Gokoku Jinja — Blog - Aonghas Crowe

One of my favorite places in Fukuoka City is Gokoku Jinja, located just south of Ōhori Park.

According to the Encyclopedia of Shintōism, Gokoku is a shrine built for the protection of the nation and "dedicated to the spirits of individuals who died in Japanese wars from the end of the early modern period through World War II."

These shrines were originally called shōkonsha (lit. "spirit-inviting shrines") in the prewar period numbered over one hundred. In 1939, however, they were renamed gokoku jinja. Following Japan's defeat in the Pacific War, "the shrines were placed under strict observation by the occupation armies, and many of the shrines changed their titles, though most have today reverted back to their original name . . . In most cases, they have added individuals who have died in service to local public organizations to their lists of enshrined kami (spirits or gods). Yasukuni Jinja in Tōkyō acts as the central or home shrine for gokoku jinja nationwide." (See note below.)

I wrote about Gokoku Jinja in my second novel A Woman's Nails:

Many of the more interesting sites in Fukuoka are fortunately within a short walk from my apartment: the castle ruins with its maze of stone ramparts, and Ôhori Park, which has a beautiful Japanese garden. A Noh theatre and art museum are also located in the area, as is Gokoku Jinja and a martial arts center simply called Budôkan.

Gokoku Jinja, like Tōkyō’s infamous Yasukuni, is a shrine dedicated to those who died defending Japan. Had I known this little fact before visiting the shrine, I may have been moved in an altogether different way. Instead, I was inspired with a deep sense of awe, the very awe which was sorely absent when my father would drag his unwilling brood at an ungodly hour every Sunday morning and stuff it into the first two pews of our dimly lit, dusty old house of worship where we’d reluctantly take part in that hebdomadal morose pageant, Mass.

No, if the divine and mysterious were to be felt anywhere, it was in shrines such as Gokoku, a serene island of ancient trees, expansive lawns and painstakingly raked gravel. It’s a spiritual oasis in the heart of a frenetically bustling desert of asphalt and condominiums and if you’re not moved to the core when visiting the shrine, then you have no core. With the Catholic church, the nearest I ever got to appreciating the power of the Almighty was at the coffee and donuts bonanza after Mass when dutifully sitting-standing-genuflecting automatons were resurrected with copious amounts of caffeine and sugar.

After a purifying ablution of my hands, I passed between a pair of komainu statues and through a towering wooden torii gate, entering the shrine. At the end of a long the broad path of combed gravel was the shinden, a long, one storey golden structure with a gracefully sloping roof at the edge of a lush and verdant woods. Iron lanterns and straw braiding hung along the eves, and a young woman, her black parasol leaning against the offertory box, bowed her head in prayer. Drawn by both curiosity and a spontaneous reverence, I made my way along the gravel path, ascended the short flight of steps and offered up a pray, myself.

One day my father will ask cynically, “So, now you’re a Shintōist, are ye?”

And I’ll reply, “When was I never one?”

What did I pray for? Happiness, of course.

With the change in my pocket, I bought an o-mikuji, a small folded strip of white paper with my fortune written in Japanese on one side, and, to my surprise, in English on the other.

“Your flower is heather,” the o-mikuji told me. “It means lonely.”

Wonderful.

“You are introverted and like to be alone,” the prognostication continued.

Not really.

“But man cannot live on without others.”

Hah! No man is an island! Plagiarism!

“Let people into your heart, and you will be happy.”

Bingo!

Regarding my hopes and ambitions, I was told to “make efforts, and try to be friendly with a lot of people.”

By gum, try I will!

“Your studies will be all right, if you keep calm.” I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, releasing a small fart, redolent of sour milk.

Any more relaxed and I’d be dead.

I was advised to be cheerful, but to not aim too high when looking for a job. It was also suggested that being quiet on dates wasn’t always the wisest thing to do, and, because I was, again, too introverted I must “behave cheerfully.”

Dutifully noted!

Not particularly impressed with this fortune—it was only shokichi, a four out a scale of about six—I tied it onto a narrow branch of a nearby tree and left the shrine.