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Table of contents :
Preface
Acknowledgements
Contents
Notes on Contributors
List of Figures
List of Tables
Chapter 1: Introduction
Part I: Visual Arts and Architecture
Chapter 2: Traces of Places: Sacred Sites in Miniature on Minoan Gold Rings
Introduction
Peak Sanctuaries
Rural Sanctuaries
Cave Sanctuaries
Landscape Features in Palatial Architecture
Sacred Sites in Iconography
Cult in Glyptic
Trees in Rocky Ground
Cult Structures
Sanctuary Walls
Columnar Shrines
Ashlar Altars
Tripartite Shrines
Constructed Openwork Platforms
Incurved Altars
Table Altars
Altars with Horns
Conclusion
References
Chapter 3: Reimagining Sacrosanct Sites in the Graphic Arts of Kōno Fumiyo
Introduction
Dissociating Hiroshima/Nagasaki: Towards a Genealogy of A-bomb Manga
Kōno Fumiyo: Breaking the Hegemony of Silence
Shifting Perspectives in In This Corner Of The World
Shōjo Manga and the Feminisation of Japan’s War Legacy
Parody, Criticism and In This Corner Of The World as Counter-Memorial Site
Conclusion
References
Chapter 4: Consecrated Journeys: A Torres Strait Islander Space, Time Odyssey
Introduction
The Full Ritual Process: A Torres Strait Story
Ethno-Archaeological Research at Ne on Waier
Archaeology Research at Ne
Square A
Squares B and C
Discussion: Understanding the Full Ritual Process
Establishment of the Waiet Cult in ETS (Story Cycle 1)
Waiet’s Pathway in ETS (Story Cycle 2)
Waiet’s Pathway Across Torres Strait (Story Cycle 3)
Continuity of Practice, Continuity of Belief?
Stories Embedded in Place: Reassessing Ne as a Sacred Site
Conclusion
References
Chapter 5: Art and Cultural Heritage of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata: A View through the Terracotta Temples of Bishnupur, West Bengal
Introduction
Regional History and Narratives
Bishnupur Sacred Sites
Ras-mancha
Shyama Raya or Shyam-Rai Temple
Jor-Bangla or Kesta-Rai Temple
Madan Mohan Temple or Eka-ratna Temple
Radha-Vinod Temple
Conclusion
References
Part II: Pilgrimage and Tourism (Asia and New Age)
Chapter 6: Jiba: Returning Home for Tenrikyo Followers
Introduction
Sacred Place
Tenrikyo and Jiba
The Story of Origin
Miki Nakayama, the Foundress of Tenrikyo and Jiba
Ojibagaeri: Returning Home
Revitalising and Salvation
Conclusion
References
Chapter 7: Blurred Boundaries between Secular Memory and Sacred Space in Religious Tourism: Cases of Mormon and Unification Faiths
Introduction
Mormon Sacred Geography
Unification Historical Sites
The Dance of Sacred and Secular
Conclusion
References
Chapter 8: The Spiritual in the Mundane: The Poetry of the Shikoku O-Henro Pilgrimage
Introduction
The Shikoku Henro Pilgrimage
Getting Started as Pilgrim
Who Undertakes This Pilgrimage?
The Poetry of the Shikoku O-Henro
Celebration of Life
Pathways to Enlightenment
Emotional Landscape in the Physical Landscape
Belief, Companionship and Exhortations
Peace, Enlightenment and Transition
Yellow Prayer Flag Poems
Conclusion
References
Part III: Competition and Contestation
Chapter 9: Competition and Contestation at a Hindu-Muslim Shrine: The Case of the Sant Laldas in Mewat, North India
Introduction
Laldas and Historical Transformations
Religious Contestations around the Shared Sacred Spaces of Laldas
The Nature of Hindu-Muslim Relations in the First Half of Twentieth-Century Alwar
The Cult and Figure of Laldas: Neither a Hindu nor a Muslim
Representing Liminality: The Life of a Sādh
Disputes and the Nature of Religious Cultures of the Baniyas and the Meos
Conclusion
References
Chapter 10: Maitreya’s Boundless Gaze: The Religious Implications of Maitreya Mega-Statues
Introduction
Mega-Status as Monument: A Theoretical Context
A Typology
Maitreya in Buddhism
Maitreya Varied Careers
Maitreya’s Rebirth
Maitreya as Saviour
Budai
How Maitreya Functions Today
Patronage
Community
The Symbolic-Religious Functions
The Symbolic-Presence
Commodification—Religious Tourism
Conclusion
References
Part IV: Theory and Method
Chapter 11: Contemporary Creations and Re-cognitions of Sacred Sites
Introduction
Sacred Nature
Sacred Artefacts
Defending and Policing Disputed Boundaries
Multi-Level Sacredness
Permeability and Mobility
Sacralising Sites
Physical Bodies as Sacred Sites
Religious Bodies as Sacred Sites
Cosmic Sacred Sites
Global Sacred Sites
National Sacred Sites
Local Sacred Sites
Biological Sacred Sites
Ethnic Sacred Sites
Lineage Sacred Sites
Community Sacred Sites
Individual Sacred Sites
Internal Sacred Sites
Virtual Sacred Sites
Conclusion
References
Chapter 12: Is Sacred Site Discovered? Or Created?: A Case Study of Daesoon Jinrihoe
Introduction
Hierophany and Sacred Space of Daesoon Jinrihoe
Discovery of the Sacred Site: Various forms of Beliefs in Certain Sites
The Tradition of Feng Shui
Faith in Sites Hidden by Heaven and Belief of the Degree Number
Creation of the Sacred Site: Theory of the Consecration of the Sacred Sites
Faith in the Investiture of Gods
Conditions for Sacred Sites: The Realisation of Religious Norms
Ritual of Sacralisation of Sacred Site: The Devotional Offering of Enshrinement
Reproduction of Sacred Site
Conclusion
References
Chapter 13: Transformation of Admiral to the Sainthood and Sacred Stories of Chinese Sanctum Sanctorum from Malabar Coast
Introduction
Malabar-Chinese Relations
Nature of Malabar Port Towns
Search for Zheng He’s Shrine
Research Visit and Nercha Advertisement
Annual Nerchas in Honour of Sufi Saint
Admiral and Power of Number Seven
Cultural Legacies and Heritage
Conclusion
References
Index
Recommend Papers

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Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures Transmission of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity Edited by

dav i d w. k i m

Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures “An extraordinary cross-cultural and multi-religious panorama. We encounter many lesser known but important sacred places and become better informed as to how the traditions behind them have been passed on. Well selected, well organized, and a fine cast of scholarly contributors.” —Garry W. Tromp, Emeritus Professor in the History of Ideas, University of Sydney, Australia “The contributors to this book provide valuable theoretical and practical knowledge of specific sites of interest to religious communities, to pilgrims or simply tourists, thereby helping the reader reflect critically on what makes a location ‘sacred.’” —James L. Cox, Emeritus Professor of Religious Studies, University of Edinburgh, UK “An enlightening multi-disciplinary exploration of sacred sites, primarily in Asia, and how they are utilized for rituals, for constructing sacred histories, for political legitimation, and for recreation.” —Donald L. Baker, Professor in Korean History and Civilization, University of British Columbia, Canada “David W. Kim’s book provides an excellent transcultural overview of sacred sites and this collection of essays encapsulates the inter-relatedness of theory and praxis, where religion is experienced and transmitted in a multitude of ways.” —Kevin Cawley, Senior Lecturer in Korean Studies, University College Cork, Ireland “What sets this volume apart from previous efforts is its careful attention to what makes people, places, and things ‘sacred’ as well as its authors’ scrupulous attention to processes of sanctification. The chapters analyze the religious beliefs of local peoples with special attention to iconography, syncretism, and material culture. Collectively, these chapters facilitate the understanding of multi-cultural and multi-ethnic communities in Asia, the Mediterranean, Australia, and the United States. An impressive, meticulously researched collection.” —Stephen D. Glazier, Research Anthropologist, Yale University, USA

David W. Kim Editor

Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures Transmission of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity

Editor David W. Kim Kookmin University Seoul, South Korea Australian National University Canberra, Australia

ISBN 978-3-030-56521-3    ISBN 978-3-030-56522-0 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56522-0 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

For my father, Jin Sook, Joseph, Sung Jin, and Geun Suk.

Preface

Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories: Transmission of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity is a collection of chapters that take the reader from the Mediterranean world across Asia to the Coral Sea to Australia’s north. From different perspectives, it explores the nature of a sacred site; it offers an account of the ceremonies and other activities undertaken there; and it gives thought to why such a site might become a destination for pilgrims. The examples in this volume are drawn from cultures in which the oral tradition continues to play a vital role. So what is it that makes a site sacred? First, the site itself must be recognisable—that is, it must be distinctive in some way; and, second, it must have a story attached. Indeed, without a story a landmark of this kind cannot be considered sacred. Experience tells us—and this is confirmed by cognitive psychology—that a distinctive feature in a landscape will almost inevitably attract a story, a story that will ‘humanise’ and enrich the location. That landmark, whether a spring, a rock or another landform, or the remains of human activity (walls or housing, a temple or a tomb, for example), will subsequently prompt its associated story; or, on the other hand, the story itself will have the capacity to bring to mind the landmark in its landscape setting. But, if a site is to acquire special status as sacred, not just any story will do. What is needed is a story that is connected with the divine. And its content should be interesting and engaging: for it must be memorable. In terms of significance, it is possible that such a story will reach beyond its local audience. That is, the reputation of a site and stories about what is transacted there may extend beyond its immediate community, appealing vii

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PREFACE

to people from elsewhere who are drawn to visit. In a world in which travel is not always an easy undertaking, the motivation to make one’s way across country to a particular site must be strong. The power of faith and the perceived efficacy of ritual performance will drive the visitor’s response. Once these visitors have reached the site, it is important that they engage with it in some way, so that they can truly feel that, having experienced something of its sanctity, they have reached their goal. The rituals and ceremonies that they perform, therefore, must have a meaning: they must be linked in recognisable ways to both the site and its story. In this way, visitors experience a satisfying intimate contact with a sacred tradition that is important both to them and to their wider community. I am talking here about the beginnings of a tradition of pilgrimage—about people who come to view the site, who come to hear its story once more and to participate actively in the associated rituals and ceremonies, and (indeed, this is not to be discounted) who come to walk in the footsteps of earlier visitors. Autopsy and engagement together are essential characteristics of a pilgrimage. Merely visiting a site can be best described as tourism. In many cultures in today’s world, local signage or Wikipedia are ready sources of information about a site and its significance. But, for the pilgrims that I am speaking of, communication is primarily oral; oral transmission plays a crucial role. In their world, in which cultural memories—memories from a distant past—are shared by word of mouth, there is an important role for an active network of informants: parents, grandparents, teachers, storytellers, and, on site, people whom we might describe as tour guides. Without these tellers of tales, the traditions associated with a sacred site will die. Of course, memory is powerful, but it is also imperfect. We know from our everyday experience that memories are subject to distortion, for all kinds of reasons: the passage of time, a storyteller’s natural desire to enhance a story, and new circumstances all individually encourage a subtle reshaping of a tale. It is rarely the case that memories are preserved absolutely intact. Nevertheless, even as the story adapts itself to a changing world and to changing circumstances within it, the tradition of sanctity has the capacity to live on at this distinctive site along with related sacred practices—as the chapters in this volume demonstrate. Australian National University Canberra, Australia

Elizabeth Minchin

Acknowledgements

This project (Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories: Transmission of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity) was originally motivated through casual dialogues with Asian religion and culture scholars at the School of History, the Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs, and the School of Culture, History, and Language (CHL) at the Australian National University (ANU), Canberra. The creative idea was carried on by hosting an international conference on the transhistorical legacy of the world culture (Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories: Global Perspectives) from 5 to 7 April 2018. There were over one-­ hundred scholars, religious leaders, and practitioners at the conference. As a result of the conference, this volume, in a pioneering perspective, introduces the various studies of religious or mystical spaces in a multicultural community to enhance the social concept of global heritages in the history of religions. The study draws from research on archaeology, anthropology, ethnology, politics, history, and tourism as well as the ideological subjects of ‘Glyptic arts of Aegean Bronze Age,’ ‘atomic bombing sites of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,’ ‘walls of Bishnupur’s terracotta temples,’ ‘Yeoju Headquarters Temple Complex,’ ‘Kerala’s Koyapapa narratives,’ ‘Japanese characteristics of Ojibagaeri,’ ‘commemorative sites of the Mormon and Unification,’ ‘Shikoku O-henro Pilgrimage,’ ‘Ayudaw Mingalar garden,’ ‘Malabar’s Zheng He,’ ‘Waiet markai,’ and ‘shrines of Laldas.’ This research is financially sponsored by the Korean Foundation and the Asia-Pacific Innovation Program, ANU. The Coral Bell School of Asia Pacific Affairs and CHL generously offered their research facilities. This project would not have been possible without the financial and organisational assistance of the funding agency and research institution. For their ix

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

assistance, I would like to thank Sean Downes, Senior Research Development Officer (Bell School/CHL), Research Services, ANU College of Asia and the Pacific. Professor Michael Wesley, Dean of the College of Asia and the Pacific and Professor Simon Haberle, Director of CHL, ANU, showed a special interest through the favour of providing university research sources and research space. Professor Frank Bongiorno (Head of the History School), Professor Han Seung Kim (Dean of the College of General Education, Kookmin University, Seoul), and Dr Paul Kenny (Head of the Department of Political and Social Change, ANU), as academic advisors, helped me in many ways, including official and administrative issues as well as university access. Professor Robert Cribb, Department of Political and Social Change, supported my research work by advising on internal academic developments. Associate Professor MaComas Taylor, Dr Peter Friedlander, Dr Barbara Nelson, and Dr Yuri Takahashi, who together organised the ANU Asian Religion conference, shared their experiences of India, Nepal, and Vietnam religious studies to deepen my understanding of the life of the indigenous religions in the region of South and Southeast Asia. Ms Catherine Fisher, the research assistant of the university, solved most of the practical issues for my academic activities. I am grateful to Professor Iain Gardner, Fellow of the Academy of Humanities in Australia, and Emeritus Professor Gary Trompf, Personal Chair in the History of Ideas, the School of Literature, Arts, and Media, the University of Sydney who are my academic mentors in the History of Religions and Theology. I also thank Ms Helen Gadie and Garry Breland in the United States for their involvement in reading the manuscript and useful comments. Finally, I express sincere gratitude to Susan Westendorf (Springer Nature), Philip Getz (Senior Editor, Palgrave Macmillan), Amy Invernizzi (Palgrave Macmillan), Vinoth Kuppan (Project Coordinator), and Arumugan Hemalatha (SPI Technologies India) for their efforts in the process of this publication. Kookmin University, Seoul, South Korea, and Australian National University, Canberra, Australia

David W. Kim

Contents

1 Introduction  1 David W. Kim Part I Visual Arts and Architecture   9 2 Traces of Places: Sacred Sites in Miniature on Minoan Gold Rings 11 Caroline Jane Tully 3 Reimagining Sacrosanct Sites in the Graphic Arts of Kōno Fumiyo 41 Roman Rosenbaum 4 Consecrated Journeys: A Torres Strait Islander Space, Time Odyssey 67 Duncan Wright, Alo Tapim, and James Zaro 5 Art and Cultural Heritage of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata: A View through the Terracotta Temples of Bishnupur, West Bengal 99 Supriya Banik Pal

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Part II Pilgrimage and Tourism (Asia and New Age) 135 6 Jiba: Returning Home for Tenrikyo Followers137 Midori Horiuchi 7 Blurred Boundaries between Secular Memory and Sacred Space in Religious Tourism: Cases of Mormon and Unification Faiths163 Alexa Blonner 8 The Spiritual in the Mundane: The Poetry of the Shikoku O-Henro Pilgrimage191 Carol Hayes Part III Competition and Contestation 225 9 Competition and Contestation at a Hindu-­Muslim Shrine: The Case of the Sant Laldas in Mewat, North India227 Mukesh Kumar 10 Maitreya’s Boundless Gaze: The Religious Implications of Maitreya Mega-Statues263 Edward A. Irons Part IV Theory and Method 295 11 Contemporary Creations and Re-cognitions of Sacred Sites297 Eileen Barker 12 Is Sacred Site Discovered? Or Created?: A Case Study of Daesoon Jinrihoe327 Seon-Keun Cha

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13 Transformation of Admiral to the Sainthood and Sacred Stories of Chinese Sanctum Sanctorum from Malabar Coast355 Abbas Panakkal Index381

Notes on Contributors1

Eileen Barker  (PhD, PhD h.c., FAcSS, FBA, OBE) is Professor Emeritus of Sociology with Special Reference to the Study of Religion at the London School of Economics. Her main research interests are minority religions (including the so-called ‘cults’) and social reactions to which they give rise. In 1988, she founded INFORM (www.Inform.ac), an educational charity providing as reliable and up-to-date information as possible about minority religions. She is a frequent advisor to governments and other organisations throughout the world, has over 300 publications translated into 27 languages and has been invited to give guest lectures in over 50 countries. Alexa Blonner  (PhD, Sydney) currently works as an independent scholar. She holds a doctorate in Studies in Religion from the University of Sydney in Australia in 2017. She specialises in new religions with particular expertise in the Unification faith/movement. Other academic interests are philosophy of religion, sociology of religion, religious anthropology, spirituality, morals and ethics. Her published papers towards the end of 2018 were the following: ‘Update: From the Unification Church to Unification Movement and Back’ with David Bromley in Nova Religio: Journal of New and Emergent Religions in 2012; ‘Heaven’s Way in Korea’s New Religions: A Reinterpretation of Salvation’ in Journal of Koreanology 1  Our contributors reside in eight different nations (the United Kingdom, Germany, Japan, Korea, Australia, the United States, UAE,  and India) and are affiliated with 13 different institutions.

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in 2017; and ‘The New God of Unificationism: Precedents and Parallels’ published in Acta Comparanda, Subsidia VI in 2018. Reimagining God and Resacralisation, her thesis-based book on emergent directions in religious thought, was published by Routledge in 2019. Other research projects in train are a Hare Krishna schism and changes in the Sathya Sai Baba organisation since the death of the founder. Seon-Keun  Cha  is affiliated with the Daesoon Academy of Sciences at Daejin University in Korea, as senior researcher. His academic interests lie in new religions, Daoism, shamanism, Daesoon thought, comparative study on East Asian religions, and method and theory in religious studies. He is currently working on the research on social conflicts among the East Asian nations including Korea, China, and Japan and how religion contributes to the resolution of those conflicts in the dimension of religious perspective. Cha’s publication includes the following: ‘A Comparative Study on Daesoon (大巡) Thought and Dangun (檀君) Thought’ (2018), ‘Eight-Gate Transformation (奇門遁甲) and Kang Jeungsan’s Religious World’ (2017), ‘Re-Examining The Concepts of ‘Seeking Out the Original Root [原始返本]’ as Religious Language’ (2017), ‘An Introduction to the Study of the View of the Mind in Daesoonjinrihoe’ (2017), ‘An Introduction to the Study of the View on Death in Daesoonjinrohoe’ (2016), and ‘A Comparative Study on Religious Ethics of Early Folk Daoism in China and Daesoonjinrihoe’ (2015). Carol Hayes  is Associate Professor of Japanese Language Studies in the College of Asia and the Pacific and Distinguished Educator at the Australian National University. Her research interests include Japanese cultural production with a focus on modern Japanese poetry and Japanese language teaching methodologies and practice, particularly e-­Teaching and e-Learning. Her recent publications include ‘Baba Akiko: Intabyū’ (Tanka Kenkyū 2018, in Japanese); Reading Embraced by Australia: Oosutoraria ni Idakarete (with Yuki Itani-Adams, ANU Press 2016); and ‘Women Writing Women: ‘A Woman’s Place’ in Modern Japanese Women’s Poetry’ (Journal of the Oriental Society of Australia 2016). She has translated many works of poetry published in such journals as Transference and International Tanka. Midori Horiuchi  is Professor of the Oyasato Institute for the Study of Religion, Tenri University, in Japan. She was a research scholar by invitation of the Indian Government at Banaras Hindu University (1984–1988) and was conferred a PhD in Philosophy. Her fields are religious studies,

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especially modern Hinduism, new religions in Japan, gender in religion and Tenrikyo studies. Midori has published several books, including Ramakrishna: His Life and Thought, and many articles on modern Hinduism, and Tenrikyo studies. Edward  A.  Irons  (PhD) is Director of the Hong Kong Institute for Culture, Commerce and Religion. He specializes in Chinese new religions and contemporary Buddhism. Recent areas of interest extend to leadership in new religions, organisational forms of religion, and monumentality in religious experience. In 2003, he established the Hong Kong Institute for Culture, Commerce and Religion, and independent research centre, to promote discussion and research on contemporary Chinese culture. Some previous publications include the following: ‘Falun Gong and the Sectarian Religion Paradigm,’ in Nova Religio, The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 6: 2, April 2003; and Encyclopaedia of Buddhism, published by Facts on File, 2008; ‘The List: The Evolution of China’s List of Illegal and Evil Cults,’ The Journal of Cesnur 2, 1 January–February, 2018, 33–57; ‘Occupy Central: Towards A Geography of Presence,’ in The IAFOR Journal of Cultural Studies 1, 1, Spring 2016; and ‘Chinese New Religious Movements: An Introduction,’ in Pokorny, Lukas, and Franz Winter, eds., Handbook of East Asian New Religious Movements (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 403–428. David  W.  Kim (PhD, Sydney) is an associate professor at Kookmin University, Seoul, and a visiting fellow at the School of History, Australian National University, Canberra. He is the editor for  Book Series  in East Asian Religion and Culture. His research and teaching cover the subjects of Asian Religions (Japan, Korea, and China), new religious movements, Colonial Studies, Diaspora Studies, Gender, Gnosticism, History of Christianity, and Coptic Literature. In addition to this volume, he has written seven books (plus one more book is in the process of publication) and over 39 peer-reviewed articles including New Religious Movements in Modern Asian History:  Sociocultural Alternatives (Lexington, 2020), Daesoon Jinrihoe in Modern Korea: The Emergence, Transformtion and Transmission of a New Religion (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2020), Colonial Transformation and Asian Religions In Modern History (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2018), Religious Encounters in Transcultural Society: Collison, Alteration, and Transmission (Lexington, 2017), Religious Transformation in Modern Asia: A Transnational

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Movement (Brill, 2015), Intercultural Transmission in the Medieval Mediterranean (Continuum: 2012), and Revivals Awaken Generations: A History of Church Revivals (Sydney DKM: 2007). Mukesh  Kumar  (PhD) has completed his doctoral dissertation in the field of religious studies at the University of Technology, Sydney. His doctoral project examined the nature of the changing forms of shared religious beliefs and popular culture around the shrines of two Bhakti and Sufi saints, Laldas and Shah Chokha. His research methods included historical and ethnographic approaches. He has published two articles entitled ‘The Art of Resistance: The Bards and Minstrels’ Response to Anti-Syncretism/Anti-liminality in north India’ and ‘Blended Belief: The Sacred Cow and the Case of Meo Muslim Community in north India’ in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, London, and Economic and Political Weekly, respectively. Elizabeth  Minchin is a fellow of the Academy of the Humanities Australia (FAHA) and Emeritus Professor in the Centre for Classical Studies at the Australian National University, Canberra. Her principal research focus is on the Homeric epics as poems composed in an oral tradition; her approaches to the epics are largely from cognitive and linguistic perspectives. Her publications arising from this research were amongst the first to introduce cognitive theory into Classics: Homer and the Resources of Memory (OUP, 2001); Homeric Voices (OUP 2007). More recently, her interests have led to work on landscape and memory: ‘Commemoration and Pilgrimage in the Ancient World: Troy and the Stratigraphy of Cultural Memory’ (2012); ‘Heritage in the Landscape: the ‘Heroic Tumuli’ in the Troad Region’ (2016); ‘Mapping the Hellespont with Leander and Hero: ‘the Swimming Lover and the Nightly Bride’’ (2017); and ‘Remembering Leander: the Long History of the Dardanelles Swim’ (2016). Supriya Banik Pal  (PhD) had been a professor of Sanskrit (affiliation to University of Burdwan), is currently a retired professor and working as an independent researcher. She is a life member of the Asiatic Society of Bengal and a member of Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture, Kolkata. Her research interests include the Mahabharata, gender and women studies, religion and philosophy of ancient India. Banik Pal has published widely throughout her career, and some of her contributions are the following: Asian Literary Voices, Amsterdam

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University Press, Amsterdam (2010) (ISBN 978-90-8964-0925); Archaeologia Zeylanica (2011), vol. I part II Colombo; Asian Art, Culture and Heritage (ISBN 978-955-4563-09-4) (2013), Colombo; Sindh through the Centuries-II (ISBN-13:978-969-9874-02-4) (2015); Aspects of ASEAN Culture and Religion (2017); Vietnam and Colonial Transformation and Asian Religions in Modern History (2018); Cambridge Scholars Publishing, UK (ISBN-13:978-1-5275-0559-9). At present, she is associated with a project on ‘An anthology on Sudraka’s Mrichchhakatikam,’ scheduled to be published by an international publisher. Abbas Panakkal  (PhD), Director of Ibn Batuta International Centre for Intercultural Studies (IBICIS) and the editor of Armonia journal, has been working on Islam, Malabar, Law, Religion, Interreligious and Intercultural Co-operations. His Islam in Malabar (1460–1600): A Socio Cultural Study’ was published by the International Islamic University Press, Malaysia. Panakkal is also Director of International Interfaith Harmony Initiative, which has been organizing Interfaith programmes, in collaboration with United Nations Initiatives, Malaysian prime minister’s Department for Unity and Integration and International Islamic University Malaysia for the last seven consecutive years. He was awarded a fellowship by the Centre for Interfaith and Cultural Dialogue, Griffith University, Australia, as well as KAICIID, Vienna. Panakkal works as the project coordinator of the G20 Interfaith Summit, is actively involved in co-ordination of the G20 Interfaith Summits and has co-organized Pre-Conference Summits in Middle East and South Asia. He was also invited to present his research on peace and moderation at the United Nations headquarter in New York in 2018. Roman Rosenbaum  (PhD) is a honorary associate at the University of Sydney Australia. He specialises in post-war Japanese Literature and Popular Cultural Studies. He holds a PhD in Japanese Literature from the University of Sydney. In 2008, he received the Inoue Yasushi Award for the best-refereed journal article on Japanese literature in Australia. In 2010–2011, he spent one year as a visiting research professor at the International Research Centre for Japanese Studies  (Nichibunken) to complete a monograph on the social activist Oda Makoto. He is the editor of Representation of Japanese History in Manga (Routledge 2013). His latest edited book is entitled Visions of Precarity in Japanese Popular

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Culture and Literature (Routledge 2015). His latest translation is ISHIBUMI: A Memorial to the Atomic Annihilation of 321 Students of Hiroshima Second Middle School; Tokyo: Poplar Press (ポプラ社), 2016. Caroline  Jane  Tully (PhD) is an honorary fellow in the School of Historical and Philosophical Studies at the University of Melbourne, Australia. Her research interests include religion and ritual in the Bronze Age Aegean and East Mediterranean, Reception of the Ancient World, and Contemporary Paganisms. Caroline’s publications include the following: The Cultic Life of Trees in the Prehistoric Aegean, Levant, Egypt and Cyprus (2018); ‘Thalassocratic Charms: Trees, Boats, Women and the Sea in Minoan Glyptic Art’ (2018); ‘The artifice of Daidalos: Modern Minoica as religious focus in contemporary Paganism’ (2018); ‘Egyptosophy in the British Museum: Florence Farr, the Egyptian Adept and the Ka’ (2018); ‘Virtual Reality: Tree Cult and Epiphanic Ritual in Aegean Glyptic Iconography’ (2016); and ‘Walk Like an Egyptian: Egypt as Authority in Aleister Crowley’s Reception of The Book of the Law’ (2010). She is also the guest editor for Pomegranate: International Journal of Pagan Studies special issue on Pagan Art and Fashion. Duncan Wright  (together with Alo Tapim and James Zaro) is a senior lecturer in Australian Archaeology at the Australian National University. Wright was a research fellow at Monash University and Griffith universities and has developed a long-term collaboration with remote communities in far north Australia, including Torres Strait. His research adopts a partnership approach, guided at all stages by the communities who initiate each project. Most recently, this has involved archaeological excavations at important initiation sites in Western and Eastern Torres Strait. His interests include the history of ritual activities on Australia’s northern border and the extent to which these activities, and underlying belief systems, survive within collective memories and the ritual architecture of sacred places. His works include the following: ‘Ritual pathways and public memory’ (2018); ‘The Archaeology of portable art: South East Asian, Pacific and Australian Perspectives’ (2018); ‘Exploring ceremony: archaeology of a men’s meeting house on Mabuyag, western Torres Strait’ (2016); and ‘Convergence of ceremonial and secular’ (2015). As part of the team, Alo Tapim is an elder for the Murray group of islands. He belongs to Daurareb and Magaram clans and is custodian of Waiet places on Waier, Dauar and Mer. He completed schooling on Thursday Island

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and Townsville before working on the railways near Townsville. Hired as a ‘temporary clerk,’ he advised the Department of Aboriginal Island Affairs on Thursday Island before returning to Mer to focus on his own community. Alo became a respected Dauareb elder, with interests in language and heritage. He regularly advises government and cultural organisations (including National Museum of Australia and World Health Organisation), with expertise recognised through appointment as a member of the Torres Shire Council Cultural Committee and Torres Strait and Northern Peninsula Health Council. His outputs include media appearances on ABC, NITV, and SBS, and has co-authored publications including ‘Indigenous Australians’ knowledge of weather and climate’ (2010) and ‘Dancing with the stars’ (2016). James Zaro is a knowledge custodian for the Murray group of islands. He belongs to the Daurareb and Zagareb clans and speaks for important Waiet initiation places on Waier (Ne), Dauar (Teg) and Mer (ulag, near Las). Schooled on Thursday Island and then Townsville, James was employed in a variety of roles spanning much of northern Australia. This included concreting house foundations in Mackay, 20 years of work on railways around Rockhampton, and road maintenance work as part of the Rockhampton ‘bitumen patrol’. In 2011, he was recalled by his community to play football for Murray Islands and took part in the inaugural Island of Origin Cup. Following this, he worked at the Royal Hotel on Thursday Island for two years before returning to Murray to dive for trochus shell. Since this point, he has been actively involved with the Meriam Council (Mer Gedkemle), including Dauareb representative between 2014 and 2018.

List of Figures

Fig. 2.1

Fig. 2.2 Fig. 2.3

Fig. 2.4 Fig. 2.5 Fig. 2.6 Fig. 2.7 Fig. 2.8 Fig. 2.9 Fig. 2.10 Fig. 3.1

Conical Rhyton from Zakros. (Source: Photo by Lourakis, CC0 1.0 [https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/ zero/1.0/deed.en] and image copyright the Heraklion Archaeological Museum - Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports - Archaeological Receipts Fund) 14 Detail of Peak Sanctuary Rhyton relief. Shaw 1978 14 Gold ring HM 1700, from Knossos. (Source: Photo by Jebulon, CC0 1.0 [https://creativecommons.org/ publicdomain/zero/1.0/deed.en] and image copyright of Heraklion Archaeological Museum - Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports - Archaeological Receipts Fund) 18 Clay ring impression from Haghia Triadha. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg) 20 Gold ring from Knossos. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg) 22 Gold ring from Mycenae. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg)25 “Baetylic table of offering” from the Dictaean Cave. Evans 1901 26 Fresco painting from Xeste 3 at Thera. Doumas 1992 29 Stone seal from Naxos. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg) 32 Bronze plaque from the Psychro Cave. Evans 1921 33 Trompe l’oeil effects after the narrator loses her right (drawing) hand. Kōno Fumiyo, Kono sekai no katasumi ni (Tokyo: Futabasha, 2006), 3:87 50

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List of Figures

Fig. 3.2 Fig. 3.3 Fig. 3.4 Fig. 4.1

Fig. 4.2 Fig. 4.3 Fig. 4.4

Fig. 4.5 Fig. 4.6

Fig. 5.1 Fig. 5.2 Fig. 5.3 Fig. 5.4 Fig. 5.5 Fig. 5.6 Fig. 5.7 Fig. 5.8 Fig. 5.9 Fig. 5.10 Fig. 6.1 Fig. 6.2 Fig. 6.3 Fig. 6.4 Fig. 6.5

An example of the narrator’s chūkanzu 虫瞰図 (worm’s-eye view). Kōno Fumiyo, Adrienne Beck, trans., In This Corner of the World (Los Angeles: Seven Seas Entertainment, 2017), 3:10 52 An example of the narrator’s chōkanzu 鳥瞰図 or fukanzu 俯瞰図 (aerial bird’s-eye view) 53 The sacred school textbook showing the children’s doodles. Kono Fumiyo, Kono sekai no katasumi ni, 2:130 60 The Torres Strait Islands. Adapted from two bathymetric maps of Torres Strait—http://asiapacific.anu.edu.au/ mapsonline/base-maps/torres-strait-reefs and https:// ts.eatlas.org.au/ts/maphighlights68 Ne viewed from the sea (with Sunny Passi) 76 James Zaro at “Waiet’s fireplace” 79 Drawings of Waiet and his funeral ceremonies collected by Mr J.S. Bruce (Haddon, Reports of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition, Gen Ethnography, Vol. 1, 132, 400–401.) (Source: courtesy of Anita Herle, Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of Cambridge) 80 The main excavation area (James Zaro, Glenn Van Der Kolk and Sunny Passi—bottom to top and left to right) 81 Cult hero pathways around Murray according to Pasi (Cited A.O.C. Davies, Diary and notes: Murray Island Mer, 1924–25. Unpublished diary, Smithfield QLD. AIATSIS Library), Mopwali and Pitt (Cited Lawrie, Myths and Legends of the Torres Strait) and Alo Tapim (pers. comm. 2016) 84 Ras-mancha 110 Shyam-Rai Temple 112 Ras-Chakra or Ras-Mandala 113 Jor-Bangla or Kesta Rai Temple 115 Performance of Putrakameshti sacrifice 117 Legend of Andha muni’s son Sindhu 118 Middle panel: Kumbhakarna was famous for his sleeping and eating119 Scenes of Kurukshetra War 120 Bhı̄ṣhma on bed of arrows, and Arjuna shooting at earth to quench the grandsire’s thirst 121 Three arch gateways, Madan Mohan Temple 123  The route of the Shikoku-henro142 Today’s “Ohenrosan” 143 Jiba in the Tenrikyo Main Sanctuary and its schematic view 148 Prayer hall of the Main Sanctuary 154 The Oyasato-yakata area surrounding the Main Sanctuary 155

  List of Figures 

Fig. 7.1 Fig. 7.2 Fig. 7.3 Fig. 7.4 Fig. 8.1 Fig. 8.2 Fig. 8.3 Fig. 8.4 Fig. 8.5 Fig. 8.6 Fig. 8.7 Fig. 10.1 Fig. 12.1 Fig. 12.2 Fig. 12.3 Fig. 12.4

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Entering Joseph Smith’s Birthplace Memorial 172 Joseph Smith Memorial 175 UTS Assembly Hall 178 Belvedere “Garage” 180 Kokoro o arai192 Pilgrim hat and staff 203 Reasons for undertaking the Shikoku Henro (2011 survey results)208 kizu tsuite210 jō jō yo yo 213 ashi no mame215 kaze mo, hikari mo (Sakamura Shinmin, “Work 1116,” in Shinmin Museum. kaze mo hikari mo / hotoke no inochi) 218 Tianen Mile Foyuan Budai at Emei Lake, Taiwan 285 Features of Daesoon Jinrihoe Dojangs (Temple Complexes) 331 The Shrine of Divine Beings (Yeongdae) 332 Yeoju Headquarters Dojang looks like ume flower petals 335 The mountain beside the Yeoju dojang resembles the Seven Stars 336

List of Tables

Table 4.1 Overview of Waiet ritual based on Davies and Haddon Table 4.2 Radiocarbon dates from the Waiet sites in ETS Table 11.1 Ideal types of theological locations of religious/spiritual identities and their boundaries

75 82 308

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction David W. Kim

The contemporary society witnesses numerous travellers visiting the sacred sites of different culture or custom in the twenty-first century. Their curiosity is expanded when they discover new historical facts through the original stories of a particular tribe, region, or nation. The transmission of oral tradition and myth carries on the significant meaning of those religious sites, such as temples, mountains, castles, churches, house, and animals. However, there are very few texts on the sociopolitical transformation of sacred sites and stories, even though the number of global pilgrims has gradually increased not only in Europe but also in Asia. The tourism packages in relation to those cultural places are also becoming popular among young and old couples and families. Why do local people regularly worship (new and mystical) religious shrines? How were they built? Who is their god or deity? What kind of sacred stories do they have? Why do many people travel to them? How does it impact local history? Do sacred sites have economic benefits? Such questions, within the anthropological concept of Hinduism, Islam, Buddhism, Confucianism, Taoism, Shintoism, and Shamanism, have a great clue to comprehend the ethnographical process of transculturation. D. W. Kim (*) Kookmin University, Seoul, South Korea Australian National University, Canberra, Australia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 D. W. Kim (ed.), Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56522-0_1

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The subject of the edited book (Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories: Transmissions of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity) is about the global perspective of sacred spaces and its related narratives in the regional history of Mediterranean Sea, Asia, Australia, and North America. The manuscript comprises selected articles (out of 62 articles) from the second Australian National University (ANU) Religion Conference, 5–7 April 2018, ANU, Canberra. There are introductory individual papers on the tradition of major religious sites, such as Religious Sites by Robbie B. H. Goh (2006); Designing and Managing Interpretive Experiences at Religious Sites: Visitors’ Perceptions of Canterbury Cathedral by Karen Hughes, Nigel Bond, and Roy Ballantyne (2007); Perception of Sacredness at Heritage Religious Sites by Daniel Levi and Sara Kocher (2013); and The Political Geographies of Religious Sites in Moscow’s Neighborhoods by Meagan Todd (2017). However, the current book demonstrates the unique meaning and its impact on the social and philosophical culture of particular regions. The detailed knowledge of each religious community’s transformation is explored in the context of cultural diversity in the development of modernisation. The Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories: Transmissions of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity unveils multi-angle perspectives of symbolic and mystical objects. The writings of 12 contributors will describe the religio-­ political environment of each regional case. This book also analyses the religiosity of local people as a lens through which readers can re-examine the concept of iconography, syncretism, and materialism. In addition, our contributors interpret the growth of new religions as another viewpoint of anti-traditional religions. The new approach offers significant insight to comprehend the practical agony and sorrow of regional people in the colonial context of contemporary history. The scope of the book covers the identity, culture, and teachings of ethnic communities in the modern society. The cultural influence of regional reliefs on local people will be the primary focus, with less attention on scientific prospect. The critical insights and innovative approaches of the book will help apprehend oral history, ethnology, and traditional religions as the study of sacred sites is a prominent feature in a number of disciplines. In particular, the new book will be a useful source for the readers of sociology and philosophy of the following regions: Greece, India (Malabar Coast), West Bengal, Vietnam, Tibet, Taiwan, China, Korea, the United Kingdom, Japan, the United States, and Australia.

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The topics of enquiry range from the role of sacred sites in religious traditions to how sacred sites form a part of the development of modern tourist industries, the role of sacred sites in international relations and the ways in which sacred sites can be the focus for disputes. As several sacred sites and their stories face challenges due to economic development, environmental change and the impact of mass pilgrimage and tourism, this book offers an opportunity for wide-ranging understanding of the past, present, and future of sacred sites and stories and their significance in the world today. Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories: Transmission of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity offers a fresh view of the socio-religious phenomena of various countries through examining the structure (arts and building) and unique narratives of those spaces. The inquiry of religious persecution and social apprehension under political and military influence will underline the new cultural landscape of those areas. The book is not about casual narratives of the regional culture, but adheres to high standards as an academic source, for it is the works of professional researchers in history, philosophy, politics, diplomacy, gender studies, religion, education, archaeology, sociology, anthropology, linguistics, and cultural studies. It theoretically investigates the external and internal phenomena of each religious custom. The manuscript comprises four parts (13 chapters in total including introduction [Chap. 1]); namely, “Visual Arts and Architecture,” “Pilgrimage and Tourism (Asia and New Age),” “Competition and Contestation,” and “Theory and Method.” Part I (Visual Arts and Architecture) describes the archaeological arts of regional sites in four chapters. The topic of “Traces of Places: Sacred Sites in Miniature on Minoan Gold Rings” (Chap. 2) explores the Glyptic arts of the Aegean Bronze Age through engraved metal signet rings, stone seals, and the clay impressions (sealings). The gold signet rings from the Cretan Neopalatial period (1750–1490 BCE) represent various types of sacred sites, including mountains, rural, caves, and urban sanctuaries. Caroline Jane Tully differentiates the built structures depicted in cult scenes on Minoan gold rings, correlates them to archaeological remains at Minoan sacred sites, and proposes an explanation of ephemeral cult structures now only recorded in the iconographic evidence. She argues that the representation of Minoan cult structures that evoked the natural landscape within prestigious art forms was a method whereby Neopalatial elites naturalised their authority by depicting themselves in special relationship with the animate

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landscape. “Reimagining Sacrosanct Sites in the Graphic Art of Kō no Fumiyo” (Chap. 3) visualises the post-war generation’s perspective on the Asia-Pacific conflict through the graphic art of the atomic bombing sites of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. What is the significance of this reimagined discourse by a post-war-generation author born into the era of Japan’s accelerated economic growth? Roman Rosenbaum regards the context of Kō no’s visionary discourse on wartime Japan, during a time when the neo-liberal politics of “overcoming the postwar regime” have become a national imperative. Kō no’s exploration of Japan’s nuclear legacy deconstructs the aura of Japan’s devastated sacred sites and dispels the rhetoric of invigorated survivors rising such as phoenixes from the ashes. “Consecrated Journeys: A Torres Strait Islander Space, Time Odyssey” (Chap. 4) examines the ethnography and archaeology of Waiet markai, a consecrated journey that involved initiation ceremonies spanning three Eastern Torres Strait (henceforth, ETS) islands. Specifically, the research regards on “Ne” on Waier, one stage of the “Waiet markai” and addresses the following two questions: (i) can temporal change be isolated at important ETS islander ritual places? (ii) Do echoes of the staged Waiet markai process survive in the structure of ceremonies and site architecture? Wright, Tapim, and Zaro argue that an integrated approach, drawing on ethnography and archaeology, allows them to better understand ritual processes within indigenous contexts. Performative models of ritual passage provide intellectual knowledge to comprehensive archaeological and ethnographic anomalies at Ne and move beyond the universal conceptions of sacred sites as ritual isolates. “Art and Cultural Heritage of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata” (Chap. 5) highlights the unique sculptures on the walls of Bishnupur’s terracotta temples in West Bengal, depicting the culture in the Indian epics, Ramayana and Mahabharata. While the walls are decorated with terracotta plates narrating stories from the epics (similar to that of Angkor-Wat) and Puranas, the artisans of these terracotta temples preferred to follow the legends of the Bengali Ramayana-Ramer Panchali by Krittivas Ojha and Kashidasi Mahabharata by Kashiram Das, the Bengali version of Mahabharata. Supriya Banik Pal attempts to answer the questions on why the artisans had chosen the ancient Indian literatures through the form of visual illustrations, demonstrated the characteristic of terracotta art and architecture, and what their influences on modern art are. Part II (“Pilgrimage and Tourism: Asia and New Age”) regards Asian cultural places in the context of pilgrimage and tourism in three chapters.

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“Jiba: Returning Home for Tenrikyo Followers” (Chap. 6) introduces the unique concept of “Jiba (Home of the Parent)” in a Japanese new religion. While the word, with the terms of “yashiki” and “oyasato,” contains literal meanings as “place,” “land,” and “location” to Tenrikyo followers, “Jiba,” refers to the sacred spot at the centre of the main sanctuary in the church headquarters. Therefore, it is described as “the object and centre of the Tenrikyo faith.” The chapter depicts that those who come to see the Foundress (Oyasama = Miki Nakayama) in Jiba have their hearts filled with joy and brightness and become enveloped in an indescribable peace. For such an internal transformation, Midori Horiuchi discusses the characteristics of “Ojibagaeri,” the Tenrikyo pilgrimage directed towards the “sacred” locus of Jiba. “Blurred Boundaries between Secular Memory and Sacred Space in Religious Tourism” (Chap. 7) looks at the formation of commemorative sites of the Mormon and Unification faiths and finds it similarly indicative of such blurring boundaries. Is the sacred being edged out by secular rationality, or is it actually expanding into new, more subtle, territory? For Alexa Blonner, the development of sacred sites is seen to have begun as a highly practical act of historical preservation to which sacred meaning and experience accrue over time rather than the other way around as with the more traditional sacred sites. It is sustained that they intermesh preservation, historical interest, educational value, secular and sacred pilgrimage, moral story, and sacred experience. Blonner presumes that the combined purpose is to be found at traditional sacred monuments and landscapes; however, in these two American and Korean groups site presentations remain chiefly secular in focus with sacred reasoning more subtly hovering. “The Poetry of the Shikoku O-Henro Pilgrimage” (Chap. 8) talks about the relationship between poetry and pilgrimage through investigating the poetry written by pilgrims walking the 1200-­kilometre Shikoku Henro no Michi (Pilgrim Way), the oldest Buddhist pilgrimage route in Japan. Carol Hayes examines how such poetic expression stands at the intersection between the spiritual and the mundane, pilgrimage and tourism, and the unique role it plays in giving expression to the pilgrim relationship with space, belief, and cultural identity. Part III (“Competition and Contestation”) contains the various studies in the concept of competition and contestation in two chapters. “Competition and Contestation at a Hindu-Muslim Shrine” (Chap. 9) introduces Laldas, a 16th born saint, revered by both Hindus and Muslims. Although the shrines of Laldas historically remained a peaceful centre of popular devotion throughout the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth

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centuries, his shrines became disputed centres in the middle of the twentieth century. Mukesh Kumar demonstrates how this religious transformation from an undisputed liminal cult to a more Hinduised cult has taken place with regard to popular devotion to the saint Laldas. The two primary followers of the saint are a Muslim peasant class called the Meos and a Hindu group of merchants known as the Baniyas. The author argues that religious disputes at shared religious spaces are the reflections of changing forms of religious cultures; they became prone to disputes when the dynamics of social relations changed. Chapter 10, “The Religious Implications of Maitreya Mega-Statues,” surveys Maitreya megastatue projects in four culturally different regions: namely, Taiwan, northern China, southern Vietnam, and the Tibetan refugee population in India. According to Edward A.  Irons, Maitreya is most widely recognisable in the form of Budai, the laughing, overweight character watching (hardly guarding) the approach to the Heavenly King Hall, the first hall encountered in most Chinese temples. He presumes that Maitreya retains an allure that belies popular images. As the Buddha of the future, Maitreya is intimately tied to the idea of a new age. The American Hong Kong scholar sustains that this connects Maitreya to a powerful constellation of religious emotions: hope, apocalyptic determinism, and trepidation. Part IV (“Theory and Method”) begins with the interpretation of theories and methods applied to the sacred sites of various (Eastern and Western) religions in three chapters. Chapter 11 (“Contemporary Creations and Re-cognitions of Sacred Sites”) looks at the role of beliefs and practices of contemporary religions and spiritualities in the creation and/or recognition of sacred sites. Are new sacred sites being created and/or discovered today? Eileen Barker follows that sacred sites are commonly thought of as being relics of religious or spiritual happenings of the past—Stonehenge, the Western Wall, The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Mecca, Varanasi, Mount Fuji, and natural localities for Native Americans and other indigenous peoples. “Is Sacred Site Discovered? Or Created?” (Chap. 12) interprets the Yeoju Headquarters Temple Complex in the combined theories of Mircea Eliade and David Chidester. The first perspective is that one cannot choose a sacred site based on one’s will but can only discover it; for that space is thought to have innately acquired its sacredness through hierophany. The second perspective is that humankind actively creates sacred space, ascribing their own interests upon a place by occupying and activating the sacredness of that location. In considering these issues, Seon-Keun Cha

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proposes that the sacred space of Daesoon Jinrihoe in Korea can be interpreted as either discovered or created according to which perspective is adopted. The chapter argues that compounding the two aforementioned perspectives broadens possible explanations of the sacred space. “Transformation of Admiral to the Sainthood and Sacred Stories of Chinese Sanctum Sanctorum from Malabar Coast” (Chap. 13) inquires the incredible process of famous Chinese Admiral Zheng He’s transformation to sainthood and mystical experience enjoyed by devotees in Indian Ocean coastal line of Malabar. Admiral Zheng He is known to make seven frequent voyages to Malabar between 1405 and 1433 with a marvellous fleet of 317 ships and approximately 28,000 people. How did the admiral become a reverent saint? How does the community enjoy the supernatural power of the admiral turned Sheikh? Abbas Panakkal analyses the nature of annual Nerchas in honour of Chinese Saint, a festival similar to the temple festival of the region. He compares the nostalgic cultural legacies of sacred stories with trajectories of early trading and political axis developed as shared heritage of Chinese Malabar relations. Ultimately, each chapter of this volume (Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories: Transmission of Oral Tradition, Myth, and Religiosity) delivers the uniqueness and originality of cultural heritage. The hagiographic narratives of indigenous people and pilgrims transmit the oral tradition of sacred sites that is based on mystical imagination. The regular rituals and regional festivals display the spontaneous religiosity of particular region or culture. Similarly, this volume demonstrates that most of the ethnic communities would have certain patterns of socio-religious symbolism by which their identity is displayed in the formation of arts and architecture. Such approaches of sacred sites and stories in contemporary society are an alternative method that can draw a conclusion that religious traditions can be trans-historical regardless of the official recognition of government or authority.

PART I

Visual Arts and Architecture

CHAPTER 2

Traces of Places: Sacred Sites in Miniature on Minoan Gold Rings Caroline Jane Tully

Introduction Discovered at the beginning of the twentieth century by Sir Arthur Evans, Minoan civilisation was named after the mythical King Minos, and initially interpreted with reference to the well-known Classical mythological tales of Pasiphae and the Bull, Ariadne and Theseus, and the latter’s killing of the Minotaur in the Labyrinth. Ubiquitous bull imagery from the palatial site of Knossos and the palace’s “labyrinthine” architecture appeared to confirm the myth—but what of the reality? Crete is the largest of the Greek islands and is located in the Mediterranean on the ancient sea routes between Europe, Asia, and Africa, a position contributing to its important role in the network of trade and transmission of culture throughout the ancient world. First inhabited in the Neolithic period (ca.7000–3500 BCE), small hamlets and villages remained the dominant feature of Crete until the end of the Early Bronze Age (the Middle Minoan IA–IB ca. 2000 BCE). From the Middle Bronze Age onwards, a more complex society

C. J. Tully (*) University of Melbourne, Melbourne, Australia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 D. W. Kim (ed.), Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56522-0_2

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emerged which culminated in the appearance of the first palaces, termed the “Protopalatial period” (Middle Minoan IB–IIIB ca.2000–1750 BCE). Destruction of the palaces, probably by an earthquake, and their subsequent rebuilding marked the beginning of the Neopalatial period (Late Minoan IA–B) around 1700 BCE. The Minoan palaces formed the centre of administration, storage, trade, and religion until their destruction by the Mycenaeans in the Final Palatial period (Late Minoan IB–II) around 1490–1430 BCE, with Knossos itself finally destroyed around 1350 BC.1

Peak Sanctuaries In the Early Minoan period, religion was focussed upon ancestor veneration and ritual was enacted in the vicinity of monumental stone tombs. Mountain peak and cave cults arose at the end of the Early Minoan period (EM III ca. 2200–2000 BCE), possibly as a response to environmental changes. Around this time, an aridity event affecting the wider eastern Mediterranean dried up lowland pastures on Crete and may have been the catalyst for the establishment of ritual sites on mountain tops and within caves because they were close to the sources of rain and groundwater.2 Archaeological investigation has identified around forty Minoan mountain peak and hill sanctuaries.3 During the Middle Minoan period, these were distributed throughout eastern and east-central Crete and were locations of popular cult focussed on agricultural and pastoral concerns. Peak sanctuary sites of the Middle Minoan period are characterised by  Peter Tomkins, “Neolithic Antecedents,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean, ed. Eric Cline (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 31–49; Sturt Manning, “Chronology and Terminology,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean, ed. Eric Cline (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 11–28. 2  Jennifer M.  Moody, “Environmental Change and Minoan Sacred Landscapes,” in Archaeologies of Cult: Essays on Ritual and Cult in Honour of Geraldine C. Gesell, eds. Anna Lucia D’Agata and Aleydis van der Moortel (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2009), 241–249. 3  Alan Peatfield, “The Atispadhes Korakias Peak Sanctuary Project,” Classics Ireland 1 (1994): 90–95. DOI: 10.2307/25528268; Krzystof Nowicki, “Some Remarks on New Peak Sanctuaries in Crete: The Topography of Ritual Areas and Their Relationship with Settlements,” Jarbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 122: (2007): 1–31; Ibid., “Mobility of Deities? The Territorial and Ideological Expansion of Knossos During the Proto-Palatial Period as Evidenced by the Peak Sanctuaries Distribution, Development, and Decline,” Proceedings of the 12th International Congress of Cretan Studies, Heraklion, Greece 21–25 September 2016:1–15. 2016. 12iccs.proceedings.gr; Brent E.  Davis, Minoan Stone Vessels with Linear A Inscriptions (Leuven: Peeters, 2014). 1

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large, open-air spaces suitable for gatherings, feasting remains, evidence of fire, and terracotta and bronze votive animal and human figurines. Many of the sites are intervisible and may have been used as beacons, and they may have also been used for astronomical observation.4 During the Neopalatial period, the number of active peak sanctuaries decreased to only eight which were widely dispersed and located near urban centres and palaces.5 These sanctuaries were architecturally elaborated and received high-quality offerings, suggesting that they came under the control of palatial elites.6 Neopalatial peak sanctuaries feature single or multiple roomed enclosures built roughly of local stone; cult furniture such as altars, benches, rock tables; human and animal figurines, votive limbs, hearths, ash, evidence of feasting, and objects inscribed with the palatial writing script known as Linear A. Mount Jouktas near the palace of Knossos is the oldest and most monumentalised peak sanctuary and has produced the largest and most extensive assemblage.7 The peak sanctuary depicted on a stone rhyton from Zakros in east Crete provides an impression of the appearance of such sites (Figs. 2.1 and 2.2). 4  Alan Peatfield, “The Topography of Minoan Peak Sanctuaries,” Annual of the British School at Athens 78 (1983): 273–279. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0068245400019729; Ibid., “Palace and Peak: The Political and Religious Relationship Between Palaces and Peak Sanctuaries,” in The Function of Minoan Palaces. Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 10–16 June, 1984, eds. Robin Hägg and Nanno Marinatos (Stockholm: Svenska Institut I Athen, 1987), 89–93; Ibid., “Atispadhes Korakias”; “The Topography of Minoan Peak Sanctuaries Revisited,” in Archaeologies of Cult: Essays on Ritual and Cult in Crete in Honor of Geraldine C.  Gesell, eds. Anna Lucia D’Agata and Aleydis van der Moortel (Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 2009), 251–259; Evangelos Kyriakidis, Ritual in the Bronze Age Aegean: The Minoan Peak Sanctuaries (London: Duckworth, 2005), 52; Mary Blomberg and Göran Henriksson, “The Discovery of Minoan Astronomy and its Debt to Robin Hägg,” Journal of Prehistoric Religion 25 (2016): 64–77. 5  Peatfield, “Atispadhes Korakias,” 23; Kyriakidis, Ritual in the Bronze Age Aegean, 20; Davis, Minoan Stone Vessels, 406, n.1624. 6  Peatfield, “Palace and Peak”; “Atispadhes Korakias”; Davis, Minoan Stone Vessels; Sam Crooks, Caroline Tully and Louise A. Hitchcock, “Numinous Tree and Stone: Re-animating the Minoan Sacred Landscape,” in Metaphysis: Ritual Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 15th International Aegean Conference, Vienna Institute for Oriental and European Archaeology, Aegean and Anatolia Department, Austrian Academy of Sciences and Institute of Classical Archaeology, University of Vienna, 22–25 April 2014 (Aegaeum 39), eds. Eva Alram-Stern, Fritz Blakolmer, Sigrid Deger-Jalkotzy, Robert Laffineur, and Jorg Weilhartner (Leuven and Liège: Peeters, 2016), 157–164. 7  Alexandra Karetsou, “Ίερòν Κορυφής Γιούχτα,” Praktika tēs en Athēnais Archaiologikēs Hetaireias (1974): 228–239; Alan Peatfield, “Minoan Peak Sanctuaries: History and Society,” Opuscula Atheniensia 18 (1990): 122.

Fig. 2.1  Conical Rhyton from Zakros. (Source: Photo by Lourakis, CC0 1.0 [https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/deed.en] and image copyright the Heraklion Archaeological Museum - Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports - Archaeological Receipts Fund)

Fig. 2.2  Detail of Peak Sanctuary Rhyton relief. Shaw 1978

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Rural Sanctuaries Rural sanctuaries occur within the landscape at various types of topographical location such as on the slopes and summits of low hills, in forest clearings, in the vicinity of rocky clumps, or on terraces close to the sea.8 They could be situated high in the mountains, but not on mountain peaks, as in the example of Kato Syme which is located on a flat surface close to a large spring.9 Rural sanctuaries incorporated landscape features such as parts of the field, terrace, or grove in which they were situated, but were deliberately set apart from the surrounding landscape by varying degrees of architectural definition. This ranges from the extremely humble in which a large stone or heap of pebbles was placed on the boundary line, to the presence of built structures that were made of perishable materials such as wood, to much more elaborate architectural construction as in the case of Kato Syme with its stone walls and buildings.10 It is the more modest of these categories that are consequently difficult to impossible to discern within the archaeological landscape and the category of rural sanctuary has primarily been elucidated from iconography.11

Cave Sanctuaries Of over two thousand caves in Crete, thirty-six have been identified as cult sites with twelve of those dating to the Minoan period.12 From the Late Neolithic to the Early Minoan I period, caves were used as burial places and were the focus of ancestor veneration. During the Middle Minoan I, the earliest sanctuaries were established at the Psychro, Kamares, Amnisos, and Idaean caves.13 Minoan sacred caves tend to be large, deep, and damp, 8  Bogdan Rutkowski, The Cult Places of the Aegean (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1986), 204, 247, n.3, n.4. 9  Bogdan Rutkowski, “Cretan Open-Air Shrines,” Archaeologia 39 (1988): 26. 10  Angeliki Lebessi, “Ίερόν τού Ѐρμού κα Αφροδίτης είς Σύμηυ βιάννου.” Praktika tēs en Athēnais Archaiologikēs Hetaireias (1972): 193–203; Angeliki Lebessi and Polymnia Muhly, “Aspects of Minoan Cult. Sacred Enclosures. The Evidence from the Syme Sanctuary (Crete),” Archäologischer Anzeiger (1990): 313–36. 11  Rutkowski, “Cretan Open-Air Shrines,” 24; Cult Places, 99, 103, 248, n.16; Elissa Z.  Faro, Ritual Activity and Regional Dynamics: Towards a Reinterpretation of Minoan Extra-Urban Ritual Space (University of Michigan, 2008), 195, 207, 216–8, 212, 234. 12  Richard Bradley, An Archaeology of Natural Places (London: Routledge, 2000), 98; Loeta Tyree, Cretan Sacred Caves: Archaeological Evidence (Columbia: University of Missouri and Arbor: University Microfilms, 1974). 13  Loeta Tyree, “Diachronic Changes in Minoan Cave Cult,” in Potnia: Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Aegean Conference.

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and feature pools of water, various chambers, and stalagmites and stalactites that can evoke human and animal forms.14 Sacred caves are often located at prominent positions within the landscape and have entrances visible from the surrounding area, as in the case of the Kamares Cave near the palace of Phaistos.15 Cave cult was probably directed towards the promotion of fertility. Votive objects including metal figurines and double axes were submerged in the pools, while double axes, knives, and pins were lodged into the stalagmites, crevices, and fissures within the rock.16 Feasting remains are apparent but evidence of fire is rare. The high quality of many of the objects deposited within cave sanctuaries, in addition to the naturally restricted access to the caves, suggest elite participation.17 The presence of mountain, rural, and cave sanctuaries imply that the Minoans envisioned a tripartite division of the cosmos.18

Landscape Features in Palatial Architecture The Minoan sacred landscape was also incorporated into palatial design where it appears both as naturalistic decorations and in more abstracted architectonic form.19 Palatial ceramics were decorated with floral and marine themes, and rooms were adorned with fresco paintings depicting plants and animals. Sunken and basement architectural spaces termed Goteborg University [12–15 April 2000] (Aegaeum 22), eds. Robert Laffineur and WolfDietrich Niemeier (Liège: Université de Liège, 2001), 40. 14  Livingston V. Watrous, The Cave Sanctuary of Zeus at Psychro: A Study of Extra-Urban Sanctuaries in Minoan and Early Iron Age Crete (Liège Université de Liege, 1996), 51; Rutkowski, Cult Places, 51; Sam Crooks, “Natural Landscapes,” A Companion to Aegean Art and Architecture, ed. Louise Hitchcock (Hoboken: Blackwell). 15  Tyree, “Diachronic Changes,” 40. 16  David G.  Hogarth, “The Dictaean Cave,” Annual of the British School at Athens 6 (1899–1900): 94–116. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0068245400001945. 17  Joseph Hatzidakis, “An Early Minoan Sacred Cave at Arkalochori in Crete,” Annual of the British School at Athens 19 (1912–13): 35–47. https://doi.org/10.1017/ S0068245400009072; Crooks, “Natural Landscapes.” 18  Nanno Marinatos, Minoan Kingship and the Solar Goddess. A Near Eastern Koine (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2010), 110–111; Caroline J. Tully and Sam Crooks, “Dropping Ecstasy? Minoan Cult and the Tropes of Shamanism,” Time and Mind: The Journal for Archaeology Consciousness and Culture 8 (2015): 129–158. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/1751696X.2015.1026029. 19   Louise A.  Hitchcock, “Naturalising the Cultural: Architectonicised Landscape as Ideology in Minoan Crete,” Building Communities: House, Settlement and Society in the Aegean and Beyond, Cardiff University, April 17–21, 2001, eds. Ruth Westgate, Nick Fisher and James Whitely (London: British School at Athens, 2007), 91–97.

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“Lustral Basins” and “Pillar Crypts” may have been architectonic renditions of sacred caves; the stone pillar in a pillar crypt referencing stalagmites and stalactites characteristic of Minoan caves.20 Wooden columns situated directly above pillar crypts in so-called column shrines may have evoked trees or groves at rural sanctuaries.21 The throne in the palace of Knossos features a baetylic or mountain-shaped back, similar in outline to that depicted between antithetic goats upon the Peak Sanctuary Rhyton from Zakros (Fig.  2.2).22 The Central Courts of palatial buildings were oriented between true north and a sacred mountain, and the buildings grouped around the Central Court may have evoked mountains around a plain.23 Thus, the architectural design of Minoan palaces instantiated the Minoan tripartite cosmology, consisting of sacred mountains, terrestrial plains, and subterranean caves.24

Sacred Sites in Iconography Evidence for Minoan sacred sites is also found in the two-dimensional art forms of fresco painting, carved stone vases, carved ivory, and glyptic. Glyptic art is the most extensive body of Aegean Bronze Age representational art and consists of carved seals in the form of seal stones, engraved metal signet rings, and the clay impressions (sealings) that the seals were used to produce. Seals were part of the palatial administrative system and were used to secure and identify property, to designate ownership, and as a symbol of office or authority. Approximately 11,000 seals and sealings are known from the Aegean Bronze Age.25 Usually, under 3 centimetres in size, the primary purpose of 20  Louise A.  Hitchcock, Minoan Architecture: A Contextual Analysis (Jonsered: Paul Åströms Förlag, 2000), 150–154; “Naturalising the Cultural,” 94. 21  Nanno Marinatos, Minoan Religion: Ritual, Image and Symbol (Colombia: University of South Carolina Press, 1993), 87–98. 22  Caroline J. Tully and Sam Crooks, “Enthroned Upon Mountains: Iconography and the Construction of Power in the Aegean Bronze Age,” in The Ancient Throne: The Mediterranean, the Near East, and Beyond. From the 3rd Millennium BCE to the 14th Century CE. Proceedings of the Workshop held at 10th ICAANE in Vienna, eds. Liat Naeh and Dana B. Gilboa (Vienna: OREA, 2020). 23  Jan Driessen, “The Central Court of the Palace at Knossos,” in Knossos: Palace, City, State, eds. Gerald Cadogan, Eleni Hatzaki and Adonis Vasilakis (London: British School at Athens, 2004), 77; Hitchcock, “Naturalising the Cultural.” 24  Caroline Tully and Sam Crooks, “Power Ranges: Identity and Terrain in Minoan Crete,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture (2019). 25  The seals and sealings are published with bibliography in the Corpus der Minoischen und Mykenischen Siegel (CMS) series.

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seals was identification of their owner; however, because of their decorative aspects they also functioned as jewellery. Stone seals were worn on the body as bracelets, necklaces, pendants, or pins. The small hoops of the metal signet rings suggest that they may have belonged to people with very small fingers, have been worn further along the finger between the first and second knuckles, or been strung upon necklaces.26 Evidence from the clay sealings stamped by gold rings show that they mainly authenticated documents.27 Around 340 signet rings have been identified; a little over 100 of which are actual rings while the remainder are preserved only through their impressions on clay sealings (Fig. 2.3).

Fig. 2.3  Gold ring HM 1700, from Knossos. (Source: Photo by Jebulon, CC0 1.0 [https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/deed.en] and image copyright of Heraklion Archaeological Museum - Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports - Archaeological Receipts Fund)  Mervyn Popham and Hector Catling, “Sellopoulo Tombs 3 and 4, Two Late Minoan Graves Near Knossos,” Annual of the British School at Athens 69 (1974): 223. https://doi. org/10.1017/S0068245400005542 27  Olga Krzyszkowska, Aegean Seals (London: University of London Press, 2005), 155–156, 192; Judith Weingarten, “The Use of the Zakro Sealings,” Kadmos 22 (1983): 8–13. https://doi.org/10.1515/kadm. 1983.22.1.8; Erik Hallager, The Minoan Roundel and Other Sealed Documents in the Neopalatial Linear A Administration (Aegaeum 14) (Liège: Université de Liège, 1996). 26

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Cult in Glyptic The metal signet rings feature the most complex and spectacular figurative scenes in the glyptic repertoire and mainly consist of human and divine figures engaged in ritual activities.28 These events occur in locations ­ranging from natural landscapes characterised by the presence of trees and rocks and the absence of architecture, perhaps indicating a sacred grove or cave; to the outside of sanctuary walls; in the vicinity of various types of altars; as well as in, or near, boats and the sea.29 All the examples of cult activity occurring within the natural landscape involve epiphany; the appearance of a divine being either as a vision or as a human acting as the divinity. The occurrence of epiphany within the natural landscape emphasises the fact that the Minoans understood the landscape to be a sacred place.30

Trees in Rocky Ground Glyptic images of ritual activity occurring amidst trees and rocks, without any architectural structures, portray ephemeral cult places that are difficult to identify archaeologically within the actual landscape. Trees and rocks, along with the human activity depicted in these images including epiphanic ritual, tree shaking, baetyl hugging, and dancing would not have left a material culture signature in the archaeological record.31 These images may depict informal, occasional, or spontaneous encounters with the numinous landscape, or the initial discovery of such a place.32 While the entirety of the landscape is not depicted because of the constraints of the glyptic medium, selected features such as trees and rocks imply a wider landscape, traces of which can be assumed to exist outside the glyptic frame. As a result of the miniaturisation and editing involved in glyptic composition, landscape elements such as trees and rocks may be shorthand for larger features such as groves and mountains, as is the case in 28  John G. Younger, The Iconography of Late Minoan and Mycenaean Sealstones and Finger Rings (Bristol: Bristol Classic Press, 1988), x; John Boardman, Greek Gems and Finger Rings: Early Bronze Age to Late Classical (London: Thames and Hudson, 2001), 16; Krzyszkowska, Aegean Seals, 127, 137. 29  Caroline J. Tully, The Cultic Life of Trees in the Prehistoric Aegean, Levant, Egypt and Cyprus (Peeters: Leuven, 2018). 30  Caroline J. Tully, “Virtual Reality: Tree Cult and Epiphanic Ritual in Aegean Glyptic Iconography,” Journal of Prehistoric Religion 25 (2016): 35–46. 31  Faro, Ritual Activity, 207. 32  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 36.

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Near Eastern seal iconography. Comparative ethnographic examples of art and literature from the Levant and Egypt suggest a symbolic association between these aspects of the natural world and ruler ideology. Trees and stones are the natural forms and attributes of deities associated with fertility, power, and rulership.33 The tree and stone dyad is also associated with communication between heaven and earth, secret divine language, and prophecy.34 The depiction of epiphany occurring in natural locations characterised by the presence of trees and rocks signifies that the Minoan elites who owned and were depicted in these rings wanted to promote their special relationship with the sentient landscape which naturalised their authority (Fig. 2.4).35

Fig. 2.4  Clay ring impression from Haghia Triadha. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg) 33  William Dever, Did God Have a Wife? Archaeology and Folk Religion in Ancient Israel (Grand Rapids: Erdmans, 2005); Susan Ackerman, Warrior, Dancer, Seductress, Queen: Women in Judges and Biblical Israel (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 142, 154. 34  Nicholas Wyatt, Word of Tree and Whisper of Stone, and Other Papers on Ugaritic Thought (Piscataway: Gorgias Press); Nanno Marinatos, “The Minoan Mother Goddess and Her Son: Reflections on a Theocracy and its Deities,” Bilder Als Quellen Images as Sources: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Artifacts and the Bible Inspired by the Work of Othmar Keel, eds. Susanne Bickel, Silvia Schroer, René Schurte and Christoph Uehlinger (Göttingen: Academic Press Fribourg, 2007), 349–363. 35  Crooks, Tully and Hitchcock, “Numinous Tree and Stone.”

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Cult Structures The majority of glyptic images of Minoan ritual include architectural structures and man-made objects. In the past, these have been conflated with each other; earlier scholarship tended to misidentify different types of built structures which resulted in blanket descriptions whereby they were identified as all being “walls,” “shrines,” or so-called “portal shrines”. In fact, cult structures and objects depicted in glyptic should be separated into clearly defined categories consisting of walls, gateways, and paving; columnar, ashlar, and tripartite shrines; constructed openwork platforms, horned altars, incurved altars, and table altars. Structures made of stone, such as sanctuary walls, ashlar altars, tripartite shrines, parts of constructed openwork platforms, incurved altars and horned altars, have been identified at sacred sites within the landscape and at architecturally monumentalised urban locations. Those made of perishable materials like wood, such as columnar shrines and table altars on the other hand, are only known from the iconographic record.36

Sanctuary Walls Images of straight-sided rectangular ashlar masonry walls, sometimes with gateways, over which trees project, can be considered to depict hypaethral sacred enclosures. The walls are represented by courses of isodomic masonry and a gateway consisting of a cornice above an opening, framed by two uprights with a horizontal lintel. The structure is often situated in conjunction with paved ground.37 Masonry appears in three different forms in Minoan art: rectangular, checkerboard, and rough stone masonry.38 Rectangular masonry, as depicted here, is the most common type and appears in almost all media including glyptic, fresco, and architectural models.39 In glyptic images, rectangular masonry is found in representations of walls, vertical, and stepped altars, and possibly some gateways  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees.  Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood, “Space in Late Minoan Religious Scenes in Glyptic— Some Remarks,” Corpus der Minoischen und Mykenischen Siegel. Beiheft 3. Fragen und Probleme der Bronzezeitlichen Ägäischen Glyptik. Beiträge zum 3. Internationalen Marburger Siegel-Symposium 5.–7. September 1985, ed. Ingo Pini (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1989), 253. 38  Kathleen Krattenmaker, Minoan Architectural Representation (Bryn Mawr College, 1991), 45. 39  Ibid. 36 37

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Fig. 2.5  Gold ring from Knossos. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg)

(Fig. 2.5). Such images depict stone blocks rather than mudbrick because the latter is always plastered and thus does not show the individual bricks.40 While rectangular masonry is characterised by blocks arranged in rows in a staggered format, the joints of one row appearing as positioned over the middle of the stone blocks of other rows, some structures in glyptic cult scenes appear to be made of a grid-like “latticework” where the lines indicating mortar between the blocks are continuously vertical and horizontal rather than alternating. This may be an abbreviated way of depicting ashlar masonry or in some cases suggest another material and form of construction such as wattle-and-daub or wickerwork.41 The restriction of the image within a small frame and the subsequent curtailed depiction of the architectural structures imply traces that have been excluded and thus left outside the frame.42 Walled cult sites are evident in other forms of iconography such as the Zakro Rhyton (Figs. 2.1 and 2.2), fragments of rhyta from Gypsadhes, and the gate with horns on 40  Clairy Palyvou, “Architecture in Aegean Bronze Age Art: Façades With No Interiors,” Aegean Wall Painting. A Tribute to Mark Cameron, ed. Lyvia Morgan (London: British School at Athens, 2005), 189–190. Although at the palace of Malia a rubble wall was covered in plaster and horizontal and vertical lines were incised to imitate ashlar. 41  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 56. 42  Jacques Derrida, The Truth in Painting (University of Chicago Press, 1987).

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the eastern wall of the first level of the building Xeste 3 on Thera.43 The Zakro Rhyton depicts a peak sanctuary with walls constructed of very regular isodomic ashlar masonry topped by triple stepped cornices44 and the Xeste 3 fresco, which may also be a peak sanctuary, depicts a wall constructed of ashlar masonry in the middle of which is a gate topped with monumental horns, over which leans a tree. These images may help clarify what it is that the more cursorily executed glyptic examples are intended to represent. If the ashlar structures in glyptic cult scenes represent the same type of structure as on the stone rhyta and Theran fresco, then they may depict a peak sanctuary, particularly the outside thereof.45 However, archaeological examples of sanctuary walls tend to be constructed of semi-­ ashlar, polygonal, or cyclopean masonry, and archaeological correlations for the peak sanctuaries constructed of ashlar blocks depicted on the Zakro Rhyton and in the Thera fresco have never been found.46 This suggests that Minoan artwork portrayed idealised or generic versions of sanctuaries. In the case of glyptic art, because of their tiny size precision may not have been a major factor and what was being communicated in such scenes may have merely been the suggestion of a sacred enclosure. The type of sacred enclosure wall represented in these images must refer to one that is situated at one of the peak or rural sanctuaries that were architecturally elaborated in the Neopalatial period, however, because only those sanctuaries had masonry walls.47 It is proposed therefore that these images depict cult events occurring outside sacred enclosures situated in mountainous or rural locations where elite female figures demonstrate their special relationship with tree and mountain numina associated with rulership. 43  Andreas Vlachopoulos, “Mythos, Logos and Eikon. Motifs of Early Greek Poetry in the Wall Paintings of Xeste 3,” in EPOS: Reconsidering Greek Epic and Aegean Bronze Age Archaeology. Proceedings of the 11th International Aegean Conference / 11e Recontre Égéenne International. Los Angeles, UCLA—The J. Paul Getty Villa, 20–23 April 2006 (Aegaeum 28), eds. Sarah Morris and Robert Laffineur (University of Texas 2007); 107–118; Peter Warren, Minoan Stone Vases (London: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 84–90. 44  Krattenmaker, Minoan Architectural Representation, 46. 45  Ibid.; Kathleen Krattenmaker, “Architecture in Glyptic Cult Scenes: The Minoan Examples,” in Corpus Der Minoischen und Mykenischen Siegel. Beiheft 6. Minoisch-Mykenische Glyptik Stil, Ikonographie, Funktion. V.  International Siegel-Symposium Marburg, 23–25 September 1999, eds. Ingo Pini and Jean-Claude Poursat, (Berlin: Gebr. Mann., 1995), 117–33; Sourvinou-Inwood, “Space,” 255–256. 46  Although Lebessi and Muhly (“Aspects of Minoan Cult”) and Donald Preziosi and Louise A. Hitchcock (Aegean Art and Architecture [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999, 140]) have identified similarities between the sanctuary on the Zakro Rhyton and Kato Syme. 47  Peatfield, “Minoan Peak Sanctuaries”; Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 58.

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Columnar Shrines The most ambiguous type of cult structure depicted in Minoan glyptic iconography is the “columnar shrine.”48 These are known only from iconography and can be confusing because they also look like gateways, and because there are no archaeological remnants of them to confirm their construction or use. Columnar shrines are characterised by a simple post and lintel format consisting of columns, posts, or piers supporting a horizontal element such as a cornice or entablature. The columnar construction results in openings between the columns which are usually empty but which may contain additional vertical elements, sometimes interpreted as tree trunks or baetyls. Some columnar structures are more elaborate with two columns rather than single ones forming the major vertical supports of the structure. They are often surmounted by trees or other vegetation, or else have simple flat unadorned tops.49 Columnar shrines can be subdivided into two types: those constructed from ambiguous, possibly wooden, material and those apparently made from stone blocks. The smooth vertical columns with single or double cornices or entablatures, executed by the engraver in single strokes, give the impression of a singular piece of material such as wood. That it is not stone is suggested by the complete lack of any remnants found archaeologically. Other examples, although having a similar overall shape, appear to be made of stacked blocks evident by short horizontal marks within the vertical supports. These might be better termed “piers” (Fig. 2.6).50 Both of these types of columnar structure have been termed “portal shrines” and thought to represent gateways.51 While some examples may 48  Krattenmaker, Minoan Architectural Representation, 249, 293; Ilse Schoep (“‘Home Sweet Home’ Some Comments on the so-called House Models from the Prehellenic Aegean,” Opuscula Atheniensia 20 [1994]: 204) terms this type of structure the “Gateway Type.” 49  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 76–79. 50  A mass of masonry, as distinct from a column. Banister Fletcher, A History of Architecture (London: Athlone Press, 1963), 1269. 51  Arthur J.  Evans, “Mycenaean Tree and Pillar Cult and Its Mediterranean Relations” Journal of Hellenic Studies 21 (1901), 170. https://doi.org/10.2307/623870; Martin. P.  Nilsson, The Minoan-Mycenaean Religion and its Survival in Greek Religion (Lund: Gleerup, 1950), 268; Rutkowski, Cult Places, 105–6; Nanno Marinatos, “The Tree as a Focus of Ritual Action in Minoan Glyptic Art,” Fragen Und Probleme Der Bronzezeitlichen Agaischen Glyptik. Corpus Der Minoischen Und Mykenischen Siegel, ed. Ingo Pini (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1989), 140.

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Fig. 2.6  Gold ring from Mycenae. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg)

represent gateways, others are much more ambiguous, appearing gate-like because of the size of the space between the columns or piers, but shrine-­ like because of the structures’ size in comparison to the human figures next to them. It may have been the case that columnar shrines actually did look like small gateways, or that the engraver deliberately depicted them in an ambiguous manner. Shrines should be distinguished from gateways by the size of the space between the upright elements: when it is noticeably wider and appears as an empty space, then it may be a gateway.52 Columnar structures surrounding trees probably represent an enclosure constructed of four corner supports held together by a horizontal framework53 and if interpreting the presence of a baetyl, may have approximated the steatite “baetylic table of offering” from the Dictaean Cave (Fig.  2.7). This object was reconstructed from a horizontal stone slab containing three cupules to which were added stone columns or “legs” in each corner while a wider central column, interpreted as a baetyl, was situated in the centre as a kind of fifth “leg.”54 Instead of a baetyl or tree  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 78.  Axel W.  Persson, The Religion of Greece in Prehistoric Times (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1942), 52. 54  Evans, “Mycenaean Tree and Pillar Cult,” 113–7; Persson, Religion of Greece, 53. 52 53

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Fig. 2.7  “Baetylic table of offering” from the Dictaean Cave. Evans 1901

trunk, the central areas of some columnar shrines feature a criss-cross pattern, as seen in the centre of the Ring of Minos (Fig. 2.3). This has traditionally been interpreted within the scholarship as referring to the type of spiral decoration seen on the central section of the tripartite shrine on the Zakro Rhyton (Fig. 2.2). With the recent discovery of a new ring from the Griffin Warrior Tomb from Pylos, however, it can be suggested that these marks could be cursorily rendered versions of the pattern possibly made by a draped fishing net.55 Columnar structures evoke the verticality of tree trunks and may be architectonic versions of sacred groves. All examples except one are surmounted by actual trees; the elite figures in the images are consequently paired with the doubly enhanced power of sacred trees.

55  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 79, 92, 221–222; “Cockles, Mussels, Fishing Nets and Finery,” Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies (2020).

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Ashlar Altars Ashlar altars appear in two forms: a vertical ashlar structure with a rectangular profile and a stepped ashlar structure that has a triangular profile. Like the columnar structures, ashlar altars often seem ambiguous. As is the case with ashlar walls, some renditions of the stone blocks of which they are constructed are more graphic than others resulting in some of the examples appearing as though they could be constructed of materials other than masonry. Vertical sided ashlar altars have been confused with walls; however, tree-shaking ritual is never conducted over walls, only from altars and shrines.56 Female figures are frequently depicted sitting on stepped ashlar structures, sometimes alternating with trees.57 In the Ring of Minos one of the stepped ashlar altars features a female figure sitting upon it, while the other is surmounted by a tree (Fig. 2.3). Ashlar structures associated with trees tend to be stepped more often than not, as can be seen most clearly on the Zakro Rhyton (Fig. 2.2) where a stepped altar has branches laid on top of it. Stepped ashlar altars have been found at the peak sanctuary of Jouktas, the rural sanctuary of Anemospilia, the palatial building at Archanes, and the palace at Phaistos.58 The stepped appearance may evoke the ascending form of a mountain and have been a way for elite figures to enact peak sanctuary ritual in an urban location.

Tripartite Shrines The tripartite shrine is a structure consisting of two shorter wings on either side of a taller central section and is depicted in various forms of iconography including glyptic, fresco painting, stone vases, and gold plaques.59 A ring from Archanes is the only example where the tripartite shrine incorporates a tree. In this image, the shrine is set on top of a square or block-like structure consisting of five or six courses of masonry, similar in form to both the shrine on the Zakro Rhyton although this is set upon steps (Fig. 2.2) and to gold plaques from Mycenae. In contrast,  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 55.  Crooks, Tully and Hitchcock, “Numinous Tree and Stone.” 58  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees. 59  Joseph Shaw, “Evidence for the Minoan Tripartite Shrine,” American Journal of Archaeology 82 (1978): 429–448. DOI: 10.2307/504633. 56 57

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a tripartite shrine depicted in the Grandstand Fresco from the palace of Knossos is situated directly upon the ground. In the Archanes Ring, the side wings of the shrine appear to be constructed from stone blocks, while the middle section consists of two vertical lines between which is a central area distinguished by squiggly marks. This central section is narrower than the example on the Zakro Rhyton, possibly as a result of the lack of room for more detailed rendering in glyptic composition. In contrast to both the Archanes Ring and the Zakro Rhyton, the central and side niches of the tripartite shrine in the Grandstand Fresco contain horns and columns, an arrangement that is similar to the examples on the gold plaques from Mycenae.60 While the tripartite shrine in the Archanes Ring is surmounted by a tree, the Zakro Rhyton has what is thought to be a baetyl or stylised mountain on top of, or behind it.61 In the fragments of the Grandstand Fresco, it is not possible to see whether anything was on top of the shrine, although it has been reconstructed as being surmounted by horns, following the style of the gold plaques from Mycenae. The tripartite shrines on the Grandstand Fresco and Zakro Rhyton probably functioned as facades rather than free-standing structures, as they were components of larger architectural features, whereas the tripartite shrines in the Archanes Ring and the Mycenae plaques appear to be free-standing. Stone structures thought to be the foundations of tripartite shrines have been found at the palace of Knossos and the Villa at Vathypetro.62 Like stepped altars, the generally stepped form of tripartite shrines evokes a mountain and hence a peak sanctuary.

 Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 81.  Sam Crooks, What are these Queer Stones? Baetyls: Epistemology of a Minoan Fetish (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2013). 62  Evans, “Tree and Pillar Cult,” 122–3, 192–5; Shaw, “Minoan Tripartite Shrine,” 446 n.1; Geraldine C.  Gesell, Town, Palace and House Cult in Minoan Crete (Göteborg: Paul Åströms, 1985), 29–30, 116, fig. 60, 199, pl.28; Hitchcock, Minoan Architecture, 107; Jan Driessen and John Sakellarakis, “The Vathypetro Complex. Some Observations on its Architectural History and Function,” The Function of the Minoan Villa. Proceedings of the Eighth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 6–8 June 1992, ed. Robin Hägg (Åströms: Stockholm, 1997), 63–77. 60 61

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Constructed Openwork Platforms Constructed openwork platforms appear in various media including glyptic, stone vase, ivory, and fresco painting.63 They are stepped structures that consist of vertical and horizontal elements with openings in between, and which usually have at least two or more levels that step inwards as they ascend. There is no solid masonry in these structures and they have an almost unfinished appearance like a framework.64 Detailed examples of such structures show that the horizontal components often rest upon incurved altars. These platforms functioned as prefabricated stages that could be assembled, disassembled, and moved around for use in the performance of religious spectacles.65 The construction of this type of platform is probably most clearly rendered in the fresco from the north wall of the second level of the building Xeste 3 at Thera (Fig. 2.8).66 In the fresco image, the central and highest part of the structure is built from stacked blocks, perhaps made of stone,

Fig. 2.8  Fresco painting from Xeste 3 at Thera. Doumas 1992  Krattenmaker, Minoan Architectural Representation, 164.  Ibid., 284–285. 65  Clairy Palyvou, “Οικοδομικέις Μέσά από τιν Τέχνη Εποχής του Χαλκού: Τυποποιημένες Λυόμενες Κατσκυές,” Πρακτικά: 2° Διεθνές Συνέδριο Αρχάίας Ελληνικής Τεχνολογίας. Proceedings: 2nd International Conference on Ancient Greek Technology (Athens: EMAET, 2006). 66  Thera is the Greek island of Santorini. Christos Doumas, The Wall Paintings of Thera (Athens: Thera Foundation, 1992). 63 64

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with a horizontal slab or cornice on the top. This central area incorporates two lower horizontal slabs that on their outer edges are supported by single blocks which rest upon longer horizontal slabs. These are supported by three incurved altars on the left and one on the right. The structure thus evokes the high central area and lower outer wings of a tripartite shrine and the ascending triangular form of a stepped ashlar altar. The whole structure has three tiers with the lowest level supported by incurved altars used as a platform upon which multiple figures stand as they approach the central seated female figure. In the Xeste 3 example, a young female figure carrying a basket of saffron approaches, while a monkey walking upright and with one foot on the second tier, hands saffron to the seated female figure, on the other side of whom is a griffin. Two examples of stepped openwork platforms feature trees upon them, while all other examples are depicted with female figures sitting on top of them, except for a stone triton from Mallia which depicts Minoan Genii. The surrounding vegetation and rocks in many iconographic representations of these platforms suggest that they were used outdoors and may have been intended to evoke ritual performance at a peak sanctuary;67 their ascending stepped structure perhaps representing a sacred mountain. Evidence for a constructed openwork platform has been found at Archanes. Four incurved altars found packed tightly together against a column in the side of an imposing entranceway into an antechamber were arranged so that their tops made a square formation, suggesting that their purpose was to form a larger altar or possibly a platform base for a seat.68 The fresco from Xeste 3 shows four such altars holding up the bottom tier of the constructed openwork platform. The image of a female figure seated upon a constructed openwork platform would evoke peak sanctuary ritual as well as the actual mountain itself. The combination of a female figure with a stepped platform, tripartite shrine, or stepped altar would manifest the sacred mountain in a manner similar to a female figure sitting on the Knossos throne with its mountain-shaped back.

67  Paul Rehak, “The Role of Religious Painting in the Function of the Minoan Villa: the Case of Ayia Triadha,” The Function of the “Minoan Villa,” ed. Robin Hägg (Stockholm: Paul Åström, 1997), 167, 174. 68  John Sakellarakis and Efi Sapouna-Sakalleraki, Archanes (Athens: Ekdotike Athenon, 1991), 495.

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Incurved Altars As well as holding up constructed openwork platforms, incurved altars were also used as single altars, often accompanied by branches or horns. Glyptic examples feature antithetic animals with their forepaws on the altar, as can also be seen on the famous Lion Gate from Mycenae, while in other examples, the incurved altar has nothing on top of it, as seen in the Zakro Rhyton (Fig. 2.2). An ivory pyxis lid from Minet el-Baida depicts a female figure sitting upon the incurved altar which is, in turn, situated upon a mountain. The form of the incurved altar is related to the “triglyph-­ rosette” pattern; the space between the two outward-curved edges of the split circle or rosette making the silhouette of an incurved altar.69 This motif is seen in seals such as the Master Impression and the Tiryns Ring, the fresco in the Throne Room at Knossos, in the tripartite shrine from the Grandstand Fresco, on the hems of garments depicted in frescoes from Knossos and Pylos, the gold tripartite shrines from Mycenae, and in the Minoan frescos from the palace at Tell el Dab’a in Egypt. As seen earlier, incurved altars have been found at Archanes, and also at Knossos and in the Psychro Cave. The shape of the incurved altar has been proposed to derive from the Luwian/Hittite hieroglyph for “god” and to designate sacredness.70 It also evokes the wasp-waist, characteristic of Minoan depictions of the human figure. Incurved altars consequently bring to mind both sacred mountains and elite bodies.

Table Altars Table altars are associated with animal sacrifice. Seals depict sacrificed bulls, pigs, goats, and deer lying on tables. On Side B of the Haghia Triadha sarcophagus, a bull, trussed for sacrifice, lies on a table, its blood caught in a bucket on the floor. A seal from Naxos depicts a table altar associated with the paraphernalia of animal sacrifice (Fig. 2.9), whilst the table in the Ring of Nestor serves as a seat for a griffin. Table altars were probably wooden and portable, and when used for sacrifices were situated  Krattenmaker, Minoan Architectural Representation, 126.  Marinatos, Minoan Kingship, 135–136; Wolf-Dietrich Niemeier, “On the Function of the ‘Throne Room’ at Knossos” The Function of the Minoan Palaces. Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 10–16 June, 1984, eds. Robin Hägg and Nanno Marinatos (Göteborg, Paul Åströms Forlag, 1987), 167. 69 70

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Fig. 2.9  Stone seal from Naxos. (Source: Courtesy the CMS Heidelberg)

outdoors. They have not been found in the archaeological record. Table altars do not seem to have a symbolic form that alludes to aspects of the sacred landscape like the previously mentioned structures. However, the palm tree is symbolically associated with animal sacrifice in Minoan art and the tables in the Naxos Seal, a seal from Mycenae depicting a sacrificed goat and the Haghia Triadha sarcophagus, are situated in the vicinity of palm trees.71 71  Nanno Marinatos, “The Date Palm in Minoan Iconography and Religion,” Opuscula Atheniensia 15 (1984): 115–122; Ibid., Minoan Sacrificial Ritual: Cult Practice and Symbolism (Stockholm: Skrifta Utgivina av Svenska Institute I Athen, 1986); Ibid., “The Tree as a Focus of Ritual Action in Minoan Glyptic Art,” 15–16.

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Altars with Horns Horned altars and shrines are often associated with trees or branches. A bronze votive plaque from the Psychro Cave features horns in conjunction with upright branches or small trees (Fig. 2.10).72 The stepped altar on the Zakro Rhyton has branches upon it in conjunction with horns (Fig. 2.2). Instead of being vertical, as on the votive plaque, they lie horizontally between the horns as though laid there as an offering. A bone ring from Melos may depict such an offering in process. Side B of the Haghia Triadha sarcophagus depicts an altar with four sets of horns and a palm tree on top of it. The row of circles running across the top of the altar evoke beam ends as seen in depictions of architecture, and horns often featured on the roofs of Minoan buildings. The horned altar in this scene may have been intended to evoke a building, in the manner that columnar shrines suggest gateways.73 Stone and plaster horns have been found at peak sanctuaries

Fig. 2.10  Bronze plaque from the Psychro Cave. Evans 1921 72  Arthur J. Evans, The Palace of Minos. A Comparative Account of the Successive Stages of Early Cretan Civilization as Illustrated by the Discoveries at Knossos (London: Macmillan, 1921), 632, fig. 470; Watrous, Cave Sanctuary of Zeus, 17, 20, 51. 73  Tully, Cultic Life of Trees, 85.

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such as Jouktas and Petsophas, as well as palatial sites such as Knossos and Archanes.74 The predominance of monumental horns, as well as bull figurines, on Minoan peak sanctuaries suggests an association between storm deities, who were often symbolised by bulls, and mountains in Crete.75 So again, in regard to altars with horns, a Minoan cult structure depicted in elite art symbolically evokes peak sanctuary ritual.

Conclusion The claiming of public cult sites within the landscape through ritual participation, monumentalisation, evocation within urban architecture, and depiction in art by Minoan elites of the Neopalatial period presented elite figures as the exclusive intercessors between humans and the animate landscape in order to naturalise their authority. Glyptic imagery in which a human figure encounters an epiphanic being in a seemingly natural landscape characterised by trees and rocks and without the presence of any built structures emphasises that the landscape was considered sacred. Scenes in which a human figure approaches sanctuary walls suggest a special relationship between elite figures and tree and mountain numina resident at monumentalised cult sites within the landscape, particularly peak sanctuaries. Columnar and stepped ashlar cult structures in conjunction with trees evoke the groves and mountains of the animate landscape through architectonic verisimilitude, bring peak sanctuary ritual to urban locations, and emphasise the symbolic association between females and trees. Images depicting human figures interacting with altars and shrines provide information on the enactment of Minoan ritual, the structures utilised within cult, the beliefs associated with such practices, and the performative methods, whereby Minoan elites combined these elements in order to present themselves as mediators between the animate landscape and Minoan society. The representation of elite figures in association with cult apparatuses within the reproducible medium of glyptic extended their ritual association with enshrined spiritual forces beyond the temporal location of physical performance, resulting in reinforcement of elite power and status.76  Emilia Banou, “Minoan ‘Horns of Consecration’ Revisited: A Symbol of Sun Worship in Palatial and Post-Palatial Crete?,” Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry 8, no. 1 (2008): 27–47. 75  Alberto Green, The Storm God in the Ancient Near East (Winona Lakes: Eisenbrauns, 2003). 76   Charles Mather, “Shrines and the Domestication of Landscape,” Journal of Anthropological Research 59 (2003), 28, 37. https://doi.org/10.1086/jar.59.1.3631443; Hitchcock, “Naturalising the Cultural,” 91. 74

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Sakellarakis, John, and Efi Sapouna-Sakalleraki. 1991. Archanes. Athens: Ekdotike Athenon. Schoep, Ilse. 1994. ‘Home Sweet Home’ Some Comments on the So-Called House Models from the Prehellenic Aegean. Opuscula Atheniensia 20: 189–210. Shaw, Joseph. 1978. Evidence for the Minoan Tripartite Shrine. American Journal of Archaeology 82: 429–448. https://doi.org/10.2307/504633. Sourvinou-Inwood, Christiane. 1989. Space in Late Minoan Religious Scenes in Glyptic—Some Remarks. In Corpus der Minoischen und Mykenischen Siegel. Beiheft 3. Fragen und Probleme der Bronzezeitlichen Ägäischen Glyptik. Beiträge zum 3. Internationalen Marburger Siegel-Symposium 5.–7. September 1985, ed. Ingo Pini, 241–257. Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag. Tomkins, Peter. 2010. Neolithic Antecedents. In The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean, ed. Eric Cline, 31–49. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tully, Caroline J. 2016. Virtual Reality: Tree Cult and Epiphanic Ritual in Aegean Glyptic Iconography. Journal of Prehistoric Religion 25: 35–46. ———. 2018. The Cultic Life of Trees in the Prehistoric Aegean, Levant, Egypt and Cyprus. Peeters: Leuven. ———. 2020. Cockles, Mussels, Fishing Nets and Finery. Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies. Tully, Caroline J. and Sam Crooks. 2015. Dropping Ecstasy? Minoan Cult and the Tropes of Shamanism. Time and Mind: The Journal for Archaeology Consciousness and Culture 8: 129–158. https://doi.org/10.1080/1751696X.2015.1026029. ———. 2019. Power Ranges: Identity and Terrain in Minoan Crete. Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture. ———. 2020. Enthroned Upon Mountains: Iconography and the Construction of Power in the Aegean Bronze Age. In The Ancient Throne: The Mediterranean, the Near East, and Beyond. From the 3rd Millennium BCE to the 14th Century CE. Proceedings of the Workshop held at 10th ICAANE in Vienna, ed. Liat Naeh and Dana B. Gilboa. Vienna: OREA. Tyree, Loeta. 1974. Cretan Sacred Caves: Archaeological Evidence. Unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Missouri at Columbia. Ann Arbor: University Microfilms. ———. 2001. Diachronic Changes in Minoan Cave Cult. In Potnia: Deities and religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Aegean Conference. Goteborg University [12–15 April 2000] (Aegaeum 22), ed. Robert Laffineur and Wolf-Dietrich Niemeier, 39–50. Liège: Université de Liège. Vlachopoulos, Andreas. 2007. Mythos, Logos and Eikon. Motifs of Early Greek Poetry in the Wall Paintings of Xeste 3. In EPOS: Reconsidering Greek Epic and Aegean Bronze Age Archaeology. Proceedings of the 11th International Aegean Conference / 11e Recontre Égéenne International. Los Angeles, UCLA—The J. Paul Getty Villa, 20–23 April 2006 (Aegaeum 28), ed. Sarah P. Morris and Robert Laffineur, 107–118. Austin: University of Texas.

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Warren, Peter. 1969. Minoan Stone Vases. London: Cambridge University Press. Watrous, Livingston V. 1996. The Cave Sanctuary of Zeus at Psychro: A Study of Extra-Urban Sanctuaries in Minoan and Early Iron Age Crete. Liège Université de Liege. Weingarten, Judith. 1983. The Use of the Zakro Sealings. Kadmos 22: 8–13. https://doi.org/10.1515/kadm.1983.22.1.8. Wyatt, Nicholas. 2007. Word of Tree and Whisper of Stone, and Other Papers on Ugaritic Thought. Piscataway: Gorgias Press. Younger, John G. 1988. The Iconography of Late Minoan and Mycenaean Sealstones and Finger Rings. Bristol: Bristol Classic Press.

CHAPTER 3

Reimagining Sacrosanct Sites in the Graphic Arts of Kō no Fumiyo Roman Rosenbaum

Introduction 戦後生まれの広島人に、「ヒロシマ」は複雑な重みを持っていた。「忘れてはいけない大事 なことだけど、避けておきたい。何も知らないのにうかうかと踏み込んではいけない、と思 っていました」。

‘Hiroshima’ is a heavy burden for those born there in the postwar period. ‘It is something that we try to avoid, but it looms so large that we must not forget either. Hiroshima postwar generations think that they don’t know anything and should not get involved carelessly.’1

This chapter was presented at the Australian National University Religion Conference 2018 Sacred Sites/Sacred Stories: Global Perspectives, Saturday 7 April 2018. All translations are mine unless otherwise stated. Kō no Fumiyo’s (こうの史代) name is also commonly romanised as Fumiyo Kouno. 1  For her first graphic work on Hiroshima, Kō no Fumiyo was awarded the Ninth Tezuka Osamu Cultural Prize, for ‘quietly illustrating with refreshing expressions the drama of the atomic bombing in the daily lives of the postwar period.’ See Tezuka Osamu Cultural Prize, 2005.

R. Rosenbaum (*) University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2021 D. W. Kim (ed.), Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56522-0_3

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The depiction of sacred artefacts in graphic art has caused much controversy and has even led to bloodshed in recent memory. The Jyllands-­ Posten Muhammed cartoon controversy in 2005 and the Charlie Hebdo incident in 2015 are only two examples where representations of aniconism have led to violence and graphic art lost its innocence when it comes to the engagement of cultural taboos. How then does a place, space or site become a loci sacri, whose representation has to be carefully considered in today’s post-truth paradigm, where ‘truthiness’ replaces fact and fake news is rampant?2 Coomans et al. suggest that sacred places are not static entities but reveal an underlying historical dynamic that is the result of cultural developments.3 Often these sacrosanct spaces are imagined as places where time is suspended, giving them an eternal character that enables the beholder to experience a transcendence of place and time. Additionally, for beholders of the sacred—the notion of rebirth, regrowth and new life emerging phoenix-like from the ashes is even more vital because it allows visitors to glimpse an object that exists beyond mortality. That is why sites commemorating cataclysmic global events like the Holocaust and Hiroshima/Nagasaki are paramount to our imagination— because their tragic proportions are scalable; the larger the catastrophe the more remarkable transcendence becomes and the more majestic is the miracle of life. Thus, while sacred sites are often architectural, like historical ruins, cathedrals and archaeological locations, they may also include places that worship the natural world. Yet, on the flip side of the nature/culture divide lies the more troublesome representation of what Glucklich has termed the ‘disfiguration and refiguring of the sacred’ via the aesthetics of displaying human catastrophes in museums.4 Sepulchral sites of the Holocaust and Hiroshima face a difficult task as they strive to commemorate and document the horror of the human condition. Ultimately, sacred spaces function as sites of pilgrimage that can lead in turn to rites of passage for visitors, viewers and future generations.

2  The word ‘truthiness’ was coined by the American comedian Stephen Colbert in 2005 to refer to the quality of something appearing to be true based on one’s own intuition rather than on factual evidence. 3  Thomas Coomans et  al., Loci Sacri: Understanding Sacred Places (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2012), 8–9. 4  Jennifer Hansen-Glucklich, Holocaust Memory Reframed: Museums and the Challenges of Representation (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2014), 153.

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Globally, consecrated sites like Hiroshima become places of worship, remembrance, memorialisation, political activism and much more; they become topophilic emblems and represent topologies of our own psyche while we search for transcendence, eternity and immortality. The term ‘topophilia’ was coined by the Chinese-American geographer Yi-Fu Tuan to describe the feeling-link between people and places that represents the development of a human geography.5 Ironically it is the ambiguity of the sacred as a site of transcendence, where we experience both eternity and its opposite, the abject horror of the human condition that attracts us to it.

Dissociating Hiroshima/Nagasaki: Towards a Genealogy of A-bomb Manga Much was written about Hiroshima and Nagasaki before Japan’s introspection about the nation’s collusion in the Asia–Pacific War became stigmatised as masochistic: that rendition of history was frowned upon as, in a neo-liberal political climate, a new direction was sought for Japan to overcome the postwar.6 Do we still need to talk about Hiroshima/ Nagasaki? The answer is deceptively simple, as Kipling reminds us in his 1897 poem Recessional: ‘lest we forget.’ Mankind has to ‘be careful not to forget,’ because it is through the sacred that we are reminded of our own fragility and temporality in this world.7 Paradoxically, Hiroshima now looms larger than ever, with the first visit, in 2016, of a US president to Hiroshima 71 years after the nuclear attack in 1945 coinciding with a call for a ‘moral revolution’ to nuclear arms.8 At the same time, North Korea and Iran are engaging in a nuclear arms race and ‘weapons of mass

5  For details, see Yi-Fu Tuan, Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes and Values (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), 4. 6  Jeff Kingston, ‘History Problems Cast a Shadow over Abe’s Japan,’ Japan Times, 18 April 2015. 7  The implications of forgetting the atomic bombings are too subtle to be discussed in full here, but for details refer to Howard Zinn’s The Bomb (New York: City Lights Books, 2010), which was written for the 65th anniversary of the bombings in an attempt to bring the Hiroshima text back into print. For the Japanese implications, see Colin Joyce’s interview with Nakazawa Keiji, ‘Japanese Are Forgetting the Lessons of Hiroshima, Says the Man Who Was Barefoot Gen,’ The Telegraph, 4 August 2005. 8  Gardiner Harris, ‘At Hiroshima Memorial, Obama Says Nuclear Arms Require “Moral Revolution,”’ New York Times, 27 May 2016.

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destruction’ are being deployed in the Syrian conflict.9 This indeed seems the perfect time to redefine the sacrality of Hiroshima. Before Hiroshima commemoration fatigue set in, it had been widely represented in popular culture and the arts, from literature, films and works of art to many other modern media—with an honourable mention here of Godzilla as the ultimate offspring of the atomic grotesque in popular culture.10 Yet, before addressing the recent recrudescence of the Hiroshima trope in popular culture and examining the inscape created by a new generation of artists, the genealogy of manga (graphic novels) that deal with the sacred site of Hiroshima must at least briefly be reconsidered. Arguably the depiction in graphic narratives of the atomic bombing began as early as 1951 with the serialisation of Shaka Bontarō ’s 謝花凡太郎 slapstick comedy Pikadon Niisan ピカドン兄さん (Brother Pikadon).11 It was followed by more serious works, such as Tanigawa Kazuhiko’s 谷川 一彦 ‘Hoshi wa miteiru’ 星はみている [Looking at the Stars, 1957],12 which tells of a young woman who has lost both parents to the atomic bombing. But it was not until 1972, when Nakazawa Keiji 中沢 啓治 burst on the scene with his dramatic manga Ore ha mita おれは見た [I Saw It, 1972], that the atomic bombing took centre stage in graphic narratives.13 Nakazawa drew his autobiographical account of witnessing, as a seven-year-old, the atomic bomb being dropped on Hiroshima. He followed this in 1973 by what became the most well-known A-bomb manga in the world: Hadashi no Gen はだしのゲン (Barefoot Gen). Told from the perspective of an angry young male, this grotesque depiction of the atomic bombing is politically conscious, unromantic and savagely anti-­establishment. Several years passed before an indirect reference to the public consciousness of the atomic bomb was made with the great explosion at the start of Ō tomo Katsuhiro’s 大友克洋 Akira, which ran from 1982 to 1990 in 9  David E.  Sanger and William J.  Broad, ‘Verifying the End of a Nuclear North Korea: “Could Make Iran Look Easy?”,’ last modified 6 May 2018, https://www.nytimes. com/2018/05/06/us/politics/nuclear-north-korea-iran-inspections.html. 10  See for example, William M. Tsutsui and Michiko Ito, In Godzilla’s Footsteps: Japanese Pop Culture Icons on the Global Stage (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 16, 28. 11  Shaka Bontarō , Pikadon Niisan (Tokyo: Nakamura shoten, 1951). For details of his influence, see for example Helen McCarthy, ‘Unknown in English 6: Bontaro Shaka,’ 2011, last modified 11 May 2019, https://helenmccarthy.wordpress.com/2011/08/27/ unknown-in-english-6-bontaro-shaka/. 12  Tanigawa Kazuhiko, ‘Hoshi wa miteiru,’ in Nakayoshi, January–December 1957. 13  Alan Gleason; Keiji Nakazawa, ‘Keiji Nakazawa Interview,’ The Comics Journal (Seattle: Fantagraphics Books, Inc. October 2003).

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Young Magazine and became a global success. In Ō tomo’s tale of postapocalyptic politics, ‘a new type of bomb’ explodes in downtown Tokyo and the psyche of its inhabitants. Ō tomo’s international success was followed by a long repressive silence and a sense of A-bomb fatigue surrounding the depiction of hibakusha (atomic bomb survivor) and other war imagery as Japan strove for postwar reconciliation in an endeavour to transcend the postwar period. It was not until 2003, when Kō no Fumiyo began to serialise her Yūnagi no machi, sakura no kuni 夕凪の街 桜の国 (Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms),14 that the Hiroshima taboo was lifted, and several artists followed in her footsteps. In 2008, Matsuo Shiori  松尾しより drew her story about the atomic bombing, Kimi ga kureta taiyo 君がくれた太陽 (The Sun You Gave Me),15 which she created from contemporaneous books and picture postcards she had bought and listening to the experiences of A-bomb survivors. Others like, Nishioka Yuka 西岡由香, whose debut manga Natsu no zansho nagasaki no hachi gatsu kokonoka 夏の残像 ナ ガサキの八月九日 (9 August the Summer Afterimage of Nagasaki) also came out in 2008 and who drew a non-fiction manga about three hibakusha who survived the atomic bombing, have written extensively about the neglected atomic bombing of Nagasaki.16 Even well-established artists like Ozawa Yuki おざわゆき took up the challenge to reexamine the A-bomb genre. Ozawa inadvertently created the ‘grandma manga’ with her counter-narrative Sanju Mariko 傘寿まり子 (Eighty-Year-Old Mariko),17 which juxtaposes the stereotypical world of the sho ̄jo 少女 (young woman) manga with the realism of the ko r̄ eisha 高齡 者 (elderly) in contemporary society via her story of an aged widow who finds she is no longer wanted in the home she shares with her son and his wife along with their son and his family. She later drew about the national scar that is Hiroshima, her Atogata no machi あとかたの街 (City of Traces, 2015) painting an unflinching depiction of the war, focusing on the devastation caused by air raids and incendiary bombs.18  Kō no Fumiyo, Yūnagi no machi, sakura no kuni (Tokyo: Futabasha, 2008).  Matsuo Shiori, Kimi ga kureta taiyo (Tokyo: Kodansha, 2008). 16  Nishioka Yuka, Hibaku Maria no inori manga de yomu 3nin no hibaku shōgen (Nagasaki: Nagasaki bunkensha, 2015). 17  Ozawa Yuki, Sanju Mariko (Tokyo: Kodansha, 2016). 18  Uran Sasaki, ‘Grandmas are Manga’s Rising Stars,’ Nikkei Asian Review 5, last modified 5 March 2018, https://asia.nikkei.com/Life-Arts/Japan-Trends/Grandmas-are-manga-srising-stars. 14 15

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Thus, manga about Hiroshima and Japan’s nuclear legacy are by no means new. On the contrary, they are part of a long history of cultural representation whereby each new work has created an aura of the sacred around one of Japan’s most controversial sites with tales offering a new vision of Hiroshima for a new generation of readers that have never experienced war. Remembering Hiroshima, the city obliterated by the world’s first nuclear attack, is not only a complicated and intensely politicised process. Today the sacred space of Hiroshima is geographical as well as psychological and geopolitical, steeped in what Lisa Yoneyama has referred to as the ‘dialectics of memory.’19 Nowadays Hiroshima is so much more than a single discourse. It is part of a tapestry of unconventional texts and cultural dimensions that constitute the cultural enclave we refer to as Hiroshima. The site simultaneously invokes memories of history textbook controversies, discourses on the city’s tourism and urban renewal projects, campaigns to preserve atomic ruins, survivors’ testimonial practices, ethnic Korean narratives on Japanese colonialism, and—importantly—the feminised discourse of the peace process. Hiroshima remains a battleground: in neo-liberal Japan, the controversy is about whose memories are more correct. Each historical period imagines a new Hiroshima that reflects the geopolitical global climate of the time. In this sense, Hiroshima is a precedent event—a model of what may become and whose socio-politics of remembering contains contradictory senses of time, space, and our own positionality. This vast number of factors involved in our understanding is what legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw has termed ‘intersectionality,’ that is, the interlocking systems of power that echo each other and create a synergy between class, race, gender and identities.20

19  Lisa Yoneyama, Hiroshima Traces: Time, Space and the Dialectics of Memory (London: University of California Press, 1999), 30. 20  Kimberlé Crenshaw, ‘Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics,’ University of Chicago Legal Forum 1989, 1, Article 8 (1989): 139–167.

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Kōno Fumiyo: Breaking the Hegemony of Silence By the turn of the millennium, the A-bomb genre had apparently run its course. Researchers like Karl Ian Cheng Chua have observed that, aided by an increasingly conservative Ministry of Education and the revisionist textbooks currently in use, historical memory and the importance of representing the event has been waning in recent years.21 The overwhelming reason for this is that the process of remembering and forgetting Hiroshima and Nagasaki is fraught with the danger of misrepresenting Japan’s sanctified memory as well as upsetting the survivors. Michele Mason, for instance, has analysed Kō no’s work as part of a new generation of manga artists who have come to terms with Hiroshima by revealing the intergenerational complexity of the ethics of representation by non-hibakusha writers. She sees Kō no’s work as overcoming the simple retelling of stereotypical atomic bomb narratives, focusing instead on their crucial relevance to global citizens living in the twenty-first century.22 The pioneer of the movement in 2003 by a new generation of artists to reintroduce Hiroshima into public consciousness was the illustrator and manga artist Kō no Fumiyo, born in Hiroshima in 1968 at the height of Japan’s student protest movements against the renewal of the security treaties with the United States and the anti-Vietnam protests.23 The global revolutions of the late 1960s had largely subsided by the time Kō no came of age, and her generation grew up in a decade of increasing prosperity, a generation of youths that the economic anthropologist and philosopher Kurimoto Shin’ichirō 栗本慎一郎 has labelled the shinjinrui sedai 新人類世代 (new humanity generation).24 Kō no’s breakthrough came with the interconnected survivor stories of Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms, which focus on the repercussions of the atomic bombings in the postwar period. Her manga was awarded the Ninth Tezuka Osamu 21  Karl Ian Cheng Chua, ‘Representing the War in Manga,’ in Controversial History Education in Asian Contexts, ed. Mark Baildon (London: Routledge, 2016), 126–127. 22  Michele Mason, ‘Writing Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the 21st Century: A New Generation of Historical Manga,’ Asia-Pacific Journal 7, 47 (November 2009): 1–3. 23  While this was a very significant year in postwar Japanese socio-political history with the United States and Japan attempting to extend for a further ten years the bilateral security agreement that Prime Minister Yoshida Shigeru had negotiated, the Japanese populace erupted in large-scale violent protests to protect the new, young democracy. 24  Paul A. Herbig and Pat Borstorff, ‘Japan’s Shinjinrui: The New Breed,’ International Journal of Social Economics 22, 12 (1995): 49–65.

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Cultural Prize in 2005 for its ‘refreshing depiction that quietly draws out the tragedy of the atomic bombing amidst the daily lives of the postwar period.’25 While her generation is often described as self-indulgent and decadent, Kō no’s work challenges this stereotype and she has taken up one of Japan’s most sacred taboo subject. Her renewed focus on Hiroshima came after what one of her reviewers, Senjo Nakai, refers to as the ‘hegemony of silence’ in popular culture and mainstream media surrounding the vexatious topic.26 Against this trend of national amnesia, the impetus for engaging with Hiroshima came for Kō no when her editor asked her: ‘Why don’t you write a story about Hiroshima?’27 Even though her husband and her friends advised against it because it was too ‘serious,’ it was this reluctance to deal with the taboo surrounding Hiroshima that compelled Kō no to write her own vision of the event from the perspective of a generation that had no direct experience of the calamity. Her manga, a long-­ overdue reconsideration of Hiroshima, came as a refreshing surprise. Kō no suggests that she takes seriously the diligent jijitsu no tsumikasane 事実の積 み重ね (layering of facts) and placing of fictitious characters, which requires ‘not allowing mistakes. Since there are still people alive who can verify the narratives of the senjichu mono 戦時中もの (interwar period), I have taken great pains to create works that do not tell lies.’28 Whereas most manga about war in Japan can be roughly divided into two categories—hansen (anti-war) and senso ̄ (war)—Kō no’s graphic novels about Hiroshima do not fit neatly into either of these categories and have been referred to as senso ̄ seikatsu mono 戦争生活もの (stories of the home front and life amidst war).29 When asked about the challenging psychologically aspect of the theme, Kō no explained that her methodology was to ‘draw a large variety of individuals to reach a diverse audience and I also  See Tezuka Osamu Cultural Prize, 2005.  Senjo Nakai, ‘Breaking the Silence of the Atomic Bomb Survivors in the Japanese Graphic Novel Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms and the Film Adaptation,’ in The Atomic Bomb in Japanese Cinema: Critical Essays, ed. Matthew Edwards (Jefferson: McFarland, 2015), 185. 27  Tezuka Osamu Cultural Prize, 2005. 28  Kō no Fumiyo, ‘Kō no Fumiyo sensei “kono sekai no katazumi ni” intabyu-,’ こうの史代先 生『この世界の片隅に』 インタビュー, last modified 11 May 2019, http://konomanga.jp/ interview/29799-2/2. 29  Konō Fumiyo, ‘Kō no Fumiyo sensei “Kono sekai no katasumi ni” intabyu-,’こうの史代先 生『この世界の片隅に』 インタビュー, last modified 11 May 2019, http://konomanga.jp/ interview/32698-2. 25 26

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had the intention of drawing myself as one of them in order to create a multiplicity of voices that reflect the complexity of war.’30

Shifting Perspectives in In This Corner Of The World Since Kō no has neither first- nor second-generation hibakusha in her family, she based her first work on the atomic bombings entirely on the memorial literature of second-generation hibakusha. In one of the key episodes in the manga, Harumi, the six- or seven-year-old daughter of Shūsaku’s sister Keiko, is killed by a time bomb in Kure while walking with her aunt, the protagonist, Suzu, who loses her right hand in the explosion. From this point on, the narrator and author merge and Kō no begins to draw episodes with her inferior left hand to illustrate physical impairment, using trompe l’oeil (see Fig. 3.1). Suddenly, the drawings no longer have ligne claire (clear lines), and distortions and anamorphosis are foregrounded that skew our perception of reality. The physical as well as the psychological effects of the war, the bombing and its aftermath are accentuated via stylistic anomalies unique to Kō no’s innovative manga literacy. After completing Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms, her first work on the postwar ramifications of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, she began to think about how the ravages of war affected places other than Hiroshima and how that was different from the damage caused by the atomic bomb. Kō no chose the adjacent city of Kure, which she was familiar with because her mother had been born there, as the stage for her second narrative. Her follow-up graphic work on Hiroshima, Kono sekai no katasumi ni この世界の片隅に (In This Corner of the World), focuses on the period from December 1943 to January 1946. It ran in the magazine Weekly Manga Action from 2007 to 2009 and upon completion comprised three lengthy volumes.31 This second graphic omnibus is concerned with the repercussions of Hiroshima but from the peripheral geography of the adjacent city of Kure. From this geographic periphery, Kō no also shifts the perspective from the political to the shomin 庶民 (ordinary townsfolk)  Konō Fumiyo, ‘Kō no Fumiyo sensei,’ 2 May 2015.  Several interpretations have been given for the title phrase Kono sekai no katasumi ni, but which katasumi (corner) of this world is Kō no referring to? The phrase kono sekai (of the world) also implies a more personal interpretation, via the author’s surname Koˉno, to suggest ‘in this corner of Kō no’s world.’ 30 31

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Fig. 3.1  Trompe l’oeil effects after the narrator loses her right (drawing) hand. Kō no Fumiyo, Kono sekai no katasumi ni (Tokyo: Futabasha, 2006), 3:87

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in relation to the atomic bomb attack on Hiroshima. In fact, it has been suggested that while her focus on the interwar period exercises ‘ideological restraint,’ Kō no deliberately distances herself from hyperbolised ideologies and subverts iconic images such as the famous mushroom cloud by omitting them and presenting this stereotypical collective memory from unfamiliar optical angles.32 One of the strategies Kō no adopts to highlight the mercurial position of the individual in the complex global amphitheatre of the Asia–Pacific War is different vantage points to tease out different interpretations of Hiroshima. Her unstable ever-changing narrative angles of perception under a fluctuating horizon constantly shift readers from observer to observed. In so doing, the observational power of the readers are challenged by rapid transformations in vantage point from transfixed objects under the microscope as the observed (victims), and then suddenly several pages later readers are repositioned as the observer (perpetrators) viewing landscapes from high above the clouds via bird’s-eye views (see Fig. 3.2). Kō no’s seamless shifts from panoramic scenes to cho k̄ anzu 鳥瞰図 or fukanzu 俯瞰図 (aerial bird’s-eye view) depict various interpretations of the dropping of the atomic bomb (see Fig. 3.3).33 Changes in vantage points and perspective are also apparent on a geographical level, as when Kō no oscillates the focus of the narration between the relative safety and marginality of Kure vis-à-vis the magnitude of Hiroshima, which inevitably begins to overshadow and trivialise all other events of the war. In this way, she swings the story from the bird’s-eye view to the microscopic and back again in a pulsating staccato that drives the narration forward to and beyond its inevitable crescendo.

Shojo ̄ Manga and the Feminisation of Japan’s War Legacy Kō no also uses the topology of Kure, on the periphery of Hiroshima and Japan’s socio-political centre, to decentre and destabilise the control that official histories have had on the narrative. Kure becomes the ibasho 居場所 (narrative centre)—where one may feel at home—of the narrator Suzu, who was born in Hiroshima but moved to the metaphorical corner of the 32  Takeuchi Miho, ‘Kouno Fumiyo’s Hiroshima Manga: A Style-Centered Attempt at Re-Reading,’ Kritika Kultura 26 (2016): 246–248. 33  Ibid., 3:15.

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Fig. 3.2  An example of the narrator’s chūkanzu 虫瞰図 (worm’s-eye view). Kō no Fumiyo, Adrienne Beck, trans., In This Corner of the World (Los Angeles: Seven Seas Entertainment, 2017), 3:10

world, Kure, a city notorious as Japan’s single largest naval base and arsenal.34 The peripheral mise en scène of the narrative is paired with the marginalised protagonist Suzu who, as an eighteen-year-old moves to Kure because of an arranged marriage to Shūsaku, a judicial officer at the 34  At the height of the conflict, most of the city’s industry and workforce were employed in the service of the naval installations, munitions factories and associated support functions. In the final devastating phase of the war, Kure suffered sustained aerial bombardment that culminated in the Kure gunko ̄ kūshū 呉軍港空襲 (aerial bombings of Kure) throughout June and July 1945. Kure’s story finds many historical parallels with the bombings of Dresden throughout February 1945.

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Fig. 3.3  An example of the narrator’s cho k̄ anzu bird’s-eye view)

鳥瞰図

or fukanzu

俯瞰図

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(aerial

Military Court. Peripheral Kure becomes Suzu’s ibasho, where she lives with her new family in war-torn Japan. A quiet and innocent character adept in reading the subtleties of human nature, she is an unlikely sho j̄ o manga heroine. Suzu becomes the female protagonist of what Yumiko

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Iida has termed the feminisation of Japan’s war discourse in postwar Japan.35 This psychological trend arose from the need for Japanese society to subordinate itself to the male domination of its American occupier. Discourses like the well-publicised genbaku otome, Hiroshima Maiden, who left for the United States to receive medical treatment, came to symbolise in popular culture the stoicism and overwhelmingly female-centric aspect of the atomic bombing. In the absence of masculinity, this led to the engendering of an innocent and powerless female notion of victimisation (and, needless to say, the selective forgetting and displacement of the perpetrator consciousness and male aggression) as the outcome of the Asia–Pacific War in postwar narratives. Moreover, in her long graphic novels, Kō no creates cute nostalgic characters that invite a fetishised surrogacy known as moe, which draws readers into a relationship whereby they follow the escapades of their favourite characters. This relationship between reader, fan and avatar displays pop-­ culture’s most sophisticated marketing and branding methodology that serves as a surrogate to traditional family values.36 Kō no in a sense represents the latest generation of artists who engage the graphic tradition of war stories retrospectively.37 Unlike the graphic rendition of melodramatic aspects of the war depicted in, for instance, Nakazawa’s Hadashi no Gen, Kō no eschews the depiction of violence and rejects the notion that readers should measure the scale of a tragedy by the number of deaths.38 In this sense, manga dealing with war in general and specifically the atomic bombing in Japan have developed their own trajectory via the sho j̄ o (feminine) 35  Yumiko Iida, ‘Beyond the “Feminization of Masculinity”: Transforming Patriarchy with the “Feminine” in Contemporary Japanese Youth Culture,’ Inter-Asia Cultural Studies 6, 1 (2005): 56–58. 36  Moe refers to cute youthful characters that create sensations of longing and compassion in readers. For details, see Patrick Galbraith, The Moe Manifesto: An Insider’s Look at the Worlds of Manga, Anime and Gaming (Tokyo: Tuttle, 2014), 7. 37  In Germany, the tradition of the Väterliteratur is an important milestone in the development of Vergangenheitsbewältigung (reckoning with the past). Here the sons of National Socialist fathers began to question the legacy of their fathers, accomplishing a male introspection which arguably was accomplished by daughters in Japan. Whereas the Väterliteratur marked a tendency towards a ‘new subjectivity’ with a focus on the personal themes of the authors’ private lives and often an attempt to resolve and come to terms with the controversial father figure in their lives, the shōjo manga epoch marks the ascendency of the daughter literature, which attempts to come to terms with the failure of Japan’s patriarchal social structure. 38  Kō no Fumiyo, ‘Afterword,’ In this Corner of the World, 157.

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manga genre, which is in a dialectical relationship with their dominant archetypal male counterparts like Mizuki Shigeru, Tezuka Osamu and Nakazawa Keiji. According to Fujimoto Yukari 藤本由香里, who has shown that shojo manga reflect the transformation of the sexuality and psychological development of the feminine in Japan from the 1970s to the 1990, they represent a feminist rewriting of the masculine national discourse surrounding Hiroshima. In her examination, Fujimoto suggests that ‘to me, who was not exactly pampered and spoiled by my parents, the question of whether there was a place for me to belong in this world was a very serious one.’39 Her notion of ibasho is a fairly recent concept in Japan and refers to the psychological realm of our most comfortable space, which is sacred to us all. Ibasho is different from the traditional concepts of belonging such as kyojū 居住 (one’s residence), jūsho 住所 (one’s address) and even the much mythologised notion of furusato 故郷 (hometown), all of which no longer fit one’s place of socio-cultural belonging in contemporary Japan. Ibasho is the place where one feels one belongs and can be happy in even, as Kō no suggests, the most dire circumstances. For Kō no, reconsiderations of the precarity experienced during the Asia–Pacific War enable meaningful and metaphorical comparisons with the notion of precarious living in contemporary Japan. For instance, the psychological dimension of ikigai (one’s will to live) is closely intertwined with the geographic locality of ibasho (one’s place of belonging). Both ontological states are increasingly jeopardised by our modern consumer lifestyles. Ranging from the macroscopic—Fukushima’s environmental degradation—to the mental landscapes eroded by our stressful living conditions, these subliminal expressions of contemporary angst have been contextualised in the motives of shōjo manga of the twenty-first century. Fujimoto Yukari suggests that the central impulse of the shōjo manga genre is to formulate an answer to two basic human questions: ‘Where do I belong?’ and ‘Can I find somebody that will accept me the way I am?’40 Following this trajectory, Kō no’s story about ordinary people living through fire bombings, starvation, the atomic bombing and nuclear fallout not only addresses Hiroshima and Kure but, more importantly, 39  Fujimoto Yukari, Watashi no ibasho wa doko ni aru no? Shōjo manga ga utusu kokoro no katachi (Tokyo: Gakuyo shobo, 1998), 22. 40  Fujimoto, Watashi no ibasho wa doko ni aru no? Shōjo manga ga utusu kokoro no katachi, 143.

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provides an essential guide on how to live through challenging times for contemporary readers who some eight decades later face essentially the same fundamental challenges to mind and body. Thus, Kō no’s motivation for reimagining the legacy and trauma of Hiroshima for a new generation of readers via the sho j̄ o manga genre may have been to engender hope and to provide evidence that recovery from even the most devastating circumstances is indeed possible and may change society for the better. Overcoming transgenerational trauma is here the primary objective: to dispel the existing taboo and openly talk about the sacred aspects of an event that shook the world. It is this motivation that led her away from gratuitously depicting the violence of the event to a consideration of the zanzo ̄ 残像 (afterimage) and the contemporary legacy of the atomic bombing. Each postwar generation has their own way of depicting atomic bombs in graphic art and the changes in these depictions metaphorically symbolise the changing perception of the event in the Japanese collective consciousness over time. In his review of the history of A-bomb manga, Masashi Ichiki  順一木 argues that most atomic bomb graphics are drawn in the shō jo manga style, which takes young girls as its primary readership, and have thus been criticised for their fantasy-oriented and unrealistic depictions creating a gendered memory of the A-bomb experience that has become a type of refuge for the imagination of female stereotypes in male-oriented Japanese society.41 Kō no’s manga story takes place when it is almost certain that Japan will be defeated in the Asia–Pacific War, but instead of tragedy the ordinary pleasures in life are described in minute detail via the daily routine of life amidst war. The author’s narrative strategy is revealed ‘when you steadily fasten your gaze and observe even the trivial and common; our daily lives are full of quirks.’42 It is the repetitive nature of observing mundane daily routines, whose ritualisation becomes a meditative means to forget about life’s hardships. Kō no emphasises the importance of the quotidian: There is hardly any individuality in a life where you get up, eat breakfast and tidy up, then you have a bath, eat again and go to sleep. Yet, this makes up the bulk of our lives. Even if there are feelings of wanting to do and a­ chieving 41  Masashi Ichiki, ‘Embracing the Victimhood: A History of A-Bomb Manga in Japan,’ International Journal of Asia Pacific Studies (IJAPS) 7, 3 (Special Issue, September 2011): 46–47. 42  Kō no Fumiyo, Blog: Heibonclub, 2009, http://webheibon.jp/heibonclub/, last modified 21 May 2018.

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something, or striving towards a goal, they are mere piggybacking on the quotidian aspects of our lives.43

While death is backgrounded, it is still ever-present, but it is described subtly and indirectly with all of the protagonist’s family members affected by the atomic bomb explosion in Hiroshima. Suzu’s father, Jūrō , who leaves for downtown Hiroshima to search for Suzu’s mother, becomes a niji hibakusha (secondary hibakusha) and dies of radiation sickness. Suzu’s mother, Kiseno, leaves for a festival preparation in Hiroshima city on that fateful sixth of August and her whereabouts remain unknown—she is presumed to have perished. Even Suzu’s younger sister Sumi, who frequently leaves for Hiroshima with her father to search for their missing mother, becomes seriously ill due to the radiation in Hiroshima. The last family member, Suzu’s elder brother Yō ichi, is a soldier sent to an island in the southern Pacific Ocean near New Guinea, where he is reported to have been killed in action. Instead of his body, a single pebble is returned to the family. Suzu’s family history is emblematic of Hiroshima and Japan at large and reveals the depth of the epistemic crisis—the lack of trust in social knowledge, the reliability of the news, fact and truths that societies are able to obtain from reliable sources—that tore the country apart then but also manifests metaphorically a powerful hidden gesture towards the contemporary status quo. Manga here function as a cathartic tool to work through one of the most traumatic and irreconcilable aspects of Japan’s history by refocusing the discourse of Hiroshima on the ordinary lives of individuals while excavating the gracefulness of their lives.44 As in several other manga, Kō no works through gaps in the historical imaginary of post-Hiroshima culture that have resulted from the ambiguous status of the event in Japan’s cultural consciousness.45 In This Corner of the World highlights those gaps. It is the grotesque malformation of this consciousness that has dominated the headlines and overshadowed the miracle of recovery and rebirth.

43  Kō no Fumiyo, ‘Kosei ga arisō mo nai kurashi ni yadoru kakegae no nasa,’ last modified 11 May 2019, http://www.mammo.tv/interview/archives/no277.html. 44  See for example, Jill Petersen Adams, ‘Irreconcilable Mourning: Inheritance, Redemption and the Critique of History,’ PhD dissertation, Syracuse University, 2013, 268. 45  See for example, Marc Yamada, ‘Trauma and Historical Referentiality in Post-Aum Manga,’ Japanese Studies 34, 2 (2014): 166–167.

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Parody, Criticism and In This Corner Of The World as Counter-Memorial Site In today’s datsu-shinjitsu 脱真実 (post-truth) climate of uncertainty, amidst the destabilising effect of fake news and paradoxical ‘false truths,’ individual vigilance is more important than ever. Narrative counter-­monuments like Kō no’s graphic novels re-evaluate contested memorial spaces and challenge the very premise of Hiroshima as a stable sacred monument.46 Despite its commercial success, reviewers have criticised In This Corner of the World for emphasizing victimhood and not touching on larger issues such as responsibility for war, accountability and apologies for the war.47 For instance, in an interview conducted by manga researcher Yoshimura Kazuma 吉村和真, Kō no was asked why she has not drawn anything about war responsibility. Kō no replied: When I researched the material of the interwar period, there were depictions of exercises with bamboo spears stabbing at targets that had Truman and Churchill painted upon them, or their faces were painted on paper that was purposely trodden upon. I have avoided the condemnation of specific persona. I thought that it is important that we must tell the contemporary generation that ordinary townsfolk had easily been involved in the war without either a sense of responsibility or the consciousness of having committed a crime. If I had painted war responsibility issues, it would have been with the assumption that ‘people of that era have done such things and are bad.’ And we, on the contrary, are different, and I thought that would have been self-indulgent and an easy escape route.

In this way, Kō no is strict in trying to disable any position from which readers can safely criticise the perpetrator aspect and the responsibility of the characters for the war. Following her avoidance of war responsibility and the victimiser versus perpetrator dichotomy, Kō no was asked why she did not draw about the Japanese people’s discrimination and victimisation of Koreans and Chinese:

46  James E.  Young, ‘Memory and Counter-Memory: The End of the Monument in Germany,’ Harvard Design Magazine 9 (Fall, 1999), 3. 47  Nakata Kentarō , ‘Sekai ga konsen suru katari,’ in Special Edition: Ko n ̄ o Fumiyo (Tokyo: Yuriika, 2016), 133.

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I thought that I must not create an escape route where people would be able to say I was the only one who was not bad, I tried to get along with them, but everybody else was bullying those who were imprisoned and forced to work. In the end, this would just be a free get-out-of-jail card and would end up mollycoddling and enabling an escape hatch for us contemporaries.

Kō no refuses to abide by existing stereotypes surrounding the Hiroshima discourse by drawing what Reiko Tachibana has referred to as counter-­ memorial narratives that eschew the official objective or comprehensive views of history, and draw instead upon personal memories to offer subjective, selective and individual accounts that are in dialogue with the broadly available versions of official history.48 In This Corner of the World forces the reader to re-examine the significance of personal memory that stands in opposition to the official version of history and, through visual representation, interrupts the ‘culture of invisibility.’49 Readers are encouraged to look beyond the supposedly repetitive superficiality of daily life depicted in Kō no’s manga to discover subtle hidden parodies. When Suzu’s young niece Harumi is preparing for her first day at school amidst the escalating aerial attacks on Kure, the family is preparing to pick up her textbooks. Kō no’s side note explains that in those days, there was only one series of school textbooks officially recognised by the government. The individual books were re-used year after year, so almost all children used hand-me-downs from other children. The books were considered sacred, so of course doodling in them was strictly forbidden. It wasn’t unheard of for teachers to scold a student for doodling when it was really the doing of the book’s previous owner.50

In the following pages, Harumi confides that she is scared to go to school but Suzu explains that as long as she does not doodle in her textbooks everything will be fine (see Fig. 3.4). When Suzu and Keiko go to pick up the textbook for Harumi, they discover that the store has been burned down in the latest air raid. Unable to find textbooks anywhere in Kure city,

48  Reiko Tachibana, Narrative as Counter-Memory: A Half-Century of Postwar Writing in Germany and Japan (New York: State University of New York Press, 1998), 8–9. 49  Hillary L.  Chute, Disaster Drawn: Visual Witness, Comics and Documentary Form (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap Press, 2016), 5. 50  Kō no Fumiyo and Beck, In This Corner of the World, 2:124.

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Fig. 3.4  The sacred school textbook showing the children’s doodles. Kō no Fumiyo, Kono sekai no katasumi ni, 2:130

everybody is relieved when Harumi’s elder brother Hisao sends his old textbooks as a gift for Harumi’s school admission celebration. Yet, to the family’s horror, they discover a handwritten parody of the 1938 propaganda song Aikoku kōshinkyoku 愛国行進曲 (Patriotic March) in the textbook:

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Lo! What do we see ahead? It’s teacher’s Bald head! Should a fly land upon it would slip and slide then slip and slip! Slide and slip and slide again.51

Kō no’s side note diligently explains that ‘the parody reached its greatest popularity around 1943–1944, though in the proper lyrics the word ‘teacher’ is replaced with ‘Tō jō ,’ a reference to the infamous general of the Imperial Japanese Army Hideko Tō jō , the tragicomic implications being that the entire family would probably be court-martialled if the doodle was discovered. Through the subtle application of parody, humour and satire, Kō no is able to lift the taboo of representation and shunt aside a stigmatised geopolitical history of place. In This Corner of the World thus inaugurates a new ontology of Hiroshima, as a site of rebirth and growth, but one that will always be imbued with an aura of the sacred. This has become possible only because of a new kind of artist removed in time from the cataclysmic events that mired the city in unpleasant connotations. Hiroshima as world heritage is not only a fixture in the public imagination; it is a site of memory whose representations continues to reflect the sentiments of the collective memory of the nation—albeit in a negative way. With In This Corner of the World, Kō no attempts to reclaim the stigmatised territory of Hiroshima as a transcultural space that now exists well beyond the chimera—or the grotesque product of Japan’s imagination— of nuclear catastrophe and repurpose its contested memory by creating a new topophilia of place for the next generation of readers and consumers. Through her careful drawings, the sacred aspects of Hiroshima as a site of transnational and transcultural heritage is foregrounded by intimate and detailed depictions of the pleasurable minutia of the quotidian. Disaster is commonplace, to be fair, but it no longer assumes centre stage; rather it is relegated to the periphery of existence as a player—that merely ‘struts his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.’ Life, rather than death, takes centre stage and affirms all aspects of humanity.

51  The original lyrics to the popular verse are: ‘Lo, above the Eastern sea, clearly dawns the sky; Glorious and bright the sun rideth up on high. Spirit pure of heaven and earth fills the hearts of all.’ See Kō no Fumiyo and Beck, In This Corner of the World, 2:130.

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Conclusion The above examination of graphic narratives depicting the atomic bombing in Japan reveals that several contemporary artists have drawn the story of the sacred space of Hiroshima indirectly from adjacent cities and thus evoke the catastrophe of Hiroshima via what Pierre Nora has referred to as lieu de mémoire (sites of memory) rather than an actual physical location. In so doing, Hiroshima becomes the ontological focal point of a global locality where the memories and emotional trauma of not only its inhabitants but the larger community, the nation and ultimately the whole world are involved in its symbolic ritualisation. This is also evident in the graphic symbolism of Hiroshima exhibited via the stele of the A-bomb memorial dome that evokes the collective memory of this sacred space. Hiroshima thus functions as the focal point that connects the memories and emotions of a global confraternity united by the trauma of the atomic bomb  as an international tragedy. A tragedy that is both international, trans-generational and multidimensional in the sense that its repercussions are still felt as relevant today. Kō no’s visual reworking of the Hiroshima narrative contemplates how survivors should preserve and narrate traumatic memories for the next generation. Graphic narratives combine the image with the written word to provide spaces for tsuitaiken 追体験 (the phenomenon by which people ‘re-experience’ or ‘reimagine’ the sacred aspects of their lives). Rather than trying to interpret or rationalise Hiroshima, In This Corner of the World memorialises and commemorates the indecipherability of the events via a celebration of the human element. Kō no meticulously reconstructs out of its ashes the missing inheritance for those postwar generations who have struggled to come to terms with the taboos surrounding that traumatic event. Ultimately it was the unassimilated nature of a stable historical interpretation that led to the fixation with the radical period as a sacred moment that is simultaneously elusive and ever-present in post-Hiroshima culture. In the contemporary revisionist paradigm of Japanese society, where rearmament and the amendment of the Article 9 Peace Clause of the Japanese Constitution have taken socio-political centre stage, Kō no reintroduced the dialectic of Hiroshima to balance precarity with memories of Hiroshima for the next generation of writers who had no recourse to the fast-fading trauma of the atomic bomb. Echoing the historiography of Edward Hallett Carr, who insisted that one should study the historian

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before the facts, Kō no’s graphic art opens a new chapter in the representation of Hiroshima to undermine the single and stable absolute truths of histories via the vagabond manga medium that has the power to speak to our youngest generations in a narrative and visual language of their own.

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CHAPTER 4

Consecrated Journeys: A Torres Strait Islander Space, Time Odyssey Duncan Wright, Alo Tapim, and James Zaro

Alo Tapim: “You want to understand stories about this Waiet zogo [sacred place] on Waier? First you need to know what Waiet did on Mabuiag” Duncan Wright: “How far away is Mabuiag?” Alo Tapim: “About 200 kilometres”

Our thanks to the ARC (LP140100387) for project funding and Dauareb, Meriam and Goemulgal for initiating and involving me in this project. In particular, James Zaro, Sunny Passi, Cygnet Repu, Alo Tapim, Segar Passi, Doug Passi and Ron Day. We are grateful for specialist analysis by Marc Oxenham and Dylan Gaffney, Hugh Davies and Professor Glenn Summerhayes. Thanks also to Anita Herle and Patricia Allen for sharing their expertise and assisting DW access objects and archives. We appreciate advice by Nicholas Peterson and Christian Reepmeyer on previous drafts of this chapter and time spent by Meg Walker creating Figs. 4.1 and 4.6. D. Wright (*) Australian National University, Canberra, Australia e-mail: [email protected] A. Tapim Torres Strait and Northern Peninsula Health Council, Cairns, Australia J. Zaro Meriam Council (Mer Gedkemle), Cairns, Australia © The Author(s) 2021 D. W. Kim (ed.), Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-56522-0_4

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Fig. 4.1  The Torres Strait Islands. Adapted from two bathymetric maps of Torres Strait—http://asiapacific.anu.edu.au/mapsonline/base-maps/torresstrait-reefs and https://ts.eatlas.org.au/ts/maphighlights

Introduction Rites of passage have long fascinated scholars.1 Van Gennep2 used anthropology to explore these consecrated journeys, including the staged process whereby communities progressed through beginnings (rites of separation), middles (rites of liminality) and ends (rites of re-aggregation). 1  Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion (San Diego: A Harvest Book, Harcourt Inc, 1970.); Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1969.); Idem, The Anthropology of Experience (University of Illinois Press, Illinois, 1986.); Arnold Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage. Routledge Library Editions Anthropology and Ethnography, trans. Monika B Vizedom and Gabrielle L Caffee (Hove, East Sussex, UK: Psychology Press, 1960). 2  Van Genep, The Rites of Passage.

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Thresholds between ordinary and liminal zones may be negotiated through formalised ritual,3 leaving behind an abundance of patterned and highly visible material deposits and “dominant symbols” at sacred places.4 Within the past 20 years, the universality of rites of passage has been questioned along with the division between sacred and secular space.5 There has been a growing focus on performance, contestation and human agency.6 Despite these critiques, scholarly examination of ritual process and rites of passage continues to draw heavily on Van Gennep and Turner.7 Moreover, it has been suggested that models of ritual process, communitas8 and contestation9 are far more compatible than previously advocated.10 Turner and Turner, for example, predict that “dominant symbols contain[ed] within them [sacred sites, provide] a fan of meanings and are … semantically open to flow” between related placed.11 Eade and Sallnow provide similar accounts of shrines in dialogue with one another, encompassing “a multiplicity of religious discourses…vessel[s] into which pilgrims devoutly pour their hopes, prayers and aspirations.”12 If sacred sites embody multiple religious discourses, and rituals are expected to be in dialogue with each other, then it follows that researchers cannot understand these places without understanding “the full ritual

3  Ritual is defined here as “an etic category that refers to set activities with a special (notnormal) intention-in-action, and which are specific to a group of people” (Kyriakidis 2007). 4  Victor Turner and Edith Turner, “Introduction: Pilgrimage as a Liminoid Phenomenon,” in Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture, ed. Victor Turner and Edith Turner (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978.), 245. 5   For example, John Eade and Michael J Sallnow, eds. Contesting the Sacred: The Anthropology of Pilgrimage (London: New York: Routledge University of Illinois Press, 1991). 6  Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). 7  For example, Paul Garwood, “The Rites of Passage,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of Ritual and Religion, ed. Timothy Insoll (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 261–284; Michael A. Di Giovine, and David Picard, eds. The Seductions of Pilgrimage: Sacred Journeys Afar and Astray in the Western Religious Tradition (Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate, 2015); Wiebke Friese and Troels Myrup Kristensen, eds. Excavating Pilgrimage: Archaeological Approaches to Sacred Travel and Movement in the Ancient World (London and New York: Routledge, 2017). 8  Turner and Turner, “Pilgrimage as a Liminoid Phenomenon.” 9  Eade and Sallnow, Contesting the Sacred. 10  Simon Coleman, “Do You believe in Pilgrimage? Communitas, Contestation and Beyond,” Anthropology 2, no. 3 (2002): 361. 11  Turner and Turner, “Pilgrimage as a Liminoid Phenomenon,” 245. 12  Eade and Sallnow, Contesting the Sacred, 361.

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process.”13 Archaeology (by isolating temporal and spatial information about sacred sites) may provide a profitable lens for examining broad context.14 It may be possible to distinguish constancy or change in ritual practice (and potentially belief) by isolating “common denominators” in material culture/architecture and symbols at multiple sites in the same region and period. This may include commemoration (through installation of physical memorials, appropriation of ruins or reuse of place for similar activities) of partially remembered pasts.15 At Deir el Medina in Egypt, for example, a cemetery (with evidence for complex sacred and secular activities associated with low and high status deceased) was re-­appropriated, centuries later, to bury community elites.16 It was argued that later occupants attempted to create links with an unknown, glorious past but had lost the “mechanisms by which earlier ceremonies were activated.”17 By combining this information with anthropological data, it may be possible to explore the role of physical markers as mnemonic devices used by communities to record “humanized, petrified and immortalized landscape.”18 This appears in narratives about Aboriginal Australian “Dreaming trackways,” “Songlines”19 and ancestral culture hero  Garwood, “The Rites of Passage,” 264.  For example, Lars E Fogelin and Michael Brian Schiffer, “Rites of Passage and Other Rituals in the Life Histories of Objects,” Cambridge Archaeology Journal 25, no. 4 (2015): 815–827; Friese and Kristensen, Excavating Pilgrimage; Timothy Insoll, “Materiality, Belief, Ritual-Archaeology and Material Religion: An Introduction,” Material Religion 5, no. 3 (2009): 260–264; Evangelos Kyriakidis, The Archaeology of Ritual (Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California, 2007); Paul Tacon, “Socialising Landscapes: The Long-Term Implications of Signs, Symbols and Marks on the Land,” Archaeology in Oceania 29, no. 3 (1994), 117–129. 15  Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.); Ian Hodder and Peter Pels, “History Houses: A New Interpretation of Architectural Elaboration at Catalhouyuuk,” in Religion in the Emergence of Civilization. Catalhoüyuük as a Case Study, ed. Ian Hodder (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010): 163–188; Ruth Van Dyke and Susan E Alcock, eds. Archaeologies of Memory (London: Blackwell Publishers Ltd, 2003); James V Wertsch, Voices of Collective Remembering (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.), 13. 16  Lynn M Meskell, “Memories Materiality: Ancestral Presence, Commemorative Practice and Disjunctive Locales,” in Archaeologies of Memory, ed. Ruth Van Dyke and Susan E Alcock (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2003), 34–55. 17  Meskell, Memories Materiality, 50. 18  For example, Miriam Kahn, “Stone-faced Ancestors: the Spatial Anchoring of Myths in Wamira, Papua New Guinea,” Ethnology 29 (1990): 52. 19  David Bruno, Landscapes, Rock Art and the Dreaming: An Archaeology of Preunderstanding. (London: Leicester University Press, 2002.); Ronald M Berndt, “Badu: 13 14

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trackways.20 Following expectation that sacred sites are likely to be in dialogue with each other,21 traces of earlier or later stages of a ritual process may survive in the structure of rituals (including dances, songs and stories) at these sites. In turn, these may be exemplified through distinctive iconography and/or transportation of shared ceremonial paraphernalia along a consecrated journey. Examples include sea pebbles recovered from Minoan Peak Sanctuaries indicating procession from coast to interior.22 Sacred connections have also been suggested for Stonehenge (near Salisbury), with bluestone monoliths transported from the Preseli Hills in Wales, roughly 200 miles away.23 The Full Ritual Process: A Torres Strait Story Torres Strait lies between the Cape York Peninsula, mainland Australia, and Papua New Guinea. It is a region well suited to the study of ritual processes, providing a rich corpus of nineteenth- and twentieth-century ethnographic material.24 This includes detailed descriptions of ceremonies Island of the Spirits,” Oceania 19, no. 2 (1948): 93–103; Margo Neale, “White Man got no Dreaming,” in Songlines: Tracking the Seven Sisters, ed. Margo Neale (Canberra: National Museum of Australia Publications, 2018), 44–49. 20  In this chapter, culture heroes are defined as reforming ancestors who are venerated and respected by Aboriginal Australian and Torres Strait Islander communities. The author recognises that establishing direct links between culture heroes and sites, features and ritual objects will always be problematic. Culture heroes may personify trade/exchange pathways or broad sociological/psychological connections, for example, migrations of Torres Strait pigeon and seagulls. While the latter does not necessitate direct material links between sites along a pathway, the authors observe that both models link stories to periods of increased contact, including incorporation of exotic elements. Shared stories may be mapped on place through symbolic referents to stages of a journey, whether or not ritual practitioners have visited these places. While the function of wandering culture hero narratives is outside the scope of our paper, we plan to revisit this in future publications. Ursula H McConnel, “Totemic Hero-Cults in Cape York Peninsula, North Queensland (Part 2),” Oceania 7, no. 1 (1936): 69–105; Donald F Thomson, “Notes on a Hero Cult from the Gulf of Carpentaria, North Queensland,” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 64 (1934): 217–235. 21  Coleman, “Do You believe in Pilgrimage?,” 361. 22  Kyriakidis, The Archaeology of Ritual, 20. 23  Michael Parker Pearson et  al. “The Origins of Stonehenge: on the Track of the Bluestones.” Archaeology International 20 (2017). 24  Alfred Cort Haddon, Reports of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to Torres Straits: Sociology, Magic and Religion of the Western Islanders, Vol. 5 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1904.); Vol. 6 1908; Idem, “The Cult of Waiet in the Murray Islands,

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that span unrestricted and restricted spaces. The Bomai Malu ceremony on Mer in Eastern Torres Strait, for example, is reputed to have transitioned between “taboo ground at Gazir” to Dam (where kesi/new initiates were instructed on the pathway of Malu and shown the sacred Bomai mask) and finally unrestricted areas at Las or Mei (depending on whether initiates belonged to Beizam le or Zagareb Le clans).25 These initiation rituals occurred “early in the morning of a day at the beginning of the south-east monsoon, that is about April” with songs “acknowledged to have been introduced from the west” because this was the place of origin for Malu.26 After one month, a further procession “left Mei and Las and half-ran in a zigzag manner along the beach right round to Gigo,” a consecrated journey that mirrors the pathway taken by Bomai Malu.27 At the beginning of the next southeast monsoon, the Bomai mask was transferred from Gazir to Kiam and then when the wet season began was returned to Dam. A final ceremony occurred one year later at Kiam, completing a three-year cycle.28 Considering the breadth (both across time and space) of Torres Strait ritual, it is unsurprising that sacred sites appear to echo (through stories, symbols and incorporation of exotic paraphernalia) social and ceremonial connectivity. McNiven,29 for example, cited numerous ethnographic and scholarly observations whereby exotic stones were incorporated within CTS and ETS sacred sites. This, McNiven30 argued, represented “explicit metaphorical expression of the embeddedness of increase rituals within broader social processes of exchange relationships and subsistence risk Torres Strait,” Memoirs of the Queensland Museum 9, no. 2 (1928); Idem, Reports of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to Torres Straits: General Ethnography, Vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1935); Wolfgang Laade, ed. Oral Traditions and Written Documents on the History and Ethnography of Northern Torres Strait Islands, SaibaiDauan-Boigu. Vol. 1. (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1971); Gunnar Landtman, The Folk-Tales of the Kiwai Papuans. Helsingfors: Acta Societatis Scientiarum Fennicae Vol. 47 (Finnish Society of Literature, 1917); Margaret Elizabeth Lawrie, Myths and Legends of the Torres Strait (Brisbane: University of Queensland Press, 1970). 25  Haddon Reports of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition, Gen Ethnography Vol. 1 (1935): 390. 26  Idem, Vol. 6, 285, 315. 27  Idem, Vol 1, 390; Fig. 4.2. 28  Ibid., 285. 29  Ian James McNiven, “Increase Rituals and Environmental Variability on Small Residential Islands of Torres Strait,” Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11 (2016): 195–210. 30  McNiven, “Increase Rituals and Environmental Variability,” 195.

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buffering strategies.”31 It has also been demonstrated that sacred sites were incorporated within broad cosmologies, seascapes and spiritscapes. Discovery of arrangements of Bu (Syrinx aruanus) shells in the Badu interior provides “a metaphor for the outward and inward movements of people from the land to the sea and from the sea to the land.”32 Sacred places, installations and paraphernalia may provide information about meandering routes taken by ethnographically significant ancestral culture heroes.33 Haddon describes numerous natural and cultural sites associated with “Kwoiam” (otherwise “Kuiam”) on Mabuiag and Pulu (WTS), including his grave and important ceremony ground (both sites dated within the past 400 years34).35 The latter incorporates Augudalkula cave, which up until the early twentieth century contained skulls taken during headhunting raids (a practice initiated by Kwoiam) and two crescentic turtle shell emblems (giribu and kutibu) made and worn by Kwoiam and his descendants.36 A similar crescentic shell ornament was stored at 31  David Bruno, “Historicizing Cosmologies in Australian and Papua New Guinea,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of Ritual and Religion, ed. Timothy Insoll (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011): 482–504; Ibid., Joe Crouch and Ugo Zoppi, “Historicizing the Spiritual: Bu Shell Arrangements on the Island of Badu, Torres Strait,” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 15 no. 1 (2005): 71–91; David Bruno et  al. “Koey Ngurtai: The Emergence of a Ritual Domain in Western Torres Strait,” Archaeology in Oceania 44 (2009): 1–17; Ian James McNiven, “Saltwater People: Spiritscapes, Maritime Rituals and the Archaeology of Australian Indigenous Seascapes.” World Archaeology 35, no. 3 (2004); Ian James McNiven, and Ricky Feldman, “Ritually Orchestrated Seascapes: Hunting Magic and Dugong Bone Mounds in Torres Strait, NE Australia,” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 13, no. 2 (2003): 169–194; Ian James McNiven and Duncan Wright, “Ritualised Marine Midden Formation in Western Zenadh Kes (Torres Strait),” in Islands of Inquiry: Colonisation Seafaring and the Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes, ed. Geoffrey Clark, Foss Leach and Sue O’Connor (Canberra: ANU E Press, 2008.): 133–147; Duncan Wright et al. “Exploring Ceremony: The Archaeology of a Men’s Meeting House (‘Kod’) on Mabuyag, Western Torres Strait,” Cambridge Archaeology Journal 25, no. 4 (2016): 721–740. 32  David, “Historicizing the Spiritual,” 87. 33  David, Landscapes, Rock Art, Dreaming; Shelly Greer, Susan McIntyre-Tamwoy and Rosita Henry. Sentinel Sites in a Cosmo-Political Seascape. 7th International Small Islands Conference, Airlie Beach, Queensland June 12–15, 2011; Shelly Greer, Rosita Henry and Susan McIntyre-Tamwoy, “Mainland Magic: Interpreting Cultural Influences Across Cape Yorke Torres Strait,” Quaternary International 385 (2015): 69–78. 34  Ian James McNiven et  al. “The Great Kod of Pulu: Mutual Historical Emergence of Ceremonial Sites and Social Groups, Torres Strait, Northeast Australia,” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 19, no. 3, (2009): 291–317. 35  Haddon, Reports of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition, Vol. 6 (1908): 37–40. 36  Haddon, Reports of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition, Vol. 5 (1904), 368–369.

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the kod on Muralug, a site also associated with Kwoiam.37 A dramatic example of encoded objects is described at a shrine on Mer (at Dam). This incorporated a north-south alignment of 40–50 giant Fusus (Megalatractus aruanus) shells, coral and 14 stones used to instruct kesi about “the wanderings and arrival of Bomai.”38 Malu brought the stones from islands visited on his travels (Zeg, Paramar, Arper, Yam, Aurid, Leok, Sasi, Gamboi, Masig, Burar, Waraber, Goi, Sarib, Au Kian and Kebe Kian), also two from Las and Piard village on Mer. Haddon observed at least two foreign (granitic) rocks, embodying exotic elements of the Malu ritual pathway.39 Broad connectivity (and potentially also the materiality of ancestor trackways) has been described earlier; however, the archaeology of procession along formal, Torres Strait, ritual pathways is less well understood. Wright et al. explored this potential on Dauar and Waier in ETS by excavating sites associated with the Waiet initiation.40 The antiquity of human activity at both sites was observed to correspond (6 14