All religions encourage gifts. From Catholic prayer boxes to Protestant collection plates, from the donation repositories of Islam to the coffers of Buddhism, the giving of gifts is one of the more common attributes of sacred belief.
In this plethora of donation, however, Shinto stands out as particularly involved. This may be because there are so many gods to be satisfied. There are over 100,000 shrines in the country and the kami (gods) who live in their environs number some 8 million.
Another reason might be that gift-giving was early inculcated. Japanese give presents to each other at a rate that can seem almost excessive. Not only is there the mid-year habit of giving chugen (summer gifts), but there is that other, larger occasion just coming up: seibo, the giving of gifts at New Year's. Stores sell gift boxes, companies send presents or coupons, and those not rating a gift still get a card -- those nengajo (New Year's cards) that yearly clog the posts.
Whether the recipient of this gift-giving is a local deity or a business acquaintance, the subtext is the same, and is, indeed, printed on the nengajo: "Rainen mo yoroshiku," or "please look out for me next year, too." This may be spiritual influence-peddling, but it has a very ancient provenance and is still thought to be practical.
It is also of aesthetic worth, since the presents themselves, at least in their ecclesiastic form, are often as beautiful as they are valuable, and in addition offer a kind of pictorial sociology of gift-giving. This is the thought that motivated photographer Gorazd Vilhar and anthropologist Charlotte Anderson to create this elegant and striking collection.
As in their previous books, "Kyoto: A Cultural Sojourn" and "Matsuri: The World of Japanese Festivals," they join observation and image. After a preface devoted to offerings and gift givings in Japan, the supporting illustrations display the surprising variety of objects used:
Common cosmos and an open Ozeki One-Cup; a silver bib tied around the neck of a stone fox, messenger of the god Inari; oak leaves stitched with wisteria; dried saury tied with sacred paper; a pile of fruit in front of the Kamakura Daibutsu, and, of course, money.
All gods everywhere really prefer cash, and so the appetizingly glittering piles left at the shrine on the summit of Mount Yudono in northern Honshu and at Suwa Shrine in Nagano Prefecture, the coin-encrusted tuna at Nishinomiya Shrine in Hyogo Prefecture, and the money-filled New Year's tarpaulin at Meiji Shrine in Tokyo stud the pages of this book.
Presents for the Shinto gods, presents for the Buddha -- worship is syncretic in Japan, and so early on the two religions made friends and began to share. In some local places of worship it is difficult to decide if you are in a shrine or in a temple.
Looking at the presents, however, one detects something more Shintolike than Buddhist: a uniform simplicity. Raw wood, sacred branches, white paper, cut bamboo -- how different from the almost Roman-Catholic sumptiousness of some Buddhist celebrations. No matter on which altar the present lies, it is plain, uncomplicated, innocent.
So too are these admirable photographs. Things are seen straight on and in perfect focus. No angles, no filters. The simplicity of the gifts is matched by the like simplicity of their photos. Their opulence lies in the ornate richness of the sacred rope, in the sumptuous orange of a single persimmon, in the luxurious texture of a dried fish.
Modest in the face of this prodigal gift-giving, the donor never insists. Likewise these admirable photos reflect this pious spirit and in so doing offer something of a spiritual richness not often observed.
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