Cutting through the ideology and politics of sacred groves at Shinto Shrines: A book review of Shinto, nature, and ideology in contemporary Japan: Making sacred forests

Many reviewers of scholarly publications follow the methods of a prosecuting attorney, laying out evidence first and then using it to deliver a final opinion about the value of the work in question. I will flip that pattern and state my conclusion first: Shinto, Nature, and Ideology in Contemporary Japan is a significant and valuable contribution to the fields of religious studies, Japanese studies, Shintō studies, and Asian studies generally. Its author, Aike Rots (associate professor in Contemporary Japanese Culture at the University of Oslo), does a careful and convincing job of ‘connecting the dots’ between any number of hot topics that scholars and students must consider critically when surveying Japanese religious activity and the political dimensions it enables and legitimizes through traditions like shrine Shintō. In the following discussion, I will touch briefly upon a number of these themes and topics, such as the ‘religious environmentalist paradigm’, the sacralization of space, the ideological use of rural nostalgia, as well as a religiously referenced nationalism. It should be abundantly clear at the end of my review that the current study provides a substantial, nuanced, critical, and long-needed assessment of the current state of shrine Shintō and its strategic use of ‘sacred forests’ for ideological purposes.

The organization of the book’s nine chapters proceeds in an orderly and logical manner, with just enough history to orient the reader when considering contemporary religious activities and institutions that are called ‘Shintō’. Rots’ position as a religious historian and scholar of the contemporary period aligns with perspectives advanced by Kuroda, Breen, and Teeuwen (among others) that what we identify as Shintō is largely an ‘invented tradition’ (27). Like any religion whether ‘invented’ or not (and there are alternative perspectives about Shintō [see Hardacre, 2016; Antoni, 2016] that highlight certain continuities through the centuries), it is in an interactive relationship with social, political, and environmental developments. What makes the current study so fascinating is how the ‘natural’ environment of many shrines has been coopted to advance nationalistic schemes that originate elsewhere.

Rots’ central argument is how recent ideological developments promoting ‘sacred forests’ (chinju no mori) within the shrine Shintō establishment has provided useful and far-reaching resources to an array of affiliated actors (ranging from the prime minister to noted producers of anime to religious scholars and reactionary nationalists). Postwar shrine Shintō is characterized by ‘3 C’s’: it is corporate, conservative, and community oriented (132). This is the social context within which the ‘environmentalist paradigm’ of shrine Shintō operates. Rots states that, ‘Shinto has been re-defined as an ancient tradition of nature worship that contains valuable cultural and ideological resources for establishing sustainable relationships between humans and nature’ (66).

Some readers may react to the previous statement with skepticism, in part because they are already convinced that a Japanese love of nature and the environment are synonymous with Shintō, and that this relationship has existed since the dawn of Japanese civilization. Rots provides numerous case studies to show this supposition is little more than a widely promoted and historically shallow stereotype. It serves the political and vested interests of not only the Central Association of Shintō Shrines (Jinja Honchō), but also the conservative politicians (including the current prime minister), international religious organizations (International Shintō Foundation), and nonprofits (such as the European-based Alliance of Religion and Conservation, or the ARC). We must also include several right-wing organizations, led by the Nippon Kaigi, maneuvering in the shadows to nudge Japanese politics along more nationalistic and reactionary lines.

Political influence over ideas, resources, policies, and actions forms one side of the interpretive frame Rots brings to this study. We have already seen how history is another part of his interpretive perspective, with society and religion forming the remaining sides. He establishes early on that space is never ‘politically neutral…land is possessed and exploited by certain people’ for particular goals and effects (9). Rots investigates the ancient site of Mt. Miwa (22 km south of Nara) which could be called the ‘poster child’ of the Shintō environmentalist paradigm. It is said to represent an ancient shrine (Ōmiwa Jinja) in such close harmony with its surroundings that it has no need of a main sanctuary (honden): shrine literature asserts that the mountain itself has served this purpose since the 5th century. Through secondary scholarship and other sources, Rots shows conclusively how the shrine’s designation of Mt. Miwa as a shintaizan (sacred mountain) dates only to 1871 and was a ‘theological invention’ (110) to stop the pilfering of wood, stones, and mushrooms by local peasants. He also notes how the shrine’s principle identity was syncretically linked to Buddhism through ryōbu Shintō for the majority of its institutional history.

In a similar manner, Rots upends the tidy and ahistorical explanations of Kyoto’s Shimogamo Shrine’s tadasu-no-mori and the ‘primeval’ designation of Ise Grand Shrine’s forests, both of which undergo continual maintenance in order to sustain appearances (and symbolic associations) as ‘ancient’. Rots’ command of archival and secondary sources is impressive in itself, but he also conducted ethnographic fieldwork in both sites. Hearing the voices of volunteers, shrine employees, scholars, and priests enlivens and extends his scholarship in engaging ways, especially when he finds differences of opinion within the same organization as to what constitutes the ideal sacred grove. After reading these accounts – as well as his brief history of the Meiji shrine’s forest construction – one’s understanding and perception of these sites will be substantially transformed, just not in the way intended by the scholars, authorities, and priests so deeply invested in the ‘chinju no mori’ ideology. Knowing that Ise’s forests date back to a plan launched in 1923, and that European forestry techniques are fundamental to the maintenance of this and other sacred groves (188), reconfigures one’s understanding of and appreciation for the kind of ‘nature’ on display at these sites.

In order to understand how the current state of affairs developed where trees at a shrine take on political significance, Rots guides the reader through a variety of interrelated themes and topics. He arranges these topics to show how they generate symbolic and spiritual capital for the institution of contemporary Shintō. The book has numerous discussions on the historical and social construction of nature, on the dynamics of sacred space, on rural nostalgia (called satoyama, 39) as evoking a golden age when emperor, citizen, and environment were in harmony, and on the many ahistorical narratives promoted by the Central Association of Shinto shrines (Jinja Honchō). He acknowledges the effectiveness of these discourses and initiatives by noting that

‘One of the reasons for the increase in popularity of the Shinto environmentalist paradigm may well be its capacity to unite a diversity of actors – priests, ideologues and practitioners –

around the sacred symbolic capital of “nature”, “the environment”, and, most of all, “sacred forests”’ (68).

One might ask why this alignment of diverse interests should be a matter of concern. Should we not applaud efforts to raise awareness of and protection for Japan’s ‘sacred’ forests? Rots is quite clear on his position regarding these initiatives wherever they are found, including in the animated movies of Miyazaki Hayao (‘Mononoke Hime’ and ‘Tottoro’ in particular) that contribute to romanticized views of nature (82–84). Rots argues there is an ‘explicit association made between forest preservation, environmental awareness, moral education, and a renewed sense of community, (and the) revitalization of a supposed traditional culture and “ancient Japanese spirit”’ (137). For anyone unfamiliar with the political uses of ‘ancient Japanese spirit’, please see your local Wikipedia page on ‘World War II, Pacific War’.

One of the persistent advocates of these initiatives to connect chinju-no-mori with a national and imperial significance is a scholar-priest who inherited his position at a major shrine north of Tokyo, and who has taught at Kokugakuin as well as at Kyoto universities. While conducting research for my dissertation in Kyoto, I became a short-lived fan of his writing and environmental emphasis in the early 1990s. In one seminar I attended at Kyoto University, he made it clear that bringing people into an awareness and appreciation of chinju-no-mori went beyond environmental concerns. As discussed by Rots in the current study, this strategy’s shelf-life dates to well before my encounter with it in 1991, but its message has been consistent: the emphasis on sacred groves can engage new and upcoming generations of Japanese with local shrines and, through these shrines, the Jinja Honchō’s emphasis on moral education, love of nation, and veneration of the emperor. I remember leaving that seminar with my hair on fire, simultaneously shocked, flabbergasted, but also relieved that my suspicions had been verified so explicitly (see Nelson, 2000, p. 84, 247). Rots has no hesitation about challenging the assertions of any number of well-known writers and academics (Umehara Takeshi, Ueda Atsushi, Sonoda Minoru, Yasuda Yoshinori, Stuart Picken among many others) who have done their part to advance the environmentalist paradigm now represented by the ‘sacred groves’ at Shintō shrines.

Many readers will be surprised at the concluding chapter of the book, which describes how the appeal of chinju-no-mori ideology plays to global audiences. Using well-orchestrated visits to Ise Grand Shrine by members of the G7 summit in 2016 as well as during a 2014 international conference organized by the Jinja Honchō titled ‘Tradition for the Future: Culture, Faith and values for a Sustainable Planet’, Rots shows how buzz words related to environmental concerns circulate freely and effectively among diverse agents. It might seem harsh to criticize a global trend that appears to be innocuous and positive for promoting environmental sustainability and care for the planet, but Rots provides convincing scholarly analysis that demonstrates how environmental issues have provided a number of religious and nonprofit organizations (including the Jinja Honchō) with new opportunities to reassert their significance, not only domestically but globally (see 197). And yet, via the case studies provided in this book, Rots shows how Shinto environmentalist discourse and practices are focused on the historical and ecological importance of sacred forests, forest conservation, and reforestation, but not much else. ‘(O)ther topics such as toxic waste, air and water pollution, (and) alternative energy have received little attention’ (138). The triple disaster of the Tohoku earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear meltdown at Fukushima in 2011 did seem to nudge the shrine community to consider energy as a salient theme, but the evidence is spotty that there is any coordinated effort that will result in widespread solar panels on shrine roofs throughout Japan.

In any book-length study covering multiple sites and a vast number of sources, there are bound to be a few issues that escape editorial scrutiny. In a discussion about how the landscape around Kamigamo shrine in Kyoto was altered after the Pacific War, golf ‘courts’ (instead of ‘courses’) are mentioned twice (163). Using ‘worship’ without qualifying its cultural contexts (as well as its religious baggage) is also worth noting, as we find in the discussion (191) about religious leaders from Daoist, Christian, Hindu and other traditions who are said to have ‘collectively worshipped’ the sun goddess at Ise (during the interreligious conference held there in June 2014). The translation of furusato as ‘ancient village’ (184) is slightly at odds with the meaning of ‘rural nostalgia’ (via the index listing for furusato) which is more expansive and ambiguous than limiting the concept to a ‘village’. As discussed earlier, ‘rural nostalgia’ evokes ‘idealized hybrid nature-culture landscapes supposedly characteristic of traditional Japan’ (Rots 39). Thus, while furusato includes a sentimentalized village community it also incorporates landscapes, concepts of nature, and a longing for the past, all of which serve the ‘environmentalist paradigm’ of shrine Shintō today.

These minor points aside, Shinto, Nature, and Ideology in Contemporary Japan provides the kind of thorough, fair, and at times sharply critical exposé of contentious issues pulsing through current shrine Shintō and Japanese nationalism. For this reader in particular, Rots’ engaging study clarified and articulated themes that have nagged at me – and the study of shrine Shintō – since the 1990s. My initial enthusiasm for the potent symbolism and rituals of Shintō that seemed to (and perhaps did at one time) actively venerate nature has been replaced by a wary acknowledgment of how a religious tradition such as chinju-no-mori can be appropriated to serve as a smokescreen for an obstinate and growing nationalism.

Photograph 1. Sacred sugi tree at Zentsuji Temple.[Photograph by John K. Nelson]

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John Nelson

John Nelson is Professor of East Asian Religions and Academic Director of the M.A. Program in Asian Studies at the University of San Francisco. His most recent book is Experimental Buddhism: Innovation and Activism in Contemporary Japan (2014).