Modern Day Pilgrims:
A Thousand-Mile Pilgrimage Ties Japanese to their Traditions
By Brooke Schedneck
The fog was ubiquitous, and the rain fell like an afterthought. I was used to visiting temples on cold or sunny days, but I had not yet experienced the rain as I approached the third of my six pilgrimage journeys. As soon as I walked out of the car and breathed in, I saw how, in the rain, the temple—leaves covered in dew, rocks glistening, statues smiling—magnifies the early morning stillness. The mist created a dreamlike atmosphere. Looking through the gates of Temple 21, one could sense its thousand-year history in the massive trees and the architectural contours. The guardians of the gate were strong deities who protect the Buddha as well as the temple. Spellbound, I bowed and walked through the gates.
On this serene morning, I could hear only the singing of birds. There were few other pilgrims—no hordes of Japanese dressed in white, bells ringing—just a few plainclothed people resting near the priest’s office. The burning incense smelled like a man’s musky cologne. The wet wood added a damp, fresh scent to the sweet air. There was a statue of Jizo, compassionate and sad, dressed as a monk, with the lost souls of babies praying beneath him. Jizo is the savior of unborn or aborted babies, and he works to ease the suffering of those serving time in hell.
The 88-Temple Pilgrimage of Shikoku has a long history of discipline and ascetic practice. Walking from Temple 1 to Temple 88 and back again along the coast of the fourth largest island of Japan was a test for the body as well as the mind. The history of this pilgrimage began with dedicated walkers who had plenty of time to examine their souls. Their spirit has always embodied the disciplined and contemplative side of Japanese religion. These days it is rare for a henro, or pilgrim, to choose to walk the long, arduous path, when there are several easier methods, such as driving, bus tours and public transportation. Therefore, when a pilgrim voluntarily walks today, it is an even more remarkable accomplishment than it used to be. That being said, it doesn’t feel like the same path that so many before have walked. Long stretches of the henro path, passing through Shikoku’s forested mountains and beautiful seacoast, have been widened and paved. Now o-henrosan, or pilgrims who make the entire trek, speed by in private taxis or chartered buses—though many traditionalists believe that traveling the easy way does not reap the same rewards.
When I saw those bus tour pilgrims, I wasn’t disturbed that they had jolted me out of my reverent state. They helped me see the sacredness of the temple in a different way. It isn’t just the physicality of the temple and its history that makes the pilgrimage worthwhile, but how the tradition is carried out today through the people. Though their visits were short, they chanted loudly, smiled warmly, and bowed reverently.
The pilgrimage grew out of the legends of a great man in Japanese history who goes by many names: Kukai, Kobo Daishi, or simply the Daishi. He gave himself the name “Kukai,” which means sky and sea, at the time when he is said to have attained Enlightenment. His posthumous name, “Kobo Daishi,” means Great Saint. He is seen almost as a deity who walked on earth, transcending sect and religion. Kukai was born in Shikoku at the end of the 8th century. He was a top student in university but was not satisfied. He was granted permission by the Japanese government to study Buddhism in China. After two years, he came back to Japan with a new kind of Buddhism called “Shingon.” His new ideas were integrated into the Japanese Buddhism of the time, and he became a leader in the monastic community. He predicted the day he would die and is now said to be in an eternal state of meditation. He is also celebrated for his linguistic abilities (he is credited with creating the Japanese syllabary called hiragana), his mastery of calligraphy and his involvement in educational reform.
After Kukai’s death in 835, many holy men and monks wanted to spread his teachings and honor him with a pilgrimage. This developed gradually, starting in the 14th century. When a pilgrim follows the henro path, he is said to walk with the Daishi.
Those who choose to walk the path are my heroes. They are strong enough, physically and mentally, to endure the 1000-mile pilgrimage on foot. Most of them are middle-aged and older men. Occasionally, a man and woman walk together. And, rarely, I see a woman walking alone. At the temples, they rest. They remove their long, heavy backpacks, take off their shoes and rub their feet. After they have prayed, they talk to the priest about their journey.
In the early days, thousands of men and women walked all or part of the path each year. The experience developed a person’s strength of character and sense of discipline, like a spiritual boot camp. On foot, the pilgrimage takes from 40 to 60 days. Today, with modern transportation, a pilgrimage can be made within a week; the number of pilgrims has now reached 100,000 per year.
In the past, pilgrimages were made mostly by commoners who sought the healing powers and ever-present influence of Kukai. Crutches piled on top of altars bore witness to the therapeutic aspects of the pilgrimage. There were also those who endured the pilgrimage simply for gratitude of life’s rewards, and this is a major reason today as well. Today, people still believe in its healing powers. Prayers, money and gifts are still offered at each temple. People who have suffered the loss of a child or parent make the pilgrimage. Others want to give thanks for accomplishments or recovering from a disease.
There are many objects pilgrims use on their journeys such as candles, incense and walking sticks. These wooden sticks, with decorative fabric at the tip, help them remember that they are walking with Kukai, and he is protecting them. Pilgrims also wear white clothes as a sign of the journey they are undertaking. Name slips for writing one’s name, address and purpose for the journey are also necessary. One of the most important things in the pilgrim’s bag is the nokyo-cho, or the signing book. In this book there are more than 88 pages with the names of the Shikoku temples printed on them. At each temple the priest signs the book for a fee of about $3. Buying all these religious implements is costly, yet these items have always been necessary to mark the pilgrim as someone apart from society.
When I first told some Japanese friends that I was interested in Japanese Buddhism, they often responded that they didn’t have religion in their country—as if 1300 years of tradition could just disappear. Modern Japanese do have religious sensibilities; however, they are not religious in the sense that the word is often understood. Most Japanese are born Shinto, marry Christian, and die Buddhist.
Japan has rapidly evolved to become a highly technological, industrialized and almost Westernized country—but at what expense to its traditions? Since the end of World War II, Japan has been trying to keep pace with the present without disregarding the past. Many young people have become distant from their culture. They will go to a shrine or temple only during a family event, a stressful time or when studying for an exam. Usually young people expect to go on the pilgrimage when they are older and have more time. The pilgrims, however, reflect a different side of Japan—one that is able to maintain both Western and Japanese influences. AV
Brooke Schedneck has a B.A. in Religion from Boston University. She continues to study Japanese religions in a masters program at Harvard Divinity School. She lived in Japan, traveling and working, for one year. Contact her at bschedneck@hds.harvard.edu