying without demur (though comparing this with later majority-vote systems makes fascinating study—a topic I shall revisit another time).
Next—as intriguing details about royal accessions appear in the *Iro Setsuden*—I resolved to quote them.

In ancient rites, when the Holy Sovereign ascended the throne, they would invariably select an auspicious dawn: summoning officials to the palace precincts; assembling all men and women of the realm at Heikōsho (public assembly grounds); having shamans and priestesses perform incantations to burn Uromu ash; then mixing it with water for all to drink. From the medieval period onward, once a king had assumed the throne, they would select an auspicious day to summon solely officials to Gokoku-ji Temple—compelling them to drink water infused with sacred texts from spirit shrines—while dispatching envoys to various districts and islands to administer this divine water to commoners, thereby binding them eternally to lord-vassal loyalty without permitting disloyalty.

Once there existed world chants (*seiyō*), and when a king ascended the throne, they would select an auspicious day to gather officials within the palace precincts; then assemble all men and women of the realm at Heikōsho—a facility combining police, court, and prison functions—where Toki (male shamans) and Yuta (shamanesses) would perform incantations to burn ash, dissolve it in water, and administer the mixture in a ritual (from the medieval period onward—that is, after King Shō Shin—they began convening only officials at Gokoku-ji Temple to conduct such oath ceremonies). Furthermore, they dispatched separate officials to rural areas and remote islands to have them drink it, and conducted oath ceremonies to ensure they would eternally uphold the duty between lord and vassal without duplicity). Even from this, one can see that the Toki Yuta group held significant influence at the time. Once they came to serve even governmental duties in this manner, their influence among the populace would have grown even greater. There exists an oral tradition stating that during King Shō Shin’s reign—or perhaps around that time—the politicians of the day, alarmed by the Toki Yuta’s rampant influence, attempted to suppress them but failed, thereby allowing their influence to grow even more rampant. In *Tōtei Zuihitsu*, Volume 2, Chapter 9, there is such a passage.

The royal tomb of the king was called Tamaudun.
In written records, it is written as Tamaudun.
It is located by the roadside at Ayamon Gate.
The central tomb among the three aligned tombs was where the deceased was reverently interred upon their initial demise.
The Eastern Tomb was where, following the bone-washing ritual, the royal couple's remains were enshrined within a single ossuary.
The Western Tomb was where the royal offspring were interred.
Within the central tomb lay a stone ossuary.
There was no inscription, leaving the remains' identity unknown.
Tradition holds this to be the skull of Mukuta Ōtoki.
In an unspecified king's reign of antiquity, shamanism flourished widely, but practitioners who used sorcery to beguile people faced strict prohibition.
When Mukuta Ōtoki emerged as their leader, the authorities sought to test his arts. They placed a mouse in a box, summoned Mukuta, and ordered him to divine its contents.
Mukuta proclaimed there were three.
The king, deeming this false, had him executed.
Upon opening the box, they found the mouse had indeed borne three offspring.
It is said the remorseful king then ordered Mukuta's interment at Tamaudun Mausoleum.

(It is said that when Lord Shō Tai passed away, the Chibana Ward Chief also saw this mysterious ossuary.) According to oral tradition, Mukuta Ōtoki—referred to in the *Konkōken-shū* as “Mokudayo no Kane, also a master time-taker”—had two top disciples: Kiyanouchinukimaru (previously mentioned as Kiyanouchinukimaru) and a man named Tōhō Kanī. When these two men, who possessed such supernatural powers, caused an uproar by declaring, “If they kill people, it will be disastrous,” the government panicked and ultimately interred Mukuta Ōtoki at Tamaudun Mausoleum. Now, it is said that through this founder’s sacrifice, the Toki Yuta grew ever more prosperous. And to this day, the yuta of Okinawa have regarded Mukuta Ōtoki as their founder. In any case, it is not uncommon throughout history and across the world for a certain doctrine or movement to begin major activities following the execution of its advocate. This is precisely the point to which statesmen must pay close attention.

I will now observe Okinawa of that era through records from outside Okinawa.
Arai Hakuseki's *Nantōshi* contains considerable detail on Okinawan religion in its customs section, with this annotation:

According to the *Records of the Ryukyu Mission* and *Min Shu*: "The people believed in ghosts and feared deities; the deities used women who had not remarried as their vessels.
When they descended, they frequently manifested supernatural phenomena, instilling awe in the populace.
The king, crown prince, and retainers all kowtowed in worship.
Whenever people plotted evil, the gods would inform the king.
The king would apprehend them to protect this land.
Thus did the king revere them and the people fear them."
The shamanesses—female leaders with followers—numbered three to five hundred.
Each wore grass-woven headdresses and tree branches; some rode horses while others walked. They entered the royal palace for rituals—one chanting as hundreds responded with eerie cries—appearing and vanishing without trace.
Daisō's records largely concur yet offer greater detail.
Their divine wonders and spectral phenomena defied enumeration.
In 1654, an envoy reported: "Our nation's former customs appear in Daisō's records. Over this past century, folkways have transformed greatly—matters of divine marvels have now ceased."

The sight of over three hundred *norokumoi*—revered from the king down to the common people—riding horses and chanting Omoro, their heads crowned with eight coils woven from *kinomaki* grass (namely, *samisenzuru*), appeared vividly before us.
I had originally intended to discuss this matter under the section on the Unity of Religion and Politics, but having momentarily forgotten, I shall address it here.
The book titled *Shi Ryūkyū-roku* (Records of the Ryukyu Mission), written by Chen Kan—an investiture envoy dispatched to Ryukyu during the reign of King Shō Sei (son of King Shō Shin) in Jiajing 7 of the Ming dynasty (386 years ago)—depicted the state of Okinawa’s ethnic religion at its zenith with such remarkable detail.
Furthermore, it was said that Japanese monk Taichū, who visited Ryukyu around the time of the Keichō-era Ryukyu Invasion, had written nearly identical accounts in his *Ryūkyū Shintō-ki*; yet by the time a hundred years had passed since that period, Ryukyu’s customs and practices had undergone significant transformation, with nearly all such superstitions from earlier times vanishing.
As the ethnic religion declined, so too did shamanic practices—it was likely.

I consider there to be two root causes behind the decline of Okinawa's ethnic religion.
The first was the Shimazu clan's invasion of Ryukyu, and the second was the flourishing of Confucianism.
As I have previously stated, this religion served as an indispensable instrument for unifying the Thirty-Six Islands in antiquity.
However, when numerous clans coalesced into a single ethnic group and became conscious of sharing common deities and bloodlines, its mission had already been largely accomplished.
Moreover, after being conquered by the Shimazu clan, while the Shō family lost political autonomy, their royal throne became even more securely positioned—thereby increasingly diminishing the need for an ethnic religion.
Traditionally in Okinawa, only boys received education while girls did not; thus even as Confucianism prospered, men became enlightened through it while women remained wholly untouched.
Consequently, men gradually emancipated themselves from superstition whereas women failed to break free from it at all.
Thus men came to treat the ethnic religion as commemorative events while women persistently upheld it as religious practice.
At this juncture, statesmen sought to expel it from politics, thereby initiating the separation of religion and governance.
This had indeed been a grave issue troubling successive generations of politicians until its decisive implementation when the renowned Prince Haneji Chōshū assumed office as national minister.

In the *Nyokan Gosōshi* (Manual for Court Ladies),

"The Kikoe-ōgimi—this high priestess stood supreme among the Thirty-Three Priestesses. In ancient times, she occupied the highest rank attainable by women, but in the sixth year of the Qing Kangxi era (Dingwei, 1667), her status was revised to follow immediately after that of the queen consort."

Even from what is written here, one could discern the state of decline that had befallen the ethnic religion. Haneji Chōshū dealt a major blow to shamanic practices—an appendage of that religion—in that same year. This becomes evident in his *Administrative Code*:

"For some time there had been appointments from among the commoners of those called Toki no Ōyako—individuals ignorant of even a single character—to select auspicious days and manage affairs. Yet henceforth it was decreed that Chinese and Japanese calendars would be employed."

Even from what is written here, this becomes evident.
This indeed occurred two hundred and forty-seven years ago.
As I have previously stated, the shamans called Toki no Ōyako not only wielded influence among the common people but also performed official government duties; thus, they occupied such a pivotal position in society at that time that they even became material for dramatic literature.
Though this may seem superfluous, thinking it might aid in envisioning the Toki no Ōyako of olden times, I shall proceed to introduce the kumi-odori play titled "The Scroll of Filial Piety."
As I believe this could serve as a useful reference, I will present the original text verbatim for your examination.
First, the Leader enters and,

Let those who would come forth—those among Our Lord Iso’s people known as ritual overseers—hear this truth! In Muruchi’s pond dwells a great serpent: winds never cease, rains never cease, storehouses crumble under gales, crops wither root and leaf. Neither Shuri’s tribute nor Naha’s can be gathered; our people perish amidst desperate prayers and offerings. Yet if we pray with unified resolve—if we offer fourteen- or fifteen-year-old children as the serpent’s tribute—then let there be feasts! Let there be festivals! Let us boast of abundant harvests and auspicious omens! Should one with resolve offer their life for Our Lord Kanashi and the people’s sake—though parents weep and kin lament—we shall inscribe this decree on placards, erect them along roadsides, place them at every crossroad. Let all mindful souls worship with focused hearts! Let these placards stand tall!

Having said this, they posted the notices.
Then, a certain filial daughter, upon seeing them, disregarded her elderly mother’s pleas and volunteered to become this sacrifice to save her household from hardship.
Thereupon, they set up an altar by Muruchi’s edge and reached the stage of finally conducting the human sacrifice.
Toki no Ōyako brought this pitiable filial daughter forth,

"Come now, child—the ritual hour is upon us, the auspicious moment has arrived! Make haste and ascend to the sacred altar."

Having said that, he seated the filial daughter upon the altar, and then—

"On this auspicious day, on this supreme day—our ordained hour, our knowing rite—let there be offerings! Let there be rituals! Take pride in obtaining this child, take pride in seizing this child! Chant praises, proclaim boasts! Let not the winds work their mischief, let not the rains perform their deeds! Ah, sacred, sacred!"

When they chanted this, the serpent emerged spewing fire from its mouth, and at the very moment it sought to claim the sacrifice—a deity descended from heaven to rescue the filial daughter. Witnessing this miracle, the Leader was startled and—

Ah, the Heavenly Way is near—the gods do exist, truly, truly!

When he shouted, the Toki no Ōyako exclaimed:

"Ah, the Heavenly Way is near—such moments do exist!"

Thus, the scene was structured to show them indulging in self-congratulation.
I trust this has given you an even clearer understanding of shamans' nature.

Through Mr. Shinkō Makoto's guidance, I learned that *Chūzan Ōfu Kansē* contains the official title "Head of Shamans"—the Chinese name for Toki no Ōyako.
This makes evident that Toki no Ōyako served as leader of the Toki Yuta and held public office.
Haneji Chōshū's political expulsion of Toki no Ōyako marked society's first step toward banishing Toki Yuta; over the subsequent seven or eight years, he devoted his full energy to eradicating superstition.
Upon reading *Shioki*, I found the following notable details emerge.

Regarding this spring’s ritual matters at Kudaka and Chinen, as the provincial governor was to attend, I hereby submit my humble opinion to the extent of my understanding.

While Kudaka Island measures but a single ri [approximately four kilometers], having no harbors on any of its shores—and particularly during the second month’s season of northeasterly winds—the perilous undertaking of crossing the sea for official duties must be gravely noted.

Though I have received reports detailing the Kudaka rituals, they lack any basis in the regulations established by sages. Should the people of a great nation learn of this—the participation of female shamans—it would instead invite ridicule, as I perceive.

If these biannual rituals conducted over consecutive years were to become annual obligations, then—to say nothing of the exhaustion inflicted upon the peasants of the four eastern magiri—the fatigue suffered by those of Shimajiri’s eight magiri (Urasoe, Nakagusuku, Yomitan, etc.), Gusukuyama’s eight magiri, and beyond would be immeasurable. Moreover, state provisions would be excessively depleted. As a ruler who values frugality and compassion for the people, Your Lordship ought to prioritize alleviating this strain upon sovereign and subjects alike; yet to cling solely to old precedents in this matter is no benevolent rule. The Chinen-Kudaka rituals have not existed since the dawn of creation—they are recent fabrications of the people. Having deliberated separately on such matters, I find this resolution most auspicious.

If the aforementioned ritual regulations were to be upheld, it would be prudent to conduct them at most once per generation or delegate them to envoys. Should this prove unfeasible, reverential observance might suitably be transferred to Ōmi of Chinen-Kudaka’s divine fortress—a matter no different in essence from how Buddhist deities had been respectfully invited from great nations and venerated in our realm. Humbly, it must be noted that the people of this land undeniably traced their origins to Japan. Thus, even in this latter age, all names—from heaven and earth to mountains and rivers, the Five Elements and Five Relationships, down to birds, beasts, and plants—had been mastered. Yet discrepancies in language persisted solely due to our remote isolation and prolonged lack of interchange. Since even the five grains arrived here alongside humanity from Japan, it was humbly considered that performing these rituals in any location would yield the same outcome.

First: The construction of seven or eight thatch-roofed stands within Chinen Castle's cramped confines—a space measuring less than thirty *ken*—and having participants remain there for four or five days was deemed an insufficient precaution. Should a fire break out, we gravely noted that the women would have no means of escape.

Having thoroughly deliberated upon these matters, I found no rational basis for their continuation. Though I earnestly wished to persist in opposing them, due to the multitude of obstacles, I deferred entirely to Your Majesty's wise judgment. Thus, disregarding my own limited wisdom, I submitted this conclusion.

This occurred in March 1673 (the first year of Enpō in our calendar, the twelfth year of Kangxi in Qing China), seven or eight years after abolishing Toki no Ōyako.
Twenty-three years prior, Haneji Chōshū had written in the *Chūzan Seikan* about the five grains' deities: since Kudaka, Chinen, and Tamagusuku were where the five grains first originated, royal pilgrimages to Kudaka occurred in February and to Chinen-Tamagusuku in April, with the text stating, "This grand ritual of repaying origins demands utmost reverence—the Five Dynasties' divine vow stems from these matters." How then did he come to make such contradictory statements?
As I previously mentioned, men had reduced ancestor worship to commemorative events while women persistently upheld it as religious practice—a divergence spawning superstitions that hindered governance and became an increasing concern.
Yet even Haneji Chōshū's administrative prowess could not break this centuries-old superstition.
Thus in November of that year, he uttered this lament:

I have thoroughly examined matters requiring reform in the nation’s administration and submitted my proposals to the provincial governor. As customs surrounding female shamans had long been rampant, I established these measures to prevent deception by shamans. Though I now wished to implement further reforms, there were none in the entire nation who shared my resolve—a most lamentable state of affairs. Those who understood me were but one or two lords in the northern regions.

Haneji Chōshū was indeed an officious politician who had managed to resolve most matters, but it appeared he had met considerable resistance within the royal court.
In any case, one must not overlook that the women’s influence which vexed this elderly statesman constituted a force to be reckoned with.
According to *Chūzan Seikan*, during the zenith of our ethnic religion, the king himself had made royal pilgrimages to Kudaka, Chinen, and Tamagusuku; however, *Shioki* records that by Haneji Chōshū’s era, these pilgrimages came to be conducted by the Sanshikan as the king’s proxy.
Though it remains unclear when exactly this shift occurred, by the modern era it had become customary for the Shimakuridō (Shikibu-kan) to attend as the king’s proxy.
The history of our ethnic religion’s decline manifests itself precisely through such transformations.

As I wrote in *Koryūkyū*, Okinawans' ancestors first arrived at Kudaka Island, then landed at Chinen and settled near Tamagusuku—which explains why this area, commonly called the eastern region in vernacular terms, had been Okinawa's sacred ground since antiquity.
Thus in ancient times, the king's pilgrimage to this sacred site carried profound political significance.
An event of comparable importance was Kikoe-ōgimi's first territorial pilgrimage (colloquially known as Oarai-saguri).
This referred to how Kikoe-ōgimi, shortly after her appointment, made her inaugural journey to her domain of Chinen to worship at the sacred site of Sefa Utaki—a ceremony once deemed equivalent in stature to the king's investiture rituals.

Now, 217 years ago—that is, in the 56th year of the Kangxi era of the Qing dynasty—an unexpected major conflict arose between politicians and Kikoe-ōgimi’s court regarding the execution of this first pilgrimage.
This is how it began.
At Kikoe-ōgimi’s palace, around this time, they had consulted the Toki Yuta for divination.
However, this time, as it was Kikoe-ōgimi’s unlucky year and there was a divine curse from the southeast direction, negotiations began with the Regent and Sanshikan, insisting that the First Pilgrimage must be conducted within the year to avoid calamity.
Thereupon, the government requested that the ladies reconsider, proposing a postponement on the grounds that the investiture (crown ship) for King Shō Kei in the year after next would strain finances. However, the ladies countered with their own rationale: if the investiture were indeed to occur then, it would be all the more imperative to conduct [the pilgrimage] within the current year for the sake of its divine supplications.
Thereupon, the politicians found themselves greatly overwhelmed; arguing that deities do not deign to receive festivals that torment the people, they firmly insisted it must be conducted after the investiture was completed.

The resolution of this dispute was documented by the renowned scholar Ishizaki and remains preserved to this day.
I shall now present the full text without reservation.

In recent days, matters requiring divinatory lots and oracular consultations had been ordered;

It was reported that Kikoe-ōgimi’s inauspicious year had incurred a divine curse from the southeast direction.
Given this circumstance—as the diviners advised that conducting the First Pilgrimage within the current year would be most fitting—the decree was issued to proceed with its execution. However, due to preparations for the crown ship requiring commoners to provide offerings precisely when their labor was most critical, a postponement was formally requested. Yet should the aforementioned rituals be completed without delay, this would also suitably serve the investiture envoy’s petition; thus, repeated directives were issued to perform the First Pilgrimage within the present year.
Though we remain uncertain of the proper channel for obtaining approval—and which course of action might prove most prudent—it has been commanded that thorough deliberations be conducted; accordingly, we hereby submit our consultative findings as follows.

Regarding the First Pilgrimage ceremony: Were it a routine matter, it would indeed be most fitting to conduct it during this season. However, in accordance with Your Lordship’s prudent considerations, preparations for the crown ship have required repeated orders for offerings from samurai and commoners alike. Moreover, during the imperial envoy’s stay, they were instructed to provide diverse vegetables and fish. As this has extended over seven or eight months—during which households have been separated from agricultural work—the commoners, having no stored provisions from prior years, now find themselves in dire straits. Should this timing persist, even minimally depleting the commoners’ resources and delaying farming would critically hinder crown ship preparations. Though the investiture envoy’s arrival is petitioned for the year after next, as the possibility of an unforeseen crossing next year remains unknown, all matters are being addressed accordingly. Given the pressing circumstances, we humbly submit that the commoners’ hardships warrant earnest appeals for postponement on multiple grounds.

First: Regarding the First Pilgrimage ceremony,

Concerning Kikoe-ōgimi, there exist no established regulations for designating ritual matters; therefore, even if all First Pilgrimages were uniformly conducted as such, we do not consider it appropriate to utilize this as justification for petitioning the investiture envoy.

Even were rituals formally designated, adjustments in timing—whether delays or accelerations—find precedent in any nation. Under ordinary circumstances, they would be conducted without impediment as matters of protocol. However, given the current severity of commoners’ hardships, we humbly submit that proceeding before the deities would contravene divine will rather than satisfy it.

First: Even were the First Pilgrimage ordered within this year and preparations gradually made with shrines established, the commoners would endure such hardship and distress that—though recognizing this as official duty—to enforce compliance without exception would, we reverently fear, contradict the very intent of Your Lordship’s divine supplications.

Even if omitting the First Pilgrimage this year—despite divinations warning of shared divine retribution—the present circumstances render such timing unsuitable. Therefore, prioritizing first the investiture envoy’s petition and second the commoners’ welfare, we order its postponement. As this accords with what both Buddhist and Shinto deities would accept, we humbly propose conducting the First Pilgrimage after the envoy’s return, once conditions permit reassessment.

Having thus presented these matters for Your Lordship’s wise consideration—though exceeding my station to elaborate further—I earnestly submit that in striving to ensure harmonious governance across all affairs, I have balanced merits and demerits exhaustively, leaving no depth of sincerity unexpressed.

Nevertheless, we humbly await Your Lordship’s imperial judgment on these matters.

This should make clear the nature of the conflict between politics and religion (I intend to discuss the First Pilgrimage in detail on another occasion). Around this time, Sai On—already distinguished as National Teacher—had gradually risen to prominence, but in the year following King Shō Kei’s investiture, his political genius was recognized through appointment to the Sanshikan. This era marked a harmonious blending of Japanese and Chinese cultures in Okinawa, producing scholars like Tei Junsoku among many others. Yet even during this golden age, the Toki Yuta evidently persisted in the shadows, as seen in Sai On’s *Kyōjō* (Precepts):

Concerning the Toki Yuta: They presume [their authority] under the pretext of their own posterity, fabricate various falsehoods, and deceive others; therefore, we have strictly prohibited [these acts]. Those who engage in such conduct shall all be deemed hindrances to society; thus, all people, high and low, must understand this accordingly.

Such was the case.
And half a century later, the Toki Yuta once again proliferated.
King Shō Kei was succeeded by his son King Shō Boku, who passed away in 1794 CE (the sixth year of Kansei in our calendar, the fifty-ninth year of Qianlong in Qing China). The following year, his royal grandson Shō On ascended the throne (Shō Boku’s crown prince, Shō Tetsu, had died six years before his father).
At this time, as Shō On’s mother placed faith in the Toki Yuta, numerous deities came to be enshrined within Shuri Castle, and it is said that the Toki Yuta also flourished greatly among the populace.
According to oral traditions, even something as strange as divine weddings began to spread during this period.
Thereupon, it is said that Prince Urasoe Shō Zu—uncle to Shō On—no sooner became regent in the year following the king’s accession than he destroyed countless altars within Shuri Castle and punished many Toki Yuta.
On April 25, 1795 (the seventh year of Kansei Utsubo, corresponding to the sixtieth year of Qianlong in Qing China), such a decree was issued from the Hyōjōsho.

Concerning the Toki Yuta: Although strict prohibitions had long been issued and communicated, enforcement had rapidly grown lax. Recently, it was reported that even those newly appointed to positions were being deceived by shamans—conducting elaborate rituals under the guise of divine faith or venturing into rural areas to increasingly indulge in ceremonial practices. While pilgrimages to established shrines and sacred peaks remained permissible, to be deluded by baseless falsehoods and profess devotion to “shrines” or suchlike constituted a grave hindrance to the state and was therefore to be decisively halted. Accordingly, inspectors were ordered to observe and report violations. Should any defy this decree—whether Toki Yuta themselves or those who employed them, regardless of status—they would be investigated and subjected to severe penalties. This directive was to be disseminated throughout all jurisdictions without exception.

April 25 Hyōjōsho (Council of State)

Office of Royal Provisions Report

This truly seemed to align with oral traditions.
Even in the early Meiji era, shamanism temporarily flourished when the then Kikoe-ōgimi indulged in yuta practices; however, Regent Yonagusuku Prince—having studied Prince Urasoe’s methods—conducted a yuta suppression campaign.
At this time, four yuta ringleaders were arrested: Oroku’s Kumpataguā yuta, Kakihanagura-front yuta, Tō no Pāā, and Maedōkō yuta. They were fitted with *chā* (shackles?) around their necks and paraded for three days through Shuri’s three markets as public spectacles.
In any case, these yuta remained the foremost adversaries for Okinawan politicians from Haneji Chōshū onward.
Here we must note that as human knowledge advanced, yuta—who had until then operated individually—began forming associations around the early Meiji era.
Particularly after Tenrikyo’s introduction, imitative sects like Omochi-kyō (a shamanic faction centered on Omofuzen) emerged.
In Okinawa, where such shamanism had held sway over all social strata since antiquity, Buddhism’s failure to thrive came as no surprise.
Thus Okinawan Buddhism inevitably became assimilated into shamanic practices.

Having now outlined the historical position of the Toki Yuta and the religious life of Okinawan women, I trust you have come to understand how they could not live without faith throughout all ages.
As I stated at the outset, more than half of Okinawa’s five hundred thousand people were women.
Furthermore, aside from a portion of men in Shuri and Naha, the majority of other Okinawan men shared nearly the same psychological state as women.
Thus, the overwhelming majority of Okinawa’s people remained entirely captive to this superstition.
As for what manner of psychological state humans nurtured in such an atmosphere had developed, I believe educators had long since conducted their research on this matter.
As one example of this, I would like to present an article quoted from the *Tōtei Essays*.

By order of the government, our country was made to cease tributary missions to China.
The envoy sent to convey this refusal, Sanshikan Ikeshi Oyakata, petitioned three or four times while in Tokyo, but the government did not heed him.
The king declared, “Human efforts have already been exhausted; henceforth we must rely on divine power.” With this resolve, he fervently venerated deities and spirits.
At that time, he had dozens of old chronicles preserved in the Genealogical Archives Office summoned and ordered their transcription.
This book documented the origins and factual accounts of the nation’s venerable shrines.
I humbly received the royal command and transcribed the documents in a separate room.
With no one else present, the king declared to me, “This is a fine book indeed, Kishaba!”
I answered with only a “Yes.”
Having composed myself, I humbly addressed His Majesty: “The rise and fall of a nation lies in the sovereign and subjects uniting their hearts to diligently administer governance; it has nothing to do with spirits or deities.”
The king declared, “What insight leads you to speak thus? I would hear your argument.”
I replied, “There is ancient evidence for this. Long ago, during the Spring and Autumn period, the monarch and subjects of Guo State revered spirits and deities most devoutly; not a single affair of state was decided without consulting them. The spirits, through this, increased their majesty and manifested miraculous responses, even speaking and replying like humans. When the Zhou emperor heard of this, deeming it strange, he dispatched an envoy to observe. Upon the envoy’s arrival in Guo, its monarch and subjects joyfully welcomed him and led him to witness the spirits. They reported all state affairs to the spirits, who indeed responded in human speech. The envoy returned and reported truthfully, adding: ‘Guo State shall surely perish! Governance lies in ruler and subjects uniting their hearts and exerting their strength, yet Guo’s rulers and officials grow negligent, entrusting everything to spirits—how could they avoid destruction?’ And later, it indeed perished.”
The king remained silent and uttered not a word.
However, His Majesty’s veneration of deities and spirits remained unchanged from times of old.

According to Old Man Kishaba’s account, at that time, the king was so deeply engrossed in rituals that he frequently enshrined deities and spirits throughout the land at a place called Shurimori within the castle grounds. King Shō Tai was a ruler who ought to be counted among the wise monarchs of the Ryukyu Kingdom—yet even this sage-king behaved thus. The existence of religion in the world remains an undeniable fact. There should be no such thing as a people without religion. Religion proves necessary for unifying human life. Yet many in this world refuse to acknowledge religion’s necessity. While none deny the need for economy, politics, or academics, those recognizing religion’s indispensability appear vanishingly few. These critics proclaim religion useful for guiding fools and convenient for instructing women and children—but superfluous for the wise. Nevertheless, all humanity harbors in their hearts’ depths a longing for gods and buddhas. Some merely endure without expressing this fervent yearning. The superstitions of Okinawan women laid bare by Naha’s recent conflagration ultimately attest to religion’s enduring presence in humankind. We must not treat this “raison d’être” lightly. Consider childless women who dote on dolls: metaphorically speaking, love for a child constitutes faith while love for a doll amounts to superstition. To simply cry “Discard the dolls! Abandon superstition!” constitutes cruelty. We must instead provide children and faith to replace dolls and superstition.

I believe that advocating scientific thought is the most urgent task in dispelling superstition, but at the same time, I consider spreading religious thought to be equally imperative.
It is precisely this juncture that I particularly wish educators charged with women's education to investigate exhaustively.
Educating descendants of those Ryukyu women who once rode horseback into action and enabling them to undertake modern activities constitutes, I believe, the most gratifying enterprise.
The Okinawan women who vexed Haneji Chōshū and Sai On in former times may someday take up women's issues and launch campaigns that leave bearded men pallid.
As Okinawan girls' education bears profound significance for Okinawa's development, I earnestly desire unceasing and substantial attention to be devoted to this sphere.

I have digressed somewhat, but having only discussed the historical position of yuta without touching upon their psychological study, I shall leave this matter to be studied by specialists in due course, and now wish to introduce similar phenomena found in Western nations.

In Western nations in recent years, new research into spiritual phenomena—such as mind reading, clairvoyance or thousand-mile vision, spiritism, and ghost studies—which had previously been dismissed as delusions under materialistic frameworks or cast aside and neglected, gradually flourished, with not only the general populace but also scientists and philosophers coming to devote their efforts to research in this field.
For example, figures such as ethnopsychologist Le Bon, Italy’s renowned late forensic scientist Lombroso, France’s astronomer Flammarion, and Britain’s physicist Lodge and chemist Crookes—even these great natural scientists had come to focus on spiritualism.
Let alone psychologists and philosophers who aimed to study such problems—this was all the more true.
While the phenomenon of psychical research had not yet gained general acceptance, the very fact that it flourished indicated where the inclinations of the people’s hearts were directed.
Furthermore, another fact resembling this phenomenon was the approach of science toward religion and philosophy.
On one hand, religious thought and philosophy had become scientific in their research attitudes, methodologies, and even starting points; on the other hand, there were many natural scientists who increasingly ventured into philosophical research.
Even a French mathematician like Poincaré had approached metaphysics while standing on the foundation of natural science.
Moreover, even someone like France’s Bergson—a man who first studied mathematics and then pursued pathology—was led by his philosophical inclinations and the currents of new thought to immerse himself in questions of life philosophy and worldview, ultimately arriving at idealism.
There were not a few great scholars who emerged from science and entered philosophy or religion.
Even science required ultimate assumptions—that is, upon realizing that it was founded on conjectures such as matter and energy—this realization compelled one to acknowledge the necessity of seeking mind-matter dualism’s foundation either in something metaphysical or in cognition’s basis for explaining spiritual and material phenomena’s ultimate nature, naturally leading to positing a transcendent entity—namely God or some analogous being—as matter and mind’s primal creator.
All of these were a new awakening of the spirit that had arisen as a reaction against materialistic supremacy.
This awakening of the spirit was Western intellectual circles’ recent demand.
The above was the general outline of what Mr. Higuchi Ryūkyō expounded in “The Dawn of New Thought” from his recent work *The Anatomy of Modern Thought*.
I believe that recently in this prefecture as well, this spiritual awakening has begun.
I particularly feel this way after Naha’s great fire.
This is truly a phenomenon that educators and religious figures must not overlook.

In conclusion, I express my gratitude to you for having patiently endured and kindly listened to this incoherent and strange speech for such a long time.