"Only from the position of loss can one assert that nothing has been lost; only when the seamless, unquestioned transmission of custom has been interrupted, does "tradition" emerge."

I found this excerpt in Chapter 5 to be very insightful and profound, not only in its relation to Japanese culture, but also to cultures worldwide and even my personal life. This truly speaks to the "otherness" or "Japaneseness" that Ivy discusses in Chapter 1. What I found most interesting is that the recent struggles of war, economic inferiority, and pressures to modernize were the stimuli for Japan to popularize folklore and even invent new "traditions." The duality between modern and traditional here is fascinating. The former spurred the latter, but both can contradict the other. Inevitably, some of the modern will cross over into the traditional, like the newer sacrifices of food and money. How, then, can these two worlds converge and be practically universally supported in Japanese culture?

These thoughts led me to think back to our first reading and how unbelievably flexible a culture can be to accommodate two seemingly incommensurable worlds. The difference here, in contrast with the Urapmin, is that there are many Japanese that doubt the powers of Mount Osore and kuchiyose. Despite their disbelief, many urbanites and tourists come to experience Mount Terror for more than its exotic appeal. They come to receive closure for the dead, even if it is their last resort, and often succeed in finding some sort of consolation. This supports the idea that it is not so much the belief that matters, but it is the fetishistic sentiment (“I know but nevertheless...”) that is enough to bring some solace to bereaved visitors. Or perhaps more probable is the strength of groupthink or social pressure (another theme from our first reading) that is the fuel for the at least fetishistic belief in the powers of Mount Osore and the itako. I am left with the question of what is the greatest motive for belief in a practice that so many do not understand and doubt. Is it part of the national movement to be uniquely Japanese and blindly believe in one’s roots, even if some of the traditions are novel? Is it a sensationalized and exotic event that every Japanese person must experience? Or is it genuine belief, one that does not require visual proof or full understanding? Perhaps the best answer is a hodgepodge of all of the above.