Day 6 - Walking in the snow

Picking apart Japanese spirituality is an on-going fascination of mine. It's very hard to do. For starters, the Japanese word for God is notoriously hard to translate. The nearest word is Kami, but it can mean many different things. Some Kami are personified beings, similar to Greek or Roman characters; some are similar to our idea of dead people or "souls"; and sometimes Kami are also thought to be present in nature. (Note above the decorated rope tied around the huge tree that marks its holiness). The hurricanes and torrential storms that defended the Japan against numerous invasions from Korea, were seen as kami-inspired. It was a divine wind, or kami-kaze that dashed the ships. It's not surprising the Japanese revived the word in World War II.

Kami are very different to the tradition of West. A Kami is not some mix of Judge Dredd and Santa Claus: a good guy who will give you stuff if you believe, and deal out some hard-lined justice if you don't. (Even real Christians can be in danger of holding this mindset.)

The Kami thought to be present in these beautiful woods are unpersonified, and exist regardless of human life - there is, in other words, no sense that they need or want prayer, relationships or people to believe in them. When ancient people saw these places, they were awe-struck and filled with wonder. The shrines and Torii that are built here were a response to that. When Japanese people come here to pray, it is in this sense of that they do so.

I remember the first time I went to see little Yuki from my host-family practice baseball. It's a family affair as dads help with the practice and the mums make rice-balls and snacks for break-time. At sunset the coach called time, and the boys all packed up and raked the pitch. After that they lined up, and in unison thanked firstly their coach and then their parents for their help. This thing is quite common, and is how most Japanese school lessons end: a big chorus of Arigato Gozaimasu! However, after that they turned around so they had our backs to us, and bowing to no-one as far as I could see, hollered out another call of thanks. "Who are they thanking?" I asked my host-family father. "They're thanking the ground" he replied.

Soon after this holiday I went to a fire-festival in Daizenji (blog will be posted shortly) and because of the huge crowds, some children had climbed up onto one of the Shrine's statues, so as to see. After the crowd had thinned out, the father called for them to go, and the kids jumped off, turned around and bowed to the statue that had just been their seat for the night.

Respect is part of Japan, bound up in its religion, its language and its identity, to the extent it extends to things other than people. Although there are many Japanese who aren't respectful, and although Japanese do not always respect their environment (the way much is covered in concrete comes to mind); respect is a Japanese cultural instinct, and an admirable one at that.