Sunday 31 October 2010

Tatou's trips: Oslo

Do you remember my armadillo friend Tatou? She was my travel companion in Southeast Asia, my own little totem animal. Together we travelled through Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, China, the Netherlands, Belgium and Italy. Tatou protected me from wandering spirits, black magic and tourist scams. She showed me little details I would have missed otherwise - flowers, butterflies, roadside shrines. She shared with me her peculiar mix of Shaivism and animism, and her passions for photography and religious architecture. She wrote travel accounts on my weblog, and posted pictures on her facebook page.

But she has not been very active online recently, so some of you might wonder if something has happened to her. Don't worry. Tatou is still with us, and she is doing fine. She loves Oslo, as the city is so clean and full of nature. She has been to the forest to pick mushrooms and collect chestnuts. She also says she met some nissen (Norwegian gnomes) while she was wandering around there, and I have no reason not to believe her. Although she sometimes misses Southeast Asia, she seems very happy to be in Norway.

The main reason she has not been active on this weblog or her facebook profile lately is that she has been very busy setting up her own travel agency. It is called 'Reisbureau Gordel Om', which literally means 'Travel Agency Fasten Your Seatbelt', but also refers to the fact that she is an armadillo (called gordeldier in Dutch). She specialises in sustainable ecotourism and cultural trips for small groups. Any (stuffed) animal with travel plans can contact her for information and personal offers.

Although she has her own company now, Tatou still loves to travel. Hans Christian Andersen's famous expression 'to travel is to live' is her personal motto, so whenever she has the opportunity, she hits the road. As she also likes photography, she has requested me to occassionally post pictures on Rotsblog. Of course, I agreed. Thus, this is the first in a new series of posts, entitled 'Tatou's trips'. In the future, whenever she visits a new place, she will post new pictures here. Feel free to leave comments, or add her as a friend on facebook!

These are all pictures of Oslo: the Vigeland sculpture park, Aker Brygge, the city hall, the Nobel Peace Center, Akershus fortress, the Oslofjord and the Opera House.













Sunday 24 October 2010

Shoppen in Zweden

We rijden zuidwaarts over de tamelijk lege zesbaanssnelweg. We zitten in de auto van vrienden, en zijn met zijn vieren een dagje op stap. Aan weerszijden van de weg trekken rotswanden met naaldbomen aan ons voorbij. Er zijn heel veel bomen, en heel veel rotsen. Af en toe maken ze plaats voor een glooiende maar lege akker, of een fraai uitzicht over een meertje. Her en der ligt nog wat sneeuw.

Twee dagen geleden maakte de herfst abrupt plaats voor de winter, die met een dunne maar niet te ontkennen laag sneeuw zijn komst aankondigde. Dat was vroeger dan verwacht, maar gelukkig hadden wij reeds voldoende warme kleren verzameld om hem met opgeheven hoofd tegemoet te treden. Mijn echtgenote gooide de eerste sneeuwbal van haar leven. Ik was zo naïef ervan uit te gaan dat zij, onbekend met het fenomeen sneeuw, zich niet bewust zou zijn van deze mogelijkheid - maar ik had geen rekening gehouden met de invloed van Hollywood. Zelfbewust gooide zij 's winters eerste sneeuwbal vol in mijn snoet. Ik zal het haar nog wel betaald zetten.

We rijden over een hoge brug, met onder ons een diepblauw fjord, als we een blauw bord met gele sterretjes zien. Middenin staat het woord 'Sverige'. Zonder ook maar een grenskantoor te zien rijden we de Europese Unie binnen. Op richtingaanwijzers en reclameborden maken de ø's en æ's plaats voor ö's en ä's, maar verder verandert er niet zoveel. De rotsen en naaldbomen zien er hetzelfde uit als aan de andere kant van de grens.

Stiekem vind ik Zweeds mooier klinken en, vooralsnog, iets makkelijker te verstaan dan Noors, maar dat moet je in Oslo niet al te hard zeggen. Scandinaviërs zijn trotse nationalisten, die maar wat graag onderlinge verschilletjes tot epische proporties uitvergroten. De facto zijn Zweeds, Deens, Bokmål en Nynorsk natuurlijk gewoon vier dialecten van dezelfde taal, en wie een van deze vier in de standaardvorm spreekt wordt in heel Scandinavië verstaan. Maar nationale identiteit bestaat bij gratie van verschillen, niet van overeenkomsten. De manier waarop in Noorwegen over Zweden en Denen gesproken wordt verraadt een zekere afkeer. Noren kijken op tegen Denemarken, maar ze kijken neer op Zweden. In de moppen speelt de Deen de rol van de Duitser, en de Zweed de rol van de Belg. In Zweden zal het wel andersom zijn. Het is allemaal net wat grimmiger en onvriendelijker dan de manier waarop Nederlanders en Vlamingen over elkaar plegen te spreken.

Desalniettemin gaan Noren maar wat graag naar Zweden. Dat heeft minder te maken met Scandinavische broederliefde dan met consumentisme en welbegrepen eigenbelang: men komt om te winkelen, niets anders. Op strategische plekken langs de grens bevinden zich grote shopping malls en drankwinkels. De prijzen liggen in Noorwegen nu eenmaal een stuk hoger dan in Zweden. In Zweden is je kroon een paar oortjes meer waard, dus ook wij kunnen de verleiding niet weerstaan om eens de grens over te steken en flink te hamsteren.

De eerste bestemming is het stadje Strömstad. Voorwaar een fraai havenstadje, met een snoezig kerkje en kleurrijke houten huisjes, maar slechts weinig bezoekers hebben daar oog voor. Het stadje heeft maar één echte attractie: het plaatselijke filiaal van de Systembolaget. Evenals in Noorwegen wordt drank in Zweden alleen verkocht in officiële drankwinkels, die in handen zijn van de staat. De Noorse heet Vinmonopolet, en is een reliek van de puriteinse jaren twintig. Accijnzen zijn absurd hoog. Het is een vreemde paradox: Noren hebben de neiging zich met regelmaat stomdronken te zuipen, en bij elk bezoekje aan het buitenland wordt zoveel mogelijk alcohol ingeslagen, maar de meeste mensen onderschrijven het truttige paternalisme van de overheid ten aanzien van alcoholverkoop. Het gevolg is dat volwassen Noren zich niet veel volwassener verhouden ten opzichte van alcohol dan tieners op Terschelling: wie de kans krijgt, zuipt zich ziek. Zou de markt vrijgegeven worden, dan zou men wellicht ook leren wat fatsoenlijker met alcohol om te gaan.

Maar ja, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. We hadden een aardige hoeveelheid drank meegenomen uit Nederland, maar de bier en wijn zijn inmiddels wel zo'n beetje op. Dus sluiten we ons aan bij de kudde Noren die hunkerend naar de Strömstadse Systembolaget-winkel loopt. Officieel mogen we vijf liter bier of drie liter wijn per persoon meenemen naar Noorwegen, en daar houden we ons netjes aan. Dat geldt niet voor iedereen in de winkel. Een oudere man draagt twee mandjes, tot de nok toe gevuld met flessen wijn. Anderen hebben meerdere flessen sterke drank, aangevuld met dozen vol bier. Het is zaterdag, dus de rijen voor de kassa's zijn lang. Iedereen spreekt Noors. Er gaan enorme hoeveelheden over de toonbank.

We bedienen ons van dezelfde logica als wijlen mijn grootmoeder, als ze thuiskwam met een overbodig kledingstuk dat ze in de uitverkoop had zien hangen, en triomfantelijk verklaarde dat ze twintig gulden had 'verdiend'. In plaats van goedkoop pils kiezen we voor allerlei speciaal bier. Natuurlijk kost een flesje Leffe of Maredsous in Zweden meer dan een flesje Tuborg of Ringnes in Noorwegen, en houden we het in Noorwegen normaliter op goedkoop bier. Feitelijk zijn we nu dus meer geld kwijt zijn dan normaal, maar toch zijn we blij dat we geld 'uitsparen' door speciaal bier te kopen dat in Noorwegen anderhalf à twee keer zo duur zou zijn. Hetzelfde geldt voor de wijn: we besteden nauwelijks minder geld aan wijn dan we thuis zouden doen, maar we kopen betere wijn. Consumentenlogica.


In een plaatselijk café genieten we van een kop koffie, die gratis bijgevuld mag worden. Hollandse profiteur die ik ben doe ik mij tegoed aan een tweede en derde kop, ook al heb ik er niet echt zin in - maar zo heb ik wel mooi de zesendertig kronen 'uitgespaard' die een tweede en derde kop me gekost zouden hebben als ik niet mijn kopje had mogen bijvullen. Ik heb de smaak van het consumentisme goed te pakken, en kan niet wachten nog meer geld te verdienen door mij nog meer koopjes eigen te maken. De cafeïne doet me stuiteren.

We verlaten Strömstad, en rijden terug richting de grens. We zien grote reclameborden langs de weg met Arabisch schrift, gericht op de in Noorwegen woonachtige migranten die hier grote hoeveelheden halal vlees komen inslaan. Wij laten het vlees het vlees, en rijden naar een enorme shopping mall. Ik kies bewust voor het anglicisme, want het Nederlandse woord 'winkelcentrum' dekt de lading geenszins. De mall is zo groot dat ze niet zou misstaan in de suburb van een Amerikaanse miljoenenstad. Het is er een drukte van belang. Nagenoeg alle auto's hebben Noorse nummerborden.

We weten ons in te houden. De meeste dingen die we kopen hebben we ook echt nodig. Zonder thermisch ondergoed en warme handschoenen komen we de winter niet door, en mijn echtgenote is erg blij met haar nieuwe föhn. We sparen vele tientjes uit. Voor het eerst in twee maanden tijd kunnen we het ons veroorloven in een pizzeria te eten.

We besluiten de dag in een supermarkt. Hypermarkt. Megamarkt. Gigamarkt. De meeste supermarkten hebben drie of vier schappen met diepvriesvoedsel, deze heeft er meer dan dertig. Zuivel en vis zijn veel goedkoper dan ten westen van de grens, dus ons karretje vult zich snel. Ook de schappen met koffie, thee en chocolade zijn enorm. Het begint me te duizelen. Vijftig soorten koffie, hoe moet een mens daar in godsnaam uit kiezen? En kan iemand mij vertellen waarom het nodig is om dertig soorten olijfolie te hebben? Bertolli extra vierge, Olivera extra vierge, Belladonna extra vierge, Pappalapopoulos extra vierge... en voor het geval u daar niet tevreden mee bent, hebben we ook nog Primavera extra vierge. Waarom, lieve God, waarom dan toch...? Meters en meters olijfolie, 51 kronen voor 500 milliliter of 72 voor 750 of 86 voor een liter of 93 voor 750 milliliter extra speciaal extra vierge, meters en meters groene flessen en allemaal wenken ze en lonken ze en proberen ze je te verleiden, en wee je gebeente als je de verkeerde kiest, want de kwaliteit van je sladressing hangt er de komende maanden van af, maar wee je gebeente als je een middelmatige olijfolie kiest die te duur is, want dan ben je, Heere bewaar me, een dief van je eigen portemonnee...


Het begint te draaien en tollen voor mijn ogen. En we zijn nog maar halverwege de supermarkt. We moeten nog chocola uitkiezen, en wasmiddel, en shampoo... Nee toch, shampoo: Intense Repair: for dry, brittle or damaged hair, of toch maar Classic Care: for normal to slightly greasy hair, of toch maar Volume Sensation of Diamond Gloss of 2 in 1 Express of iets heel anders... Nivea of L'Oréal of Garnier of Head and Shoulders of Pantene... Hoe, Heer, moet ik kiezen? Wat is in hemelsnaam 'brittle hair'? Mijn voorhoofd begint te bonzen, de supermarkt danst voor mijn ogen, mijn maag draait zich een keertje om. De pizza wil naar buiten, maar met moeite slaag ik er in hem binnen te houden.

We halen het. We zijn meer kwijt aan een karretje boodschappen dan aan een retourticket Oslo-Amsterdam, maar we troosten ons met de gedachte dat we nog veel meer geld kwijt waren geweest als we deze zelfde goederen in Noorwegen gekocht hadden. En alles hebben we heel hard nodig, natuurlijk, echt nodig... Dus we hebben vandaag een hoop geld verdiend.

Consumo ergo sum.

Tuesday 19 October 2010

Ideas you love to hate

Most people in the humanities study ideas that inspire them, books and paintings they love, cultures they can identify with, beliefs they adhere to. Most scholars do not spend years doing research on people they hate or ideas they detest. On the contrary, much scholarship is hagiographic. You don't write a political biography of Mandela if you consider him an overrated rebel. You don't do fieldwork in Iceland if you cannot stand cold weather. You don't write a lengthy discussion of Nietzsche's ideas if you think they are boring. People studying religious, literary or philosophical texts usually feel a strong affinity to those texts, emotional if not spiritual.

Why am I different? Why do I enjoy studying the religious and political ideas that annoy me most? Why do I feel simultaneously excited, frustrated and intellectually challenged when I come across blatant nationalist mythmaking, essentialist East-West discourse, or radical religious exclusivism? Why do I enjoy reading texts and engaging with ideas that violate my personal moral and political values? Is it for the same reason I read every single article I come across that discusses Wilders, in spite of the shallowness of his as well as most of his opponents' ideas: engaged masochism? Or is it simply because I enjoy studying and contemplating ideas that I can contextualise and criticise?

Even when I study a topic I initially sympathise with - such as, say, 'Zen' aesthetics, or religious environmentalism - I end up deconstructing it, and analysing its underlying political subtexts. For instance, I cannot simply agree with those who say that the Japanese love of nature may serve as an ideological blueprint for a substantial environmental ethics, as I recognise how their ideas are rooted in romantic Orientalism, nationalist identity politics, or simply innovative religious marketing. I know I have a point, but of course the accusation of scepticism (or even, God forbid, post-modernist relativism) is easily made. As somebody personally sympathising with environmentalist politics, I would love to wholeheartedly subscribe to idealistic views arguing for using religion to establish deep ecological awareness - but I know reality is more complicated, I know such a view overlooks the multiple political agendas of religious institutions and ideologues, and I know religious environmentalism does not make economic interests disappear.

Perhaps this sort of critical deconstruction is inevitable, at least if you want to take the political and sociological dimensions of the texts and practices you study seriously. If you have a critical mind, studying texts you sympathise with inevitably leads to the loss of the initial love; that is, the loss of your initial naïveté. Students of Japan who still lyrically praise everything Japanese after several years of study do not have what it takes to be a good scholar: the ability to critically detach oneself from the object of study, at least temporarily. Incidentally, they also tend to take their own sympathies a bit too seriously, obsessively limiting themselves to the study of Japanese popular culture without familiarising themselves with the critical theory that could provide them with the vocabulary necessary to adequately interpret their object of study.

If you love your Bible, don't study it - not seriously, at least, not historically. You will end up with a bunch of ancient origin and election myths, written in the course of several centuries by members of a politically and geographically marginal tribe as a strategy for symbolic empowerment. Highly political, and highly human. It is similar to the experience of the professional musician, who nostalgically longs for the time she could still be touched and inspired by a concert. Now, she cannot attend a musical performance without hearing the little mistakes, the choices the conductor has made, and the underlying structures. She has forgotten how to sit back and enjoy. Yet, if she had to choose, she probably would not want to lose the ability to hear these underlying structures.

I always wonder what the astronomer thinks when he is confronted with the unimaginable size and grandness of the universe. Can he still see the star behind the scientific formulas? For historians and sociologists, analysing the political agendas and economical interests underlying myths - ancient as well as contemporary - remains of crucial importance. However, by thus demystifying them we do risk losing the magic, the sense of awe and the beauty they convey - as well as, perhaps, the gods behind them.

Wednesday 13 October 2010

What is Shinto? A summary of my research project

'So what exactly are you going to do in Oslo?' several people have asked me. I have tried my best to come up with good answers, but I am not sure whether I really succeeded in explaining the contents of my research project well. That is why I have decided to write this text, as a new attempt to explain what I am doing - in plain, common English, so that all of you can understand what I am talking about. After all, one of the problems of the academic subculture is that, like most other subcultures, it has its own jargon (that is, its own specialist vocabulary). Many different jargons, in fact, as there are many different academic disciplines, which further complicates communication. Scholars and scientists always risk being accused of living in an 'ivory tower' - of obsessively studying their own particular hobbies, without making efforts to communicate their findings to the 'outside world' - and one of the main reasons is their particular vocabulary, which is not always easily translated into 'ordinary' language. However, I personally believe that it is important to share the outcome of academic research with 'society' - that is, with other people, who do not work in this ivory tower. I want my research to be relevant, not only academically, but also culturally and politically.

So I would like to tell you something about my research project. A while ago, I copy-pasted the abstract of my research project onto this weblog. It was a well-written proposal, judging from the fact that it got me my current position. However, it did contain quite a lot of academic vocabulary. Some of those fashionable concepts typically found in contemporary texts in the humanities or social sciences, if you know what I mean. You will have understood the basic topic of my research, no doubt, but in the end it might have seemed rather vague and theoretical. Words such as 'paradigm', 'narrative', 'to renegotiate', 'discourse', 'meta-perspective', 'dichotomy' and so on may ring a bell, but not everybody understands them immediately, and probably not everybody understands why I believe my research is exciting and relevant. However, I would like you to know what it is I am doing research on; I would like you to know why I believe this is a very exciting topic indeed, and I would like to tell you why my research is important, and worth spending three years of my life on. Hence this text, which is an attempt to explain it to a general audience, without using too much specialist vocabulary. It is a bit long, so I have divided it into different pieces. In my defense, it is still much shorter than most available introductions to Shinto, either academic or popular. I hope you find it interesting.


I. Work and plans

First, a short note on practicalities. I am doing PhD research, and I will write a dissertation. Hopefully, in the future, this can be published as a book or a series of articles. If my dissertation is accepted, I will receive my PhD, or doctoral degree. Until then, I am employed by the University of Oslo, which means that, luckily, I receive a salary for my work. I am supposed to submit my dissertation within three years. This is less than in several other countries; however, if you go to graduate school in the US, you will have to spend the first few years doing coursework (a second MA, basically), after which you have about three years left to do the actual doctoral research and write a dissertation - pretty much the same as here, after all. In other countries, such as the Netherlands, PhD candidates usually have four-year positions, but they are often required to do additional work - either research not directly related to their own project, or teaching. In Oslo, except for some PhD coursework and seminars, we do not have any obligations other than our dissertation. But if we finish in time, we will be employed for an additional year, during which we have the chance to gain teaching experience, get some more articles published, and work on applications for new positions. Not such a bad deal, after all.


Although I will be based in Oslo, and consider this city my new home, I will not be here continuously during the next three years. That is, I will have to spend some time in Japan. Hopefully, this spring, I can spend a month in Japan to do preparatory research and collect data; from September, then, I intend to spend half a year there. The reason I have to go to Japan is that I will look at contemporary developments and debates, and I need to go there to get a good overview of these. I will do fieldwork research, which means that I will conduct interviews, attend events and take part in the activities of local communities and/or religious organisations.


II. Popular introductions to Shinto

So what about the contents of my research? Put very simply, I will look at the question: 'What is Shinto?' Rather than trying to answer this question myself, I will study ways in which this question has been answered in the past, and recent attempts to come up with new answers. However simple the question may seem, answers have been and continue to be highly contested, normative, and political. Notions about 'Shinto' are related to notions about the Japanese nation, state, and emperor; they are related to debates concerning the meaning of the word 'religion' and the way religion relates to Japanese identity and history; and they are related to ideas about the natural environment.

Let me illustrate the difficulty of the question. You may well have a book in your bookshelf entitled Religions of the World, or Introduction to World Religions, or Religions Today, or something similar. You once bought it at the remainder books section of a bookstore, or you may have got it as a Christmas present. The book is well-written, easy to read, and filled with beautiful illustrations. It is divided into chapters of more or less equal length, each devoted to one particular 'world religion' - suggesting that these 'religions' all belong to the same category, and are therefore essentially similar, equal, and comparable. The first five chapters are about Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism and Hinduism, as these are generally considered the five main 'world religions'. They are probably followed by chapters on Taoism (or Daoism), Confucianism, Jainism and Zoroastrianism. In addition, there may also be chapters on 'new religions', 'New Age', 'shamanism' and/or 'indigenous religions'. Finally, it is likely that the book has a chapter on Shinto (possibly referred to as Shintoism).

It is not my purpose here to discuss the problems inherent in such an approach to 'world religions'. Let me just point out that, despite the practical advantages, the problems caused by the projection of the concept 'religion' onto a wide variety of traditions are significant. But now I would like to draw attention to the chapter on 'Shinto'. If you are lucky, the chapter will pay some attention to historical change; if you are not, it will present Shinto as a static tradition, virtually unchanged since prehistoric times. Even if it does recognise some historical developments, the chapter is highly likely to define Shinto as the 'indigenous' religious tradition of Japan - a claim as common as historically problematic. Furthermore, while the chapter is likely to mention 'State Shinto', the emperor-centred state religion created and controlled by the Japanese government in the first half of the twentieth century, it is likely to dismiss this as a political ideology that ought to be distinguished from the 'real' religion.

Next, inevitably, there is some reference to 'Shinto' creation myths, but they are presented as fixed stories, rather than historical constructs that have changed over time. Of course, several of the main rituals and events are described, but without any reference to their Buddhist or Taoist origins - rather, they are portrayed as fixed, unchanging, and similar throughout the country. More importantly, Shinto is probably described as a 'nature religion' - fundamentally based on people's beliefs in forces of nature (trees, rivers, mountains and so on) which have come to be enshrined and venerated. This, according to most popular introductions to Shinto, is the core essence of the religion. And this core essence, which has supposedly remained pretty much the same since primordial times, is considered to constitute 'the' core spirituality of 'the' Japanese people. The term kami, used in Japan to refer to deities, is considered untranslatable, and presented as some Japanese conceptualisation of divine nature - easily overlooking the fact that many kami are in fact historical persons or legendary heroes who became deities after they died, or 'Shintoised' gods and bodhisattvas from mainland Asia, that have little to do with natural phenomena.

These, then, are the basic ingredients of most popular introductions to Shinto in European languages. Naturally, they may differ somewhat in their formulation and emphasis, but their basic structure is the same. While not entirely false, the most important problem of such descriptions is that they tend to present Shinto as static and homogeneous, rather than dynamic and diverse - and accordingly, as a rule, do not really take the historical, political and local dimensions into account.


III. A typical definition

Let me illustrate this point by considering the following definition of Shinto, presented by that universally accepted, 'democratic' source of knowledge, Wikipedia. At the time of writing, the popular online encyclopedia defined Shinto as
... the indigenous spirituality of Japan and the Japanese people. It is a set of practices, to be carried out diligently, to establish a connection between present day Japan and its ancient past.
At first sight, this definition may seem rather accurate, and not very biased. However, there are some underlying assumptions which are all questionable, and which become clear if we look at the definition word by word. I will attempt to do so in order to show how difficult and complicated the issue is.

Firstly, perhaps the most problematic and common assumption is that Shinto is 'indigenous' Japanese. This term presupposes that Shinto is purely and originally 'Japanese', in contrast to 'foreign' religious traditions such as Buddhism, Confucianism and Christianity. The term reflects the use of 'Shinto' in modern Japanese history as a marker of national identity; that is, a symbol to distinguish between Japan and the outside world. This distinction, however, is highly artificial. Historically, Shinto developed within the framework - theological and institutional - of Buddhism. Later, after the institutional separation of Shinto and Buddhism around 1870, Shinto was constructed anew as an independent, national(ist) religion - paradoxically, however, this 'indigenous' religious ideology was profoundly influenced by Confucian values such as loyalty to the state and filial piety (love for one's ancestors). In addition, many so-called Shinto-rituals in fact go back to yin-yang (or 'Taoist') practices. Thus, Shinto as it exists today is a relatively recent construction, based on elements from a variety of traditions, many of which are in fact originally Chinese.

The second term, 'spirituality', is hardly less problematic. Why not refer to Shinto simply as a religion? The reason is probably that throughout modern history, there has been an ongoing debate as to whether Shinto should be considered a religion or not. Anyone who is familiar with Clifford Geertz' famous definition of religion as a system of symbols* (or any similar all-encompassing, pluralist understanding of 'religion'), may be surprised by this question, and argue that it is quite obvious that Shinto, with its symbols, myths, rituals and supernatural explanations, is a religion indeed. Don't worry, I will not go into the linguistic and ideological jungle that constitutes contemporary academic discussions on the concept 'religion', but it is important to point out that the discussion regarding the religious nature of Shinto has little to do with scholarly nitpicking. Rather, it reflects highly political concerns regarding the relationship between Shinto, the Japanese nation, and the emperor. In the late nineteenth and, especially, the early twentieth century, the argument that Shinto is not a religion has been used to legitimise its development into a state cult (usually referred to as 'State Shinto'), and to force all citizens to participate in Shinto-derived nationalist rituals, while maintaining the constitutional freedom of religion. Thus, the argument that Shinto is not a religion was initially employed mainly for pragmatic reasons, the nature of which was legal and political more than anything else.

According to the postwar constitution, Shinto is a religion just like Buddhism or Christianity. Officially, there is no state religion in Japan. The reality is a bit more complicated, however, as local governments continue to finance Shinto rituals, and politicians worship at the infamous Yasukuni Shrine where soldiers who died in the war are enshrined (including a few convicted war criminals). These issues have caused emotional debates within Japan, and have at times complicated relations with China and Korea. Whereas Shinto is officially and legally considered a religion, the view that it is not continues to be widespread - or, rather, the view that Shinto does in fact have religious aspects, but is much more than merely a religion. According to this opinion, advocated by influential postwar scholars such as Sokyo Ono (whose work Shinto:The Kami Way for a long time was one of the few English-language books available on the subject), it is the original, all-encompassing, essential 'Way' of the Japanese people, including ritual, morality, public life, aesthetics and so on. Needless to say, this view reflects nationalist fantasies and is not based on any critical historical research; yet, it continues to inform and influence most popular explanations of Shinto. The choice of the anonymous Wikipedia-author(s) to call Shinto a 'spirituality' in stead of, say, a 'religious tradition', reflects their indebtedness to this nationalist, unhistorical view, even though they may not be aware of it.

We have seen the assumptions underlying the simple notion of 'indigenous spirituality'. 'Japan and the Japanese people' is not less problematic. As any modern nation, 'Japan' is in many respects a fairly recent construction - certainly, in the medieval period there were notions about the country 'Japan' and its meaning, but these were significantly different from modern-day interpretations. Where does Japan begin, and where does it end? What about Hokkaido and Okinawa with their distinct cultural traditions, what about local shamanist cults? What about the Shinto shrines built in colonial Korea, Taiwan and Manchuria, what about the shrines in the US? Those are not 'indigenous' expressions of Shinto, it may be argued - but then, what is?

And who are 'the' Japanese people? Are they defined by their passport? What about immigrants, expats, 'half' Japanese? Who decides who belongs, and who does not? Besides, I am pretty sure a significant proportion of the Japanese population - Christians, Buddhists, adherents of new religions, socialists, atheists and others - would strongly disagree with the notion of Shinto as 'their' spirituality. Japanese society is diverse and heterogeneous, and there is no single unifying spirituality, no matter how much some Shinto priests and scholars would like to believe there is.

Next, Shinto is defined as 'a set of practices, to be carried out diligently'. Funnily, this second part of the definition is at odds with the first part. If Shinto is a 'spirituality', it is certainly much more than a simple 'set of practices'. Baseball is a 'set of practices'; so is, arguably, one's personal morning ritual. A 'spirituality' on the other hand encompasses not only ritual practices, but also a worldview, belief, symbols and, possibly, religious experience. Let's say this strange discrepancy between the first and the second part of the definition reflects the problematic nature of Wikipedia, where anybody can edit and add to anybody's entry. It is but one of the many inconsistencies and contradictions in this particular entry.

Finally, the last part of the definition suggests that Shinto practices are carried out 'to establish a connection between present day Japan and its ancient past.' Obviously, present-day rituals and ceremonies are very different from rituals in the ancient past - in terms of meaning as well as actual ritual behaviour. It is true that the notion of continuity is strong, as we have seen, and many Shinto priests and scholars would probably claim that the essence of most contemporary rituals goes back to prehistorical times. The problem is of course the word 'to' in the definition, which suggests that the purpose of carrying out these practices is establishing this connection. Not primarily. Shinto rituals are carried out for a variety of reasons: preventing people from bad luck and disease, assuring good harvests or profits, pacifying dangerous spirits, generating income for priests and shrine employees, and often, quite simply, for habit's sake. 'Establishing a connection with the past' is probably not in many praying people's minds.



IV. 'Shinto' and Shintos

You may be a bit confused. I may have convinced you that common definitions of Shinto tend to be problematic and unhistorical, and reflect particular ideological agendas, but I can imagine your next question: 'so what exactly is Shinto, if it is not what it is usually said to be?' That is a legitimate question. I must disappoint you by answering that, first, I don't know; and second, I don't really care, as the topic of my research is exactly the different ways in which people have defined and re-defined Shinto. In particular, I will look at the contemporary trend to point to its alleged animistic roots, and re-define it as a 'nature religion', as I will explain in more detail shortly. I am not interested in coming up with a definition myself, as I am more interested in studying the ideas of others.

It is important to bear one thing in mind. We should make a distinction between 'Shinto' and Shintos. What I mean is that there is an abstract concept called 'Shinto', which, as we have seen, has been the subject of much heated debate, is related to nationalism and identity politics, and has a legal meaning. This abstract concept, however, is not very important to the fast majority of 'followers' of Shinto. What matters to them is the particular reality of shrines, deities and rituals. They don't necessarily distinguish between 'Shinto' and 'Buddhist' rituals or deities. One day they may pray at a Shinto shrine, the next day they may pray at a Buddhist temple, they serve fruit to their ancestral spirits, and they might even attend a Christian church service occasionally, without experiencing this as inconsistent. 'Shinto' is not a real and independent entity in Japanese history, at least not before 1868. Shrines, deities and ceremonies, however, are real and concrete - and some of these have indeed existed since ancient times, even though their meaning may have changed quite a bit. Thus, conceptualisations of 'Shinto' do not necessarily corresponds to the diverse reality of shrine and kami-related practices and beliefs.



V. Why bother?

I guess the eternal challenge of academics - especially those in the humanities - is to legitimate the fact that taxpayer's money is spent on their seemingly useless activities. Sadly but undeniably, we live in a highly utilitarian period, in which everything is judged and valued based on their usefulness (which all-too-often means profitability), even such inherently valuable things as fine arts or the natural environment. Thus, artists and scholars are constantly demanded to 'proof' their value in utilitarian terms, which violates the very nature of their jobs - the pursuit of beauty or, respectively, knowledge, for their own sake. One has little choice but to give in, play along, and try to come up with some good reasons.

First of all: I like Japan. My main reason therefore is a subjective one. I enjoy being in and studying Japan. I also enjoy studying religion, as it continues to fascinate me - it has done so from the first time I visited Japan, so in that sense it is only natural that I study Japanese religion. I am also interested in studying politics, as I believe it is important to understand how power structures operate, and how they are legitimised. Analysing and understanding the underlying motives in religious and political speech contributes to my awareness of how these power structures work behind the surface, and empowers me (that is, it makes me feel stronger intellectually) - as an individual citizen, and as a scholar. I hope that one day my work may help others to understand a bit more about the relationship between religion, politics and identity, in particular (but not only!) in the context of Japan. I can only pray that it will. Skeptical though I may sometimes sound, deep inside I am an idealist.

So far my own, subjective reasons for doing this work. They should be sufficient legitimisation, but I am afraid many utilitarians would not agree. Well, then, let me cite the following paragraph, written by a leading scholar in Shinto studies, which makes clear why the study of Shinto is relevant socially and politically:
[H]ow we approach, understand and most importantly teach about Shinto is not an issue of merely 'academic' significance. The political aspect of Shinto has often been ignored by Western writers on Japanese religion. (...) [T]here is a continuing debate inside and outside Japan about Shinto's relationship to Japanese nationalism and national identity, a debate which has not only domestic but also international ramifications because of the global economic power wielded by today's Japan. Shinto is currently promoted outside Japan by elements of the Shinto establishment as an environmentally-conscious tradition with a special regard for nature and with a universalist potential, rather than as a tradition which is narrowly Japanese.
(Brian Bocking; original text here)

VI. Shinto and nature

In the past twenty-five years or so, classical notions of Shinto as described earlier have been challenged by a number of historians, and great progress has been made in the study of shrines and kami worship in Japanese history, as well as the development of 'Shinto' in prewar modern Japan. However, postwar Shinto has received remarkably less serious scholarly attention. There are some anthropological studies of particular shrines and cults, but little has been written about overall institutional and ideological developments. One of the most striking issues is the last observation in the quotation above: that Shinto is actively promoted as a nature religion (or even as an environmentalist religion). This is a development often observed, but, thus far, never systematically investigated.

It is often asserted that Shinto represents an inherent love of nature and the environment. In fact, it is one of the main points made on the website of the Association of Shinto Shrines (on its English website, that is - there is no reference to environmental issues on the Japanese site). Several English-language books on Shinto advocate this view, and so does the main Shinto shrine in the US, which states on its website that "Shinto is the Natural Spirituality or the practice of the philosophy of proceeding in harmony with and gratitude to Divine Nature," making it sound like a loosely organised New Age or neo-pagan movement. The list is endless (just google 'Shinto' and 'nature', and you'll see what I mean).

What all these notions have in common is not their historical accuracy - the widespread concern with environmental issues is of a very recent date, for instance - but the fact that they all draw on existing myths regarding the inherently Japanese 'love of nature' and the importance of 'harmony with nature'. Notwithstanding the large-scale destruction of the natural environment in modern Japan, this myth has been used extensively and repeatedly by writers to claim the unique character of the Japanese nation, their sophisticated spiritual aesthetics, and moral superiority. These claims have been uncritically copy-pasted by 'Western' scholars, fascinated by the 'uniquely Japanese' mix of harmony, nature, sincerity and simplicity in such cultural expressions as Zen, the tea ceremony, origami, garden architecture and cuisine. They are strongly related to normative and nostalgic notions of an idealised, idyllic, 'authentic' Japan - which, of course, never really existed.

An interesting (and probably highly influential) recent expression of these notions is the work of Hayao Miyazaki. His films are very well made, highly enjoyable, and multi-layered. Importantly, they are also extremely popular, in Japan as well as abroad. Four of his films in particular employ idealised notions of a 'traditional' Japan, spirits and deities residing in nature, and an environmentalist critique of modernity: My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away and Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. I will discuss these films in more detail some other time. For now, suffice to say that they seem to have been very influential in shaping contemporary notions on Japanese identity, religion and spirit belief, and the natural environment.



Not surprisingly, then, given the persistence of the notion of Shinto as a 'green spirituality' on the internet and in popular imagination, several scholars have argued that Shinto could serve as a blueprint for environmental ethics. They tend to project Orientalist fantasies of Eastern holism and some sort of ecological mysticism onto Shinto, and overlook the fact that, until recently at least, Japan's record in environmental issues has been very poor, and that as a rule Shinto organisations have not shown much awareness of these issues either. But, fair enough, there are some promising recent developments - for example, a number of shrine-related organisations is now active in forest preservation and environmental education (for an example, click here). Thus, perhaps, texts and media images in which Shinto is re-defined as an environmental tradition do serve as some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, and inspire shrine priests and parishioners to become active in local environmental protection. The question is of course how widespread and substantial these initiatives are - to what extent are they PR, to what extent do they reflect actual activities and challenges to authorities. And, furthermore, one might wonder whether this is just a short-lived trend, as there are so many in Japan, or a constructive innovation that will really change the meaning of 'Shinto' and its position in contemporary Japan. These are questions that remain to be answered.

To be continued.



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* According to Geertz, a religion is: "(1) a system of symbols (2) which acts to establish powerful, pervasive and long-lasting moods and motivations in men (3) by formulating conceptions of a general order of existence and (4) clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that (5) the moods and motivations seem uniquely realistic." For further explanation, see here.

Tuesday 12 October 2010

Herfstdagen

De nachtvorst is gekomen. Het gras en de autodaken zijn bedekt met een laag rijp, die pas tegen het middaguur verdwijnt. Oren tintelen van de kou. De lucht is helder, blauw, smaakt fris.

Ik was vergeten hoe de herfst ruikt, vergeten ook hoe mooi ze is als de regenwolken weg zijn. De kleuren in Oslo zijn majestueus. De berk draagt een felgele jas, de eik is goudbruin oranje, de esdoorn volgeel en trots. Geen stad zo vol bomen als deze.

In de tuinen groeien rozenbottels en lijsterbessen, tussen trampolines in. Achter zich houten landhuizen met rode klimop, die eigenlijk in de provincie horen. Eksters huppen de wacht. De stad is stil maar vol van leven.

De stad houdt je niet gevangen, je laat haar zo achter je. Het bos is overal, en iedereen heeft het lief. Rotsblokken, vennetjes, meren, en naald- en loofbomen gemengd.  Een palet aan herfstkleuren, een boeket aan geuren. Volg de blauwe strepen als je niet wilt verdwalen. De rode lopen dood, behalve als het winter is en je ski's draagt.

Maar je mag het pad af, je mag lopen waar je wilt en plukken wat je wilt. Vorige week hadden we geluk. Het had geregend, en het bos was vol met paddenstoelen. Trechtercantharellen, in Nederland beschermd, hier uitbundig groeiend en zeer eetbaar. We waren in goed gezelschap, en wisten twee grote manden vol te oogsten. Daarna aten we stoofpot met hert en cranberries, en worteltaart toe. Dank.

Vandaag blijven we in de stad, bijna net zo kleurrijk als het bos. Een meisje fietst een heuvel op, door een dikke bladerdeken, haar tong uit de mond. Een hardloper passeert haar. Ik doe pogingen een boom te fotograferen, een prachtige boom, in koninklijke herfstdracht. Als ik omkijk zie ik mijn lief plots een appelboom in klimmen, steeds hoger de kruin in, nauwelijks zichtbaar achter de bladeren. Ze blijft me verrassen.

Ze mag blijven. Ze heeft een papiertje gekregen met een stempel van de politie, waarop staat dat ze hier mag zijn. Een enkel A4'tje, niet meer dan wat inkt en een stempel, maar ons al te lief. Nu kan ze een nummertje aanvragen, zodat ze officieel bestaat. Nu kan ze met mij door Europa reizen, nu mag ze hier zijn. Het is veel sneller gegaan dan we vreesden.

Het is de tiende van de tiende van het jaar tien. Ver weg vieren Hanoi, Taiwan en Noord-Korea hun verjaardagsfeestjes. Heel ergens anders houden de Nederlandse Antillen op te bestaan. In Oslo is het de mooiste herfstdag ooit. Een goede dag om precies een half jaar getrouwd te zijn. Ons feestje is een wandeling.

Pas als we in het Vigeland Park zijn wordt het druk. Honderden beelden van naakte mensen, liefhebbend en vechtend, knuffelend en kronkelend, badend in het namiddaglicht. Sommige menselijk, andere demonisch, allen opmerkelijk en poedelnaakt. Toeristen en Osloërs kuieren gemoedelijk rond. Vandaag kan niemand boos zijn. Behalve de kleine jongen van Vigeland, natuurlijk.

We verlaten het park, en lopen naar het conservatorium, waar we vanavond een concert zullen bijwonen (Chopin en Sjostakovitsj, voorwaar een wonderlijke combinatie). Onderweg komen we langs een bioscoop met een groot koepeldak, en een beeld van Charlie Chaplin. Op zijn bolhoed draagt hij gele en rode bladeren. De lucht kleurt paars en oranje.

De herfst is vol verrassingen.