Women in Japanese Religions

Women in Japanese Religions

WOMEN IN RELIGIONS

Series Editor: Catherine Wessinger

Women in Christian Traditions

Rebecca Moore

Women in New Religions

Laura Vance

Women in Japanese Religions

Barbara R. Ambros

Women in Japanese Religions

Barbara R. Ambros

NEW YORK UNIVERSITY PRESS

New York and London

NEW YORK UNIVERSITY PRESS

New York and London

www.nyupress.org

© 2015 by New York University

All rights reserved

References to Internet websites (URLs) were accurate at the time of writing. Neither the author nor New York University Press is responsible for URLs that may have expired or changed since the manuscript was prepared.

ISBN: 978-1-4798-2762-6 (hardback)

ISBN: 978-1-4798-8406-3 (paperback)

For Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication date, please contact the Library of Congress

New York University Press books are printed on acid-free paper, and their binding materials are chosen for strength and durability. We strive to use environmentally responsible suppliers and materials to the greatest extent possible in publishing our books.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Also available as an ebook

For my mother, the strongest woman I know

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction: Why Study Women in Japanese Religions?

1. The Prehistorical Japanese Archipelago: Fertility Cults and Shaman Queens

2. Ancient Japanese Mythology: Female Divinities and Immortals

3. The Introduction of Buddhism: Nuns, Lay Patrons, and Popular Devotion

4. The Heian Period: Women in Buddhism and Court Ritual

5. The Medieval Period: Buddhist Reform Movements and the Demonization of Femininity

6. The Edo Period: Confucianism, Nativism, and Popular Religion

7. Imperial Japan: Good Wives and Wise Mothers

8. The Postwar Period: Nostalgia, Religion, and the Reinvention of Femininity

9. The Lost Decades: Gender and Religion in Flux

Conclusion

Questions for Discussion

Notes

Works Cited

For Further Reading

Index

About the Author

Acknowledgments

It is impossible to acknowledge everyone who has supported me throughout this project. I have benefited greatly from their suggestions, and I hope that they will feel gratified by seeing this book in print. I am especially grateful to Cathy Wessinger and Helen Hardacre for urging me to take on this project. Cathy also provided much encouragement and many insightful comments as the manuscript progressed. Randall Styers, Laurie Maffly-Kipp, Sarah Shields, and several other colleagues at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill offered helpful suggestions on how to frame the project. I owe a special debt of gratitude to Mark McGuire, Rebecca Mendelson, Matt Mitchell, and two anonymous readers for commenting extensively on the manuscript. And I am particularly grateful to my students at UNC Chapel Hill who have explored this topic with me in the classroom. I would also like to convey my gratitude to Suzuki Kōtarō and Nogawa Yurie for their assistance in obtaining images from the Itsukushima Shrine.

As the project progressed, the North East Asia Council at the Association of Asian Studies, the Japan Foundation, the Triangle Center for Japanese Studies, and the McLester Fund in the Department of Religious Studies at UNC Chapel Hill provided essential financial support for several research trips to Japan. I would also like to thank the Institute for Religion and Culture of Nanzan University for hosting me during a trip in the summer of 2011, when conditions in the Kantō region were uncertain due to the March 11, 2011, triple disaster. The Burkhardt Fellowship of the American Council of Learned Societies and the National Humanities Center allowed me to complete this manuscript under optimal conditions. The University Research Council at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, the Triangle Center for Japanese Studies, and the Japan Foundation provided seminal funding for image permissions and other production costs associated with this book.

Finally, I would like to acknowledge my friends and family: Shibasaki Hiroyo for our enlightening conversations about Japanese women and religion; Ogasawara Ryūgen and his family for generously assisting me during research in Matsumoto; Nishino Kazue for hosting me in Kanazawa; and Shinoda Kazue and Kōji, who opened their home to me during my lengthy research stays in Tokyo, and especially to Kazue for exploring the beauty of the Kumano mountains with me. Most of all, I would like to thank my husband for being so supportive throughout this project.

Introduction

Why Study Women in Japanese Religions?

In 1911, Hiratsuka Raichō (1886–1971), one of Japan’s early feminists, wrote in the opening issue of the women’s journal Bluestocking, In the beginning, woman was the sun. An authentic person. Today she is the moon. Living through others. Reflecting the brilliance of others.¹ Hiratsuka seemed to be alluding to the female gender of the Japanese sun goddess, Amaterasu, who, according to Japanese mythology, ruled over the heavenly plain and established the imperial lineage. Hiratsuka was suggesting that during a primordial age women were once powerful and self-reliant but somehow lost their independence over the course of history. Years later she explained in her autobiography, To be sure, the sun and the moon symbolized the objective realities of women’s history—the breakdown of a matrilineal society and the rise of a patriarchal system; the tyranny of men and subjugation of women; the gradual decline of a woman’s status as a human being.² In 1948 she amended her statement after the promulgation of the new Japanese constitution, which gave women unprecedented equal rights, saying, Now, thirty-seven years later, I am overjoyed, and want to cry out: ‘Look! The day has come! Now is the time. A big, big sun is shining out from the hearts of Japanese women!’ ³

This book is intended as an important corrective to more common male-centered narratives of Japanese religious history. It presents a synthetic long view of Japanese religions from a distinct angle—women’s history—that has typically been discounted in standard survey accounts of Japanese religions. It also provides a framework for existing works on women in Japanese religions, which are usually microhistories and lack the comprehensive perspective that only the longue durée can provide. Despite its focus on women, this volume resists a narrative of mythical independence that is shattered by historical oppression and then, conversely, overturned by modern liberation. Such a narrative is seductive, but ultimately it essentializes the diverse experiences of women of different social backgrounds over the vast span of Japanese history. Instead, this book explores a diverse collection of writings by and about women to investigate the ways ambivalent religious discourses in Japan have not simply subordinated women but also given them religious resources to pursue their own interests and agendas.

Scholars have widely acknowledged women’s persistently ambivalent treatment within the Japanese religious traditions, including Shinto, Buddhism, Confucianism, Christianity, and new religious movements. In the case of premodern Japanese Buddhism, Bernard Faure, a scholar of religion, has eloquently surveyed and articulated this ambivalence.⁴ However, while Faure has rightfully cautioned scholars against idealizing the Buddhist tradition for its egalitarian potential and removing it from the social and historical realities of its Japanese context, his work falls in line with much existing scholarship—particularly Japanese scholarship influenced by Marxist paradigms—that depicts religion as a mere means of oppression, especially for women. This raises the question of how ambivalent and even overtly misogynistic religious discourses on gender have still come to inspire devotion and emulation among women.

As the anthropologist Saba Mahmood has argued, universalized assumptions of patriarchal domination have led feminist scholars to question why women assert their presence in . . . male-dominated [religious] spheres while . . . the very idioms they use to enter these arenas are grounded in discourses that have historically secured their subordination to male authority.⁵ Mahmood contends that it is more useful to explore the matrix of concerns within which women have deployed doctrinal frameworks, networks, and institutions than to conclude that these women have merely internalized patriarchal norms⁶—or that they have become, in Faure’s parlance, the ‘spokespersons’ of a dominantly male tradition.⁷ Dorothy Ko, a historian of China, has made a similar argument, showing that only when women affirm patriarchal values for their own reasons and transmit them to the next generation is their continued implementation guaranteed.⁸ The Japanese sociologist Ueno Chizuko likewise has argued that in patriarchal societies, women often support the status quo in hopes of eventually gaining power as the mother of the next patriarch. Thus, reproduction of the patriarchal system is not possible without the cooperation of women.⁹

By viewing Japanese religious history through the eyes of women, this text presents a new narrative that offers strikingly different vistas of Japan’s pluralistic traditions than the received accounts foregrounding male religious figures and male-dominated institutions. For instance, many traditional versions of Japanese religious history give considerable attention to monastic or priestly lineages, which largely excluded women. Such patriarchal lineages do not play a central role in this book’s narrative. It emphasizes instead issues that transcend purely sectarian concerns: female divinities as the embodiments of ideal femininity and sources of political legitimation; changing definitions of female monastic renunciation; female shamans and their links to marginality and political authority; perceptions of women as emblems of defilement and demonic power; the religious implications of the fluctuating definitions of marriage and inheritance rights; and the movement toward and contestations of gender equality in the modern era.

Comprising nine chapters organized chronologically, the survey begins with the archeological evidence of fertility cults in prehistoric Japan and ends with an examination of the influence of feminism and demographic changes on religious practices during the lost decades of the post-1990 era. By examining the longue durée of Japanese religions, this book demonstrates that key factors often cited as sources of women’s oppression in Japan—for example, the taboos associated with menstrual blood, the patrilineal household, and the exclusion of women from the political sphere—have not been fully hegemonic through all periods of Japanese history, nor have they been unchanging. In order to avoid essentializing the religious experiences of women across Japanese history, it stresses that there are considerable variations across different time periods in the religious and economic roles of women based on class differences, regional idiosyncrasies, and the diversity of Japan’s religious traditions.

Moreover, this text is not conceived as a narrative of oppressed, passive, weak Japanese women liberated by modern, feminist, Western thought. It not only pays attention to the agency of Japanese women who have resisted, subverted, or actively employed patriarchal ideologies to promote their own interests, but it also includes in its analysis the growing volume of Japanese feminist scholarship on women and religion that has flourished in the aftermath of second-wave feminism in 1970s Japan. As Japan has developed its own feminist movement and has shifted from a predominantly agrarian society to a highly urbanized, industrialized society, religious organizations and religious specialists have struggled to come to terms with changing roles for women—sometimes challenging patriarchal traditions and sometimes embracing traditional gender roles with nostalgia.

Finally, a brief note on Japanese names is also due. Japanese names appear in the customary Japanese order: family name followed by given name. When a person is referred to by a single name, premodern individuals are often referred to by their given name, whereas modern individuals are generally referred to by their surname. This text follows these conventions except in cases in which it is necessary to distinguish between members of the same family.

1

The Prehistorical Japanese Archipelago

Fertility Cults and Shaman Queens

We may ask ourselves when we should begin our narrative of women in the religious history of Japan. One recent survey of premodern Japanese religions begins in 500 CE, around the time when Buddhism was first introduced to the Japanese islands. The author argues that our knowledge of Japanese history prior to that date relies almost exclusively on elusive archeological material rather than textual sources; therefore, our knowledge of the concrete details of prehistorical people’s lives is sharply limited.¹ To this we may add that we cannot really speak of Japan as a nation prior to 500 CE because such an entity did not exist yet. Instead, we must consider the Japanese archipelago as a geographic location and assess the evidence accordingly. Despite these reservations, we will include the period before 500 CE, even though a reconstruction of religion in women’s lives in the archipelago’s prehistory can only be highly speculative. In our examination of the archeological and limited textual evidence from these periods, we will address important questions and issues that are raised by the material. Here, we will single out two important facets of prehistory that speak to women and religion: female clay figures from the Jōmon period (ca. 10,000 BCE–300 BCE) and the story of Himiko, the Queen of Wa, from the Yayoi period (300 BCE–300 CE).

Female Clay Figurines in the Jōmon Period

Our knowledge of the hunter-gatherer society of the Jōmon period derives from the remains of pit dwellings, shell mounds, and burial grounds. The most significant evidence related to women is the great number of clay vessels and figurines discovered in these settlements. Many of the clay implements have clearly female characteristics such as prominent breasts, wide hips, and protruding abdomens (see figure 1.1). Some implements are vases that may have served as lamps;² others are figurines that seem to have been deliberately smashed into pieces and scattered about.³

What are we to make of these figurines and their broken condition? The human figurines may have been used in healing rituals, and could have been broken in order to effect healing from illness; the broken pieces may have had a talismanic function. Indeed, the use of ritual figurines for such healing purposes can be traced to later periods, such as the Yayoi period (300 BCE–300 CE), when figurines made of wood or straw came into use, and the Heian period (794–1185), when paper effigies were used for exorcisms.⁴ While this interpretation suggests that (female?) shamans performed healing rituals—including perhaps rituals ensuring safe childbirth—it does not fully explain why so many of the figurines were female and appeared pregnant.

Another common interpretation favors the idea that the figurines were used in fertility rituals rather than in healing rituals. The figures may have been linked to human reproduction. Many clay figures depict the pregnant female form; some even contain a small clay ball inside the hollow female womb. Phallic stone rods from the same period were also discovered.⁵ Therefore, the archeologist Imamura Keiji conjectures that ceramic figurines are probably related to reproduction and fertility cults, and the prosperity of future descendants.⁶ Fecundity may also have included agricultural fertility. The figures may have been linked to the cult of Mother Earth. While few such figures can be dated to the early Jōmon period, the majority date from the middle to late Jōmon period after 5500 BCE, when a hunter-gatherer society gradually began to incorporate rudimentary slash-and-burn agriculture. The figurines may have represented a female food divinity whose body needed to be broken to harness her fertility.⁷

figure 1.1. Dogū (clay figurine). The enlarged breasts and wide hips suggest that this figurine was a fertility symbol. Japan, final Jōmon period (ca. 1000–300 BCE). Earthenware, H. 2 ¼ in. (5.7 cm); W. 1 ⅞ in. (4.8 cm). Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Jerome Koizim, 1978 (1978.346a-c). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY, U.S.A. Image copyright © The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Image source: Art Resource, NY.

This interpretation draws on myths from the ancient national chronicles of Japan, the Kojiki (712 CE) and the Nihon shoki (720 CE), which contain the earliest extant written records of Japanese mythology. According to the version in the Kojiki, Susanoo, the violent storm god and brother of the sun goddess Amaterasu, visits Ōgetsuhime and asks her to serve him food. She proceeds to take various types of nourishment out of her bodily orifices—her nose, mouth, and anus—and serves them to Susanoo. Offended by her actions and convinced that this food is polluted, Susanoo flies into a rage and kills her. Various products grow out of her dismembered body: silkworms from her head, rice from her eyes, millet from her ears, red beans from her nose, wheat from her genitalia, and soy beans from her anus. Another deity, Kamimusubi, collects these in order to have them planted.⁸

The Nihon shoki contains a similar myth. Here, the moon god Tsukiyomi, another brother of Amaterasu, is dispatched by the sun goddess to call on the goddess Ukemochi. Ukemochi faces the land and produces boiled rice from her mouth. She then turns to the ocean and produces fish from her mouth. Finally, she turns to the mountains and produces wild animals from her mouth. She serves Tsukiyomi a meal prepared from these items. Like Susanoo, he reacts with anger and kills her. Enraged by his offense, Amaterasu banishes him from her sight and sends another god, Amekumabito, to Ukemochi. He finds that Ukemochi’s dismembered body has produced oxen and horses from her head, two types of millet from her forehead and her eyes, silkworms from her eyebrows, rice from her belly, and wheat and beans from her genitalia. Amaterasu orders that these items be cultivated in order to feed and clothe human beings.⁹

These myths might explain why the clay figurines were smashed. Perhaps they were used in rituals that were meant to ensure the fertility of the land and the sea. However, there are also problems with this interpretation. During the Jōmon period, agriculture and animal husbandry were, at best, in their infancy. Yet the myths refer to the five grains, horses and oxen, and sericulture—all of which were introduced much later from the Asian continent. While Jōmon people would have hunted, fished, and cultivated tubers and nut-bearing trees,¹⁰ they would not have grown rice or raised silkworms. While they had domesticated hunting dogs and may have begun to domesticate boars,¹¹ they certainly did not keep horses and oxen. It is of course possible that as new forms of agriculture and animal husbandry were introduced, symbols from the Asian continent were layered over an earlier myth.¹² Nevertheless, the slaying of a food goddess could hardly have had the same symbolism for people living during the Jōmon period as it did during the time when the myths were recorded in writing.

There is another important issue we might want to consider here: does the archeological and mythological evidence suggest that Jōmon people—or at least the writers of the later myths—celebrated the fecundity of women, in contrast to the later focus, as we shall see, on ritual pollution associated with women, pregnancy, and menstruation? In the two myths, the female body, though suspected of pollution by the male god, yields valuable sustenance: grains, beans, game, fish, and silkworms. In later periods, the cultivation of the five grains (and the domestication of livestock) was constructed as male labor, while the raising of silkworms was considered the domain of women, as it had been in China. For instance, the Nihon shoki states that in 507 CE, the Emperor Keidai proclaimed,

We have heard that if men are of fit age and do not cultivate, the Empire may suffer famine; if women are of fit age and do not spin, the Empire may suffer cold. Therefore is it that the sovereigns cultivate with their own hands, so as to give encouragement to agriculture, while the consorts rear silkworms themselves, so as to encourage the mulberry season. How, then, shall there be prosperity if all, from the functionaries down to the ten thousand families, neglect agriculture and spinning?¹³

Thus, the fruits yielded by the female body of the goddess were supposed to be cultivated by both men and women.

Other rituals linked to female fertility have also been documented beginning in the Middle Jōmon period: the burial of placenta and umbilical-cord pots (umegame). This practice continued into later periods as well. In contrast to contemporaneous burial jars, which were buried with the opening facing downward in the center of abandoned pit dwellings, placenta and umbilical-cord pots were interred facing up under the threshold of dwellings. Some scholars believe that the pots may have been placed there to induce fertility in the women who crossed the threshold, but it is also possible that they had a protective function for the child. Placenta pots from the eighth century were discovered similarly buried under thresholds of houses and contained offerings for the well-being and success of the child.¹⁴ In either case, the human tissues issued during childbirth were considered talismanic rather than polluted. They were kept close to human dwellings rather than spatially shunned.

Despite the positive valuation of the female body, the dismembering of the food goddess and the smashing of the figurines can still give us pause. The breaking of the female body may have symbolized the violence inherent in cultivating the soil: the burning, clearing, and tilling of the land.¹⁵ Even if we assume that the ritual was not primarily focused on agriculture but on hunting and fishing, such practices likewise involved violence such as the killing and dismembering of prey. In the later myths, the perpetrators of such violence are male—the storm god Susanoo and the moon god Tsukiyomi, respectively. This suggests a dynamic between a female sacrificial victim and a male aggressor. From a modern perspective, this may not seem like a positive celebration of women’s reproductive faculties even if the outcome benefits humanity as a whole by providing nourishment for all. In the absence of contemporaneous textual sources, the clay figurines remain highly enigmatic and open to a wide range of interpretation.

Himiko, Queen of Wa

The figure of Himiko is equally if not more enigmatic. Scholars have been debating for several centuries whether her principality, Yamatai, was located in Kyushu or in the central Kinai region of Honshu, whether she was an imposing ruler in the imperial line or only a shaman in a minor chiefdom, whether she was a powerful leader or a recluse propped up through Chinese support, whether she illustrates matriarchal rule through female spiritual power or rule by a male-female pair that balanced the binary opposites of yin and yang.

Himiko first appears in the Wei zhi (ca. 297). According to this Chinese chronicle, the country of Yamatai was ruled by a queen called Himiko, whose investiture saved the country from constant warfare. She was eventually succeeded by a female relative named Iyo, whose reign also ensured political stability: