No.087 - Interview with the University of Bonn Professor Emeritus Josef Kreiner, the Fourth Winner of the NIHU International Prize in Japanese Studies

Interview with the University of Bonn Professor Emeritus Josef Kreiner, the Fourth Winner of the NIHU International Prize in Japanese Studies

Dr. Josef Kreiner, Professor Emeritus at the University of Bonn, was awarded the fourth National Institutes for the Humanities (NIHU) International Prize in Japanese Studies, for his many years of research in cultural anthropology conducted in various parts of Japan, his contributions to Japanese studies, and his efforts for the development of Japanese studies in Europe. In this interview, we asked Dr. Kreiner why he decided to study Japan, what research particularly appealed to him, the current focus of his research, and what advice he would share with young scholars.

What led you to pursue the field of Japanese studies?

During eight years of secondary school in Austria, I took a course in the classics. While studying Greek and Roman classics, I also took classes in Sanskrit for three years from my fifth year at school. Back then, my interest lay in Buddhism in Tibet and Nepal, and the ethnic groups that carry on the traditions of their ancient culture in their daily lives. Without thinking much about whether I should study ancient or modern times, I enrolled in the University of Vienna’s ethnology course in 1958, which emphasized the historical ethnology approach. The Institute of Ethnology at that time happened to have a department of Japanese studies, founded by cultural anthropologist OKA Masao in the late 1930s. Coincidentally, the same year I enrolled, the university started a Japan-Austria student exchange program and accepted three students from Japan. I became particularly good friends with one of them, economic sociologist SUMIYA Kazuhiko, an assistant professor at Rikkyo University at the time and previously an assistant to Dr. OKA at Tokyo Metropolitan University. We specialized in the same field and under his influence I found I wanted to learn more broadly about Japan and its culture as a whole.

You have conducted fieldwork in different parts of Japan. Through those projects, what did you find most appealing?

Ultimately, I learned through my research that Japan is not a monolith. People tend to assume they can apply uniform and unitary principles to understand and explain Japan’s ethnic culture. But when you travel around the country, you encounter different dialects, food, and value systems wherever you go. As I pursued fieldwork in rural areas, I became aware of the complexity of the country’s culture and of the varied weights given to tradition.

YANAGITA Kunio’s shūken-ron (concentric theory), which he presented in his book Kagyū-kō [On Snails] (Tokyo: Tōkōshoin, 1930), holds that new words spread ripple-like from the Kinki area, which was the cultural center of Japan, pushing older terms and culture to the periphery. Rebutting this idea was religious studies scholar HARADA Toshiaki who argued that ancient traditional culture remained in the Kinki region, where some village communities are still structured around the village communal group centered on the miyaza shrine guilds—associations that serve a priestly function for the community. This conception has been called suribachi-ron, evoking the small, bowl-shaped mortar in which what is ground accumulates thickly in the center. In one of my fieldwork projects in the Kinki region, I studied a harvest festival in which one person, regardless of gender, from each village household takes part. The participants quietly worshipped the Shinto tutelary deity of the village and offered the first rice crop harvested that year. To me, this miyaza ritual felt different from, and more sacred and ancient than, such flamboyant festivities in more peripheral areas as raihō-shin (Visiting Deities) rituals, annual events in which masked and costumed deities make rounds of local households shouting in loud voices and scaring children to chase away bad luck. Examples of these rites—inscribed as intangible heritage by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization in 2018—are the namahage in Akita; the boze in Akusekijima Island of southern Kyushu’s Tokara Islands; and the Pāntu in Miyakojima Island, Okinawa.

What kinds of things do you try to keep in mind when conducting fieldwork?

Folklorist YANAGITA and the father of Japanese ethnology OKA both stressed that researchers should not just barge into villagers’ dwellings to conduct interviews, and then take all the credit for the findings by appropriating their discoveries in presentations, publications, and other academic output. Rather, they both asserted that there must be a give-and-take, reciprocal relationship with the informants. For instance, YANAGITA and folklorist MIYAMOTO Tsuneichi shared recent agricultural know-how with the villagers with whom they engaged. YANAGITA had worked as a civil servant in the former Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, and he continued to research agricultural associations throughout his life. He likely felt it his duty to contribute to the village society in one way or another.

Before I headed to Amami Ōshima Island for my fieldwork in the early 1960s, YANAGITA advised me to bring gifts of incense and green tea from Tokyo to take to the island, informing me that the villagers would be pleased. This and other valuable advice were based on his visit to Amami in 1921, but it still proved valid decades later for my research trip.

Another thing I found was that my foreign origin could be of some use. One time, I was doing research in Kyushu with fellow students from the University of Tokyo. They struggled to understand the local dialect, which appeared to upset the residents with whom we were interacting. When my colleagues would ask the villagers to explain again, they would get angry, reproaching them for not having learned the dialect before coming to the village. By contrast, the residents never seemed to get frustrated with me, even when I asked them three or four times to repeat what they said. They probably never expected me to understand the vernacular. So eventually, my colleagues urged me to ask all the questions.

Are there distinctive characteristics of Japanese studies conducted by non-Japanese researchers?

Scholars from abroad like me and native researchers come from different backgrounds, so it is only natural that we observe Japan’s culture from different viewpoints, or that　there may be some disconnect between the two on certain matters. But in my case, I was so strongly influenced by my Japanese mentors OKA, YANAGITA, and HARADA among others that there were times when I struggled to establish my own perspective.

That reminds me of an experience when I met Emperor Akihito (presently the Emperor Emeritus) while serving as the founding director of the German Institute for Japanese Studies (DIJ). Less than a year after I assumed the position, the Imperial Household Agency asked me to speak to His Majesty as he wished to know more about the DIJ, and I accepted this request. In our meeting, I explained to the emperor the German government’s decision-making concerning talking points at that time, which I had memorized in advance. Our conversation covered then-current issues of German society, ranging from the aging and declining population to bioethics (brain death, to be specific—a topic about which debate was underway in the parliament). Looking at similar challenges that sprung up simultaneously in both Germany and Japan, I compared the two countries, wondering how Japan could navigate bioethics and other issues in a culture mostly disconnected from Europe’s Judeo-Christian traditions.

His Majesty listened to me patiently. After some time, he said that he understood my point, but wanted me to explain again using my own words this time, as opposed to the formal and scripted tone in which I had been speaking.

At the end of our wide-ranging dialogue, the emperor noted two points for me and the DIJ to keep in mind. One was to maintain our German angle when engaging in research. His Majesty observed that although the young staff-members of our Institute would be certainly fluent in reading and writing Japanese, they inevitably understand things more slowly than a Japanese native, and would be unable to keep up when competing against Japanese researchers. But the DIJ, the emperor said, should be aware that Japanese academics are not seeking competition; rather, they appreciate the mindset of Germans as an asset—how Germans are approaching the aging society issue, for instance, is of keen interest to the Japanese. Put simply, His Majesty was urging DIJ members and me to study Japan while maintaining an awareness of our own cultural background.

The other point His Majesty made was that Japan is also home to ethnic and other minorities, and that these groups should be incorporated into DIJ work. On this topic, I shared that I had written my doctoral dissertation based on research on Amami Ōshima Island. His Majesty approved my approach and asked how much I studied the dialects of Amami, to which—much to my embarrassment—I had to confess that I had been unable to learn them. His Majesty challenged me, stating that ethnologists should master the local dialect before visiting their field location. To be completely honest, the only other time I received such a grilling was during my Ph.D. qualification interview. The emperor went on, advising me it was not too late to start studying the vernacular of Japan’s southwestern islands. I responded that unfortunately I would not have time to do so as there were so many tasks to be handled at the just-founded DIJ and that I would begin after things settled down, but His Majesty again reproved me. He noted that contrary to common belief, he had a busy daily schedule—and yet, each week he made time to study the Ryukyuan language for two hours. I too, he urged me, should study the vernacular for as much time.

Something I wish I had understood earlier is the importance of observing Japan as an outsider and through the lens of the culture I grew up in, immersing myself in a Japanese community to explore various topics, conveying, in turn, my findings to the local people, and engaging in interchange and discussions with other researchers of Japan. And in order to do this, language is critical.

What kinds of unexpected happenings did you experience relating to your research?

One case was when I donated all the photographs, negatives, and tapes of data I collected on Amami Ōshima Island to the Setouchi Town Public Library and Folk Museum, located in the community on the island that had previously helped me in my research endeavors. Before the COVID-19 pandemic broke out, the museum called me saying they wanted to use my photos for a project to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the town’s establishment. I told them the photographs would be theirs and could be used in any way. Sometime later, the museum contacted me again, informing me of a collection of photographs of the town they had selected, and asked me to contribute a message to include in the book. Later, when I saw the book, I realized that it indeed featured my photos, but the town had picked images that felt incidental to me yet were apparently of great interest to the residents. Driven by my interest in folk religion-related events and festivals, the photographs I had taken were mostly of traditional festivals. But without my realizing it, I had also taken many scenes of children at play. When I was on the island, Japan’s economy was booming, prompting many younger-generation workers to move temporarily to Osaka to work (dekasegi). Those remaining were mainly older people and children, and the pictures showed scenes of elderly people working in the fields and children playing. Having the town hand-pick my pictures for their book was a fascinating, rewarding, and rare experience for me. When I had written my own book resulting from my fieldwork and interviews—albeit in a foreign language—and sent it to people who had helped me, I had heard no response. So I was very pleased to see such a wonderful reaction to this photo book project.

What research topic are you currently interested in?

It is the issue I inherited from my predecessors as to when and where Japanese culture originated. I am well aware that this is a complex topic not reducible to simple factors.

What advice would you give to young scholars and students who are engaged in Japanese studies?

I would say not to worry too much about eventual employment. I hope young students will engage in their studies not to land a job but to understand Japan and its culture. If they can do that, there will be employment opportunities to be had—anywhere from trade, politics, diplomacy to animation, art, crafts, design, and many others. Japanese design has had a strong influence on European culture from the Edo period onward, creating wide interest among people overseas. Japan’s culture is very much worth studying and is important for Europe, perhaps more significant than that of other countries.

I may be influenced by ethnologist UMESAO Tadao, but I think that Europe and Japan, though they were not connected historically, have very similar social structures, as exemplified in the feudal systems their societies embraced in medieval times. The first Europeans who came to Japan—merchants or missionaries from the Iberian Peninsula—had very little problem adapting to Japanese culture given the parallels in the social structures. There is an account of the first Jesuit priests who arrived in Bungo, today’s Oita, describing how they felt ashamed at the first banquet they attended, as the Japanese deftly used chopsticks and kept their fingers clean whereas the reporter and his fellow Europeans were accustomed to eating with their hands.

As you can see, studying Japanese culture is a very rewarding endeavor. I would encourage young people to jump right in and work hard on their study. By doing so, they will find fulfilling careers—something they can find satisfaction in pursuing for the rest of their lives. Learn, for example, about the tea ceremony, and it can unexpectedly open up new horizons.

(Interviewer: OHBA Go, Researcher, Center for Innovative Research, National Institutes for the Humanities)