名前が持つ霊力：実名忌避と二重の名Spiritual Forces of Sacred Naming in Japan

Today, while Japanese people may no longer fully appreciate the importance of names, this is a relatively recent phenomenon, occurring within just the past 30 years or so, and from the perspective of Japanese history, represents a very new attitude. Even today, customs such as “introducing oneself by name” upon first meeting, or addressing someone by their job title rather than their personal name, remain deeply rooted in society. Historically, names have been considered sacred throughout Japan’s long history, giving rise to a fascinating, almost fantasy-like world filled with political intrigue centered around names. The key to understanding this intriguing custom lies in the concepts of “avoidance of real names (実名忌避)” and the use of “dual names (二重の名).” From this perspective, let’s take our first step into this mysterious world.

As someone who explores ancient Japan by traveling throughout the country, I constantly feel that understanding names is crucial for creating deeper experiences during these journeys. These names are not limited to personal Japanese names, but extend to place names, shrines, and even the names of kami. The Japanese language might be challenging for readers, but through Shitsurae, I sincerely hope you can deepen your understanding even slightly, and thus spend days in Japan that profoundly impact your future life. Modern-day tourists hardly ever pay attention to Japanese names, but simply understanding this aspect opens up unlimited possibilities.

Going far back in history to unravel Japanese mythology, we find that the names of deities often had very long and unique sounds, believed to carry special powers in their meanings and phonetic qualities. This belief is deeply connected to Japan’s historical context, in which—unlike China—there was no original necessity for a written culture, resulting in a long-held faith that sounds themselves were divine entities. This belief evolved into what is known as “kotodama (言霊: literally, ‘word spirit’)” or “otodama (音霊: literally, ‘sound spirit’),” mystical concepts of Shinto that many readers find intriguing. Since my research primarily concerns eras lacking written records, I have frequently experienced deciphering hidden histories through the names of kami and places, which interestingly allow us glimpses into ancient realities. Although it may sound absurd, this is indeed true.

For example, the first deity appearing in the opening of the Kojiki, “Amenominakanushi-no-Kami (天之御中主神),” is commonly interpreted as “the deity who presides over the center of heaven,” and the name itself embodies divinity. Major contributions to interpreting this kami’s name were made by the Edo-period Kokugaku scholar Motoori Norinaga (1730–1801). However, although these divine names represent our ancestors, they are deeply intertwined with ancient Japanese beliefs from unimaginably distant times, and no interpretation can be considered definitive. In fact, although “Ama/ame” (天) in “Amenominakanushi” was imported from Chinese culture to mean a heavenly realm, within ancient Japanese texts alone, the sound “ama” appears in numerous forms, such as 天 (ama), 阿麻 (ama), 海部 (ama), 菴 (ama), and 甘 (ama).

This diversity arose because, after the introduction of Chinese characters, it became necessary to represent Japanese sounds through Chinese characters with approximate meanings. From a purely Japanese linguistic perspective, rather than being associated with the Chinese celestial concept, “ama” tends to be more closely connected with “the sea,” a concept very fitting for Japan, an island nation surrounded by oceans. Even today, those living by the sea and engaged in fishing are called “ama (海人),” with female divers specifically called “ama (海女).” Place names containing “ama” still exist throughout Japan, notably “Amami-Oshima (奄美大島)” as the most prominent example. Additionally, ancient clans symbolized by “ama” once existed, such as the “Ama-be Clan (海部氏).” Descendants of the ancient Tango Ama-be clan still serve hereditarily as priests at Kono Shrine on the Tango Peninsula in northern Kyoto Prefecture. Before municipal mergers and reorganizations in the 20th and 21st centuries, place names clearly indicating their connection to the Ama-be clan also remained, such as the openly named Ama-be County (海部郡) in Oita Prefecture.

To be honest, the ancient history behind the sound “ama” alone is so profoundly deep and intricate that numerous authors could write extensive works about it, making any definitive statement extremely challenging; nevertheless, immense and profound meanings undoubtedly lie hidden within the sounds of the Japanese language. As such, if I were to attempt to convey the mythology of the Kojiki to my readers, just the name “Amenominakanushi” itself would require an enormous and careful discussion—so extensive, in fact, that I deliberately avoid it. Above, I briefly described its general meaning as “the deity who presides over the center of heaven,” but this common interpretation hardly touches upon the divine essence (神威) of “Amenominakanushi,” and the topic remains essentially impossible to discuss properly in languages other than Japanese. Because this characteristic of phonetic reverence reaches its peak when dealing with the names of kami, perhaps no deities are more difficult to fully comprehend than those of Japan. Fundamentally, the nature of Japanese mythology indicates that the very act of naming was considered a sacred creative act, reflecting ancient Japanese sensibilities which believed that divine power (霊威) resided in names themselves. This belief also connects deeply with the concept of “kotodama,” the ancient Japanese idea that words themselves possess spiritual power and that vocalizing them activates their inherent strength. Even Kukai (空海, 774-835), the founder of the Shingon (真言) esoteric Buddhist tradition—which at first glance might seem unrelated—developed an esoteric interpretation of “kotodama” through his concept of “Shingon” as “the true essence of words.” Hence, chanting the name of a deity itself was regarded as a sacred form of prayer, and people’s names were also treated with great care and caution. Of course, you are likely already aware that such practices were not unique to Japan but were common throughout the ancient world.

Yet, against the backdrop of venerating these ancient Japanese sounds—essentially, deities—ancient Japanese society developed a cultural practice of “avoiding the public use of real names,” profoundly influencing subsequent Japanese history. Particularly notable is how, during the Asuka (538-710) and Nara (710-794) periods, when Japan’s political system increasingly shifted toward centralized governance, the practice of avoiding real names (実名敬避) was institutionalized specifically to enhance the authority of rulers. Even the Kojiki, my own primary research topic, had among its objectives the systematization and legitimization of various clan names under imperial authority, thus using naming conventions as a means to regulate and restrict clan power. Consequently, an originally indigenous Japanese custom was significantly influenced by the Chinese Tang dynasty’s powerful cultural practice known as “name taboo (避諱),” eventually becoming formally codified at the state level in Japan.

A typical example can be found in the Taiho Code (大宝律令) enacted in 701 CE during the reign of Emperor Monmu (the 42nd emperor), which explicitly mandated the avoidance of ancestral imperial names, instructing people not to use the “imina” (諱: personal taboo names) of emperors or imperial family members in daily life. Furthermore, in 757 CE, an imperial edict explicitly prohibited the public use of the names of the emperor and empress. The following year, as recorded in the historical chronicle Shoku Nihongi, due to the taboo surrounding the character “史”—which appeared in the name of a child of Fujiwara no Kamatari, one of the court’s most powerful figures at the time—six clans bearing this character in their surnames were compelled to change their family names. Thus, directly speaking the names of emperors or high-ranking individuals gradually became taboo under Japan’s Ritsuryo (centralized legal code) system.

Personally, I believe this type of custom likely existed among tribes even before institutionalization, but the practice was undoubtedly reinforced by the aristocratic society that rose to prominence during the Nara and Heian (平安, 794-1185) periods. During these eras, real names were regarded as profoundly private and sacred to individuals, so they were rarely used in daily life. Therefore, when referring to someone else, alternative names called “tsusho (通称: common names)” became prevalent. Here, the real names—referred to as “imina (諱)” or “imina (忌み名: taboo names)”—were designated exclusively for use by parents, lords, or individuals of a similarly special status in official contexts; uttering them by anyone else was considered disrespectful. In fact, historical texts and diaries from the Heian period reveal virtually no instances where nobles addressed each other by their real names. Instead, they frequently used titles based on official ranks or the names of their residences.

For instance, a male noble’s common designation was usually derived from his official rank or the location of his residence. Minamoto no Masanobu (920-993), a nobleman of the Heian period, was commonly referred to as “Tsuchimikado no Sadaijin (土御門左大臣),” meaning “Minister of the Left from Tsuchimikado,” after his official position and the Tsuchimikado Avenue location of his residence in Kyoto. Additionally, from the mid-Heian period onward, women’s designations increasingly reflected their father’s or husband’s official rank. A famous example is the author of The Tale of Genji, Murasaki Shikibu (紫式部), who was known by this name rather than her real one, as her father held the rank of “Shikibu-no-jo (式部丞).” Consequently, her real name remains uncertain and debated even today. Another renowned figure, Izumi Shikibu (和泉式部), author of The Diary of Izumi Shikibu and celebrated poet, was also known by this designation due to her husband’s position as the governor of Izumi Province (和泉守: Izumi no Kami), and her real name likewise remains unknown. Thus, the aristocrats of this era carefully managed a system of “dual names,” generally hiding their real names and addressing each other primarily through common titles. But why did these aristocrats attach so much importance to the practice of avoiding real names in the first place?

At the core of this custom lies the belief, deeply connected to the concept of “kotodama,” that names are intrinsically tied to one’s personality and soul. Thus, names were never regarded as mere labels to identify individuals, but rather as something embodying their very spirit. Knowing or calling someone by their true name, also referred to as “mana (真名: true name),” carried a genuine fear of allowing others to gain control over their soul—causing considerable anxiety and dread. In fact, numerous historical accounts from ancient to medieval Japan detail incidents where individuals whose real names became known fell victim to the malicious intent or curses of their adversaries, and secret techniques designed specifically to curse and torment individuals by using their names flourished during these periods. As vividly depicted in The Tale of Genji (源氏物語), high-ranking individuals were especially prone to jealousy and resentment from others, prompting nobles to conceal their true names both as a protective measure against misfortune and as a profound expression of respect toward one another.

Moreover, the naming of infants involved solemn ceremonies, with the practice of using provisional or temporary names until a formal naming ritual conducted on the seventh day after birth. This practice was not limited to aristocrats; later, among samurai as well, naming customs evolved into complex systems where individuals adopted multiple names throughout their lives, reflecting their growth, social status, and ranks. Furthermore, if a child fell seriously ill, it was commonly believed that the cause of illness lay in their name, prompting families to change the child’s name to dispel the misfortune. This strongly suggests the prevalent belief that names possessed spiritual power capable of determining an individual’s fate—an idea many Japanese still strongly adhere to today. Consequently, every Japanese person’s name contains profound feelings and aspirations from their parents, reflecting heartfelt desires for their child’s future.

Importantly, these practices extended beyond the living to the deceased. The real names of deceased individuals were also regarded as highly taboo, and notably for emperors and noble figures, alternative names called “okurina (諡: posthumous titles)” were bestowed upon them after death. These honorary names replaced their original ones, serving both to comfort the spirits of the deceased and to spare those left behind from directly invoking their true names. In the case of emperors, modern Japanese occasionally refer casually to recent emperors using the names of their era, such as “Heisei Tenno (平成天皇)” or “Reiwa Tenno (令和天皇).” However, this practice emerged only after the Meiji era, representing a modern phenomenon where era names (元号: gengo) and posthumous titles (諡号, “shigo” or “okurina”) became synonymous. Thus, the commonly known names of historical emperors such as Emperor Jimmu (神武天皇), Emperor Tenmu (天武天皇), and Emperor Kanmu (桓武天皇) are all posthumous titles, not their real names. During their lifetimes, these emperors were never referred to by these titles.

As demonstrated throughout history, names in Japan have consistently been treated as special and sacred, and their influence clearly persists in contemporary society. Even today, in business settings, addressing superiors or seniors by their given names is practically unthinkable; instead, people consistently use family names or professional titles, reflecting respect toward the names themselves and maintaining psychological distance. Though rarely consciously recognized, the historical culture of “respecting and refraining from using true names” continues to permeate modern Japanese society to this day.