BY ALPER ÖZKAN (MSN/PhDIII)
d_ozkan@ug.bilkent.edu.tr
One thing I really appreciate about polytheistic religions is how inclusive they can get. The Hittite Empire, for example, fancied itself the land of a thousand gods, and the Hittites certainly had the religious diversity to match their claim—mostly because they went ahead and stole the gods of other territories to enrich their pantheon. You see, when the Hittites conquered a new land, they rounded up the native idols and added them to their own religion, and I like to believe that their main impetus for conquest was to collect every local god in an ancient equivalent of Pokemon (…but that would just be Shin Megami Tensei, wouldn’t it?). The Romans had a slightly different mode of operation—they identified local divinities with their own gods, so that Osiris, for example, was just the Egyptian name of Bacchus, and he whom the Vikings knew as Thor was no different from Jupiter. Even Christianity picked up its hefty collection of pagan traditions by mingling with the local religions, as new converts were loathe to part with their age-old beliefs and found it much more palatable to just ask for absolution in between placating their household spirits (that’s where this whole “leaving milk and cookies for Santa” thing started, by the way) and hanging people for Odin. A particular Anglo-Saxon king even maintained a temple with both pagan and Christian altars, presumably for easy conversion in case Ragnarok should break out before Armageddon, or vice versa.
Japan is no different in this regard—Shinto is little more than the sum of a great many local beliefs, though it does have something of an exception: Despite being inhabited by countless gods, the country is effectively monotheistic for one month each year.
Now, the Izumo Grand Shrine is one of the oldest shrines in Japan, and it is dedicated to the god Okuninushi, who is now venerated as a god of matchmaking, but was also notable as the chief of the land gods (like the Greek Titanomachy and the Norse war between the Aesir and the Vanir, there was also a Japanese showdown between the old gods and the new—the native land gods and the invading heavenly gods). He didn’t always have that distinction, however—he began as the runt of the litter, treated as a valet and punching bag by his seventy-nine brothers, who were on a quest to win the hand of a beautiful princess (yes, all seventy-nine of them—makes sense, I guess, since whatever task the princess might set out before them, one brother was bound to succeed at it). Long story short, he channels his inner Ivan Tsarevich and is somehow named the suitor of the princess, which only infuriates his brothers, who conspire to kill him.
Which they do. They accomplish this by telling Okuninushi to hunt a “red boar,” which is really a huge, blazing-hot boulder that they plan to roll him over with, and he falls for this hook, line and sinker. I suppose he kind of had that one coming.
His death doesn’t stick, though—the unlucky god manages to get himself revived. However, his brothers aren’t quite done with their vengeful streak, so they conspire to kill him again, which they do. Not to worry, since he gets revived right back again, but by now he’s had enough of his brothers and their shenanigans, and, figuring that it takes one jock to catch another, he sets out to get advice from the greatest bully of them all—Susano’o. In the process, he also falls head over heels for the storm-god’s daughter, which does not bode well for anyone looking forward to not getting killed.
As per the usual course of these things, Susano’o asks Okuninushi to complete a series of trials to gain the right to marry his daughter, which involve trifling things like sleeping in a pit of serpents. He survives this and other “just hang around in this here room crawling with venomous animals” quests, but Susano’o is far from deterred, and throws a curveball by setting an easy task, asking Okuninushi to retrieve an arrow that he shoots at a field. Okuninushi goes off after the arrow, and in typical fashion, Susano’o then sets the field ablaze.
And people look at me funny when I tell them Susano’o is the best god in the pantheon.
In any case, the timely intervention of a mouse allows Okuninushi to get through that with his hide intact, and it soon dawns on him that Susano’o will just keep handing him “trials” until he finally does kick the bucket. Having had enough, he decides to elope, and knowing that Susano’o is sure to give chase, he waits until the storm-god is asleep and ties him to the columns of his house. He then makes himself (and his bride-to-be) scarce, or rather tries to, because he soon hears a monstrous ruckus behind him, and turns around to see Susano’o hot on his heels, dragging the broken remnants of his house with him.
…And then Susano’o, approving Okuninushi’s bravery and finding his “tie god to house, run like hell” plan to be absolutely hilarious, consents to the marriage. Okuninushi goes on to become the ruler of Izumo and the master of the land gods in Japan. Honoring his authority, these gods hold a yearly council in his shrine—which means they vacate their own shrines, leaving the entire land godless. Only Ebisu remains as the steward of the realm during that month—prayers to other gods, it is said, are left unheard.
This month of vacancy is typically assigned to October or November, but for Bilkent I am sure it falls in August, when poor graduate students are left to fend for themselves in a ghost town—the buses come at two-hour intervals, every diner and restaurant is closed, and even the monthly food allowance is skipped for no good reason (graduate students are expected to work year-round, August or no). While you undergraduate-folk were having lofty holidays, we were in a life-and-death struggle over here.
And yes, I set up this entire column just to complain that the routine campus services are not provided at Bilkent during August. You’re welcome.
BY ALPER ÖZKAN (MSN/PhD)
Godless Month
One thing I really appreciate about polytheistic religions is how inclusive they can get. The Hittite Empire, for example, fancied itself the land of a thousand gods, and the Hittites certainly had the religious diversity to match their claim—mostly because they went ahead and stole the gods of other territories to enrich their pantheon. You see, when the Hittites conquered a new land, they rounded up the native idols and added them to their own religion, and I like to believe that their main impetus for conquest was to collect every local god in an ancient equivalent of Pokemon (…but that would just be Shin Megami Tensei, wouldn’t it?). The Romans had a slightly different mode of operation—they identified local divinities with their own gods, so that Osiris, for example, was just the Egyptian name of Bacchus, and he whom the Vikings knew as Thor was no different from Jupiter. Even Christianity picked up its hefty collection of pagan traditions by mingling with the local religions, as new converts were loathe to part with their age-old beliefs and found it much more palatable to just ask for absolution in between placating their household spirits (that’s where this whole “leaving milk and cookies for Santa” thing started, by the way) and hanging people for Odin. A particular Anglo-Saxon king even maintained a temple with both pagan and Christian altars, presumably for easy conversion in case Ragnarok should break out before Armageddon, or vice versa.
Japan is no different in this regard—Shinto is little more than the sum of a great many local beliefs, though it does have something of an exception: Despite being inhabited by countless gods, the country is effectively monotheistic for one month each year.
Now, the Izumo Grand Shrine is one of the oldest shrines in Japan, and it is dedicated to the god Okuninushi, who is now venerated as a god of matchmaking, but was also notable as the chief of the land gods (like the Greek Titanomachy and the Norse war between the Aesir and the Vanir, there was also a Japanese showdown between the old gods and the new—the native land gods and the invading heavenly gods). He didn’t always have that distinction, however—he began as the runt of the litter, treated as a valet and punching bag by his seventy-nine brothers, who were on a quest to win the hand of a beautiful princess (yes, all seventy-nine of them—makes sense, I guess, since whatever task the princess might set out before them, one brother was bound to succeed at it). Long story short, he channels his inner Ivan Tsarevich and is somehow named the suitor of the princess, which only infuriates his brothers, who conspire to kill him.
Which they do. They accomplish this by telling Okuninushi to hunt a “red boar,” which is really a huge, blazing-hot boulder that they plan to roll him over with, and he falls for this hook, line and sinker. I suppose he kind of had that one coming.
His death doesn’t stick, though—the unlucky god manages to get himself revived. However, his brothers aren’t quite done with their vengeful streak, so they conspire to kill him again, which they do. Not to worry, since he gets revived right back again, but by now he’s had enough of his brothers and their shenanigans, and, figuring that it takes one jock to catch another, he sets out to get advice from the greatest bully of them all—Susano’o. In the process, he also falls head over heels for the storm-god’s daughter, which does not bode well for anyone looking forward to not getting killed.
As per the usual course of these things, Susano’o asks Okuninushi to complete a series of trials to gain the right to marry his daughter, which involve trifling things like sleeping in a pit of serpents. He survives this and other “just hang around in this here room crawling with venomous animals” quests, but Susano’o is far from deterred, and throws a curveball by setting an easy task, asking Okuninushi to retrieve an arrow that he shoots at a field. Okuninushi goes off after the arrow, and in typical fashion, Susano’o then sets the field ablaze.
And people look at me funny when I tell them Susano’o is the best god in the pantheon.
In any case, the timely intervention of a mouse allows Okuninushi to get through that with his hide intact, and it soon dawns on him that Susano’o will just keep handing him “trials” until he finally does kick the bucket. Having had enough, he decides to elope, and knowing that Susano’o is sure to give chase, he waits until the storm-god is asleep and ties him to the columns of his house. He then makes himself (and his bride-to-be) scarce, or rather tries to, because he soon hears a monstrous ruckus behind him, and turns around to see Susano’o hot on his heels, dragging the broken remnants of his house with him.
…And then Susano’o, approving Okuninushi’s bravery and finding his “tie god to house, run like hell” plan to be absolutely hilarious, consents to the marriage. Okuninushi goes on to become the ruler of Izumo and the master of the land gods in Japan. Honoring his authority, these gods hold a yearly council in his shrine—which means they vacate their own shrines, leaving the entire land godless. Only Ebisu remains as the steward of the realm during that month—prayers to other gods, it is said, are left unheard.
This month of vacancy is typically assigned to October or November, but for Bilkent I am sure it falls in August, when poor graduate students are left to fend for themselves in a ghost town—the buses come at two-hour intervals, every diner and restaurant is closed, and even the monthly food allowance is skipped for no good reason (graduate students are expected to work year-round, August or no). While you undergraduate-folk were having lofty holidays, we were in a life-and-death struggle over here.
And yes, I set up this entire column just to complain that the routine campus services are not provided at Bilkent during August. You’re welcome.