1 Introduction

On the first day of March 1873, the historian and painter Kume Kunitake 久米邦武 (1839–1931) visited a museum in The Hague, the royal capital of the Netherlands, as a member of a diplomatic mission to the United States and Europe on behalf of the Meiji government. The embassy, led by Iwakura Tomomi 岩倉具視 (1825–1883), lasted from 1871 to 1873, and Kume recorded its most relevant events in Tokumei zenken taishi beiō kairan nikki 特命全権大使米欧回覧日記 (1878). His remarks on the museum visit note the conspicuous diffusion of Japanese manufactured objects (sakusei no mono 作成ノ物) reproducing the taxidermic bodies of certain imaginary creatures of the archipelago:

Clear weather. In the morning we visited the museum of Haag, which is renowned for hosting various artworks from Japan and China … There were also many other objects, which in Japan are not considered as artworks and are not often seen. Moreover, among the objects in this museum there were strange (ayashi 奇) things such as a two-headed snake (ryōtō no hebi 両頭の蛇), a mummified body (nikushin 肉身) of a dragon (ryū 龍), the severed head (namakubi 生首) of a demon (oni 鬼), and a human-fish (ningyo 人魚). Although none of these things ever existed on the earth (chikyū jō ni katsute naki mono 地球上二嘗テ無キ物), their desiccated bodies (kancho seru mono 乾貯セルモノ) make [visitors] think that they are real (honmono 本物). When such things were brought to Holland for the first time, a great number of scholars gathered around them and, being stricken by their mysterious strangeness (kikai 奇怪), immediately decided to dissect (kiriyaburi 切破リ) one. To examine the flesh, they removed portions of skin and realized that these were manufactured objects (sakusei no mono) made of paper. The fact that such things are on display even nowadays and are examined in daylight by many people who do not realize they are artifacts demonstrates the incredible skillfulness of the Japanese people.¹

Kume 1878: 272–273

Kume opens the entry with an insightful note on the taxonomic power of museums, whose exhibition rooms have the ability to determine where certain objects, such as these man-made cryptids (genjū 幻獣), are located with respect to the fluid boundaries of art and nature.² The historian then continues by pointing out that the optical illusions created by these theriomorphic bodies are doomed to be debunked by the positivistic scrutiny of scientists. Toward the end of the entry, Kume observes, in a slightly different tone, that these crafted bodies of nonexistent animals demonstrate the skillfulness of Japanese artisans in attracting the curiosity of European visitors, who were clearly mesmerized by such anatomical spectacles.

This article focuses on the Edo and Meiji socioreligious imaginaire, reification practices, and human actors associated with the human-fish (ningyo), an aquatic hybrid with a human face, torso, and arms mounted on a fish body and endowed with oracular powers for predicting epidemics. The concept of ningyo was introduced to Japan from China in the seventh century. Until the end of the medieval period, the ningyo was widely interpreted as an inauspicious (kyōji 凶事) and mysterious natural omen (kaii 怪異) whose power to invoke curses (tatari 祟り) warned against a cosmic imbalance between the will of heaven and the virtue of mankind’s representative, i.e., the emperor (Castiglioni 2021).

From the seventeenth to the nineteenth century, the ningyo went through two principal transformative moments. The first was a process of moralization and eroticization that emphasized both the benevolent and the alluring nature of ningyo while downplaying—but never completely neutering—its demonic character. The second was the encounter with the myth of modernity and its array of hermeneutic tools based on natural and medical sciences, for which the very existence of ningyo constituted a challenging test case. An analysis of these developments during the Edo and Meiji periods is relevant to our understanding of ningyo because it discloses the modalities through which the identity of a religious agent from the past was recontextualized and enriched thanks to that agent’s encounter with nonreligious discourses and practices. My analysis below sheds light on the various twists and turns in the reconceptualization of ningyo, revealing not only the complete absence of a univocal understanding about these creatures’ zoo-anthropomorphic otherness, but also a proliferation of religious semantics, or a sort of exegetic gray zone, in which this hybrid exercised a significant impact on reality.

The in-between nature of the human-fish is amply demonstrated by the diverse corpus of written, visual, and material sources that must be engaged in order to sketch even a partial history of this hybrid being. The ningyo randomly manifests its presence in the “books of the floating world” (ukiyo-zōshi 浮世草子), satiric picture books (kibyōshi 黄表紙), encyclopedias, collections of Buddhist tales (setsuwashū 説話集), erotic books and prints (shunpon 春本, shunga 春画), “tile prints” (kawaraban 瓦版),³ miscellaneous essays (zuihitsu 随筆), scientific manuscripts, and newspaper articles. The variety of these textual sources testifies to how ancient and medieval religious conceptualizations of the ningyo were complicated and fragmented by the phenomenon’s transposition within new hermeneutic fields in the Edo and Meiji periods. Among the several distinctive genres are those linked to specific canons, ranging from the parodic literature on contemporary customs of the kibyōshi to the “everyday encyclopedias” (nichiyō ruisho 日用類書) like the Wakan sansai zue 和漢三才図会. This analytical approach allows each of these texts to cooperate in transmitting the imaginaire related to the human-fish. Even if some of these narratives present a particularly marked fictional tone, this does not necessarily imply that all the ningyo-related situations are completely detached from the actual logic of practices that took place within Edo and Meiji society. On the contrary, it is precisely the ongoing fictionalization and reshaping of the ningyo within a polyphony of semantic fields that provides us with a glimpse of the rhizome-like networks of humans and nonhumans that form around the hermeneutical knot of the human-fish.

Given their tendency to infiltrate the taxonomic borders of existing animals, ningyo often escape from texts and two-dimensional illustrations to materialize in the guise of artificial taxidermic specimens—the “manufactured objects” mentioned by Kume (figure 1). These were placed in households’ private collections as talismans, artistically displayed in public museums, playfully paraded in sideshows, or ritually shown in front of amused onlookers crowded around itinerant ritualists. The present article argues that these three-dimensional material renderings of ningyo are fundamental sources for understanding the complexity of the socioreligious modalities and contexts where this hybrid creature usually circulated. Although I have organized the extremely diverse bibliographic, iconographic, and material sources chronologically, this choice does not display ningyo in a panoramic or unidirectional fashion. On the contrary, it results in an exaltation of the fractures, contradictions, and hermeneutic shifts that have played a pivotal role in shaping the polyvalent agency of this theriomorphic creature, transporting it from the fringes to central sectors of society and vice versa.

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Figure 1

Mummified ningyo preserved in a case of paulownia wood and included among the treasures of the Bōji 某寺 Temple in Osaka. Edo period. Collection: Yumoto Kōichi Memorial Japan Yōkai Museum, Hiroshima

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

Source: Yumoto (2016: 62–63)

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One useful theoretical approach to the crucial functions of the materiality and spatial syntax associated with the human-fish is Michel Foucault’s (1926–1984) concept of heterotopia. Foucault defines heterotopias as actual spaces that exist within reality in order to subvert—or, if needed, to affirm—the constitutive elements of society by working as dispersing or aggregating mirrors of the present (Foucault 1986: 24). While discussing heterotopias Foucault also mentions a category of peculiar things that can be termed “heteroclite objects” (Foucault 1986: 26). Examples of the nonhuman agents constituting this category include the marvelous things (Lat. mirabilia) that are displayed at fairgrounds to titillate the senses and curiosity of visitors. Like heterotopias, heteroclite objects are also closely connected with the external world, but at the same time irredeemably separated from it because of their unpredictable ability to tear, reinforce, or replace the taxonomy of reality. Behaving as heteroclite objects, the mummified bodies of ningyo mobilized their apotropaic and ambiguous agency from the “nowhere” or utopian level to the “here and now” dimension of reality, somatically engaging the human senses at actual sites such as roadshow booths, anonymous crossroads, or temples. In other words, these heteroclite reifications, together with their spectacular mise-en-scène within heterotopic spaces, had a talismanic effect that served to neutralize the deadly potential of crises such as epidemics and fire, aesthetically and ironically establishing a salvific and sensorial interlacing between materiality, animality, and humanity.

As noted by Kume toward the end of his entry, it was the “skillfulness” of the Japanese craftsmen that made possible the recognition of cryptids within reality. The reification of zoo-anthropomorphic religious bodies was ascribed to a technique—a specific making—predicated on the encounter between particular materials (bones, paper, skin, or wood) and craft (taxidermy, molding with papier-mâché, or other types of model-making).⁴ Studying the concept of artwork, Giorgio Agamben points out how in ancient Greece the term tékne served to indicate a human creative activity that did not lead to the production of something new from nothing but unveiled the hidden truth (Gr. alḗtheia) that was already embedded in the material itself (Agamben 1999: 72–73).⁵ In this understanding, human technique or craft does not produce things ex nihilo, but simply creates the condition for a resurfacing of an otherwise invisible truth that is latent under the crust of reality, unleashing the infinite potentiality of the material. When taking into account the taxidermic bodies of ningyo, it is crucial not to dismiss them as mere stage props symbolizing an unreal hybrid animal. On the contrary, the various literary, pictorial, and crafting techniques deployed for vivifying the human-fish should be considered revelatory practices through which humans allowed themselves to visualize a threatening and, at the same time, apotropaic anatomy. These zoo-anthropomorphic hybrids, in turn, participated in ever-changing aesthetic engagements with humans and exerted an ever-expanding salvific, titillating, and dreadful influence on reality, their physicality enfleshed again and again through new materials and practices.

2 Misemono goya: The Heterotopian Booth

Before the Edo period, manifestations of ningyo were considered ill-fated events with the power to not simply deal an immediate blow to those who came in direct contact with the creature’s theriomorphic physicality, but also to negatively affect the remainder of their existence. For instance, in the Kamakura period Shōtoku Taishi eden 聖徳太子絵伝 preserved at Honshōji 本證寺, the encounter between Prince Shōtoku and the ningyo marks a dramatic break in his life. Soon thereafter, the prince had to face the death of his beloved wife Hokikimi no Iratsume 膳部菩岐々美郎女, followed by his own.⁶

During the Edo period, the polluted and fearsome ningyo of the ancient and medieval periods underwent a process of glamorization and eroticization, merging with other translocal hybrid creatures such as the European sirens and the dragon-princesses of the suboceanic Nāga Palace (Ryūgū 竜宮) of the Buddhist tradition. The hitherto nonbinary body of the ningyo began to be frequently gendered female and assigned new apotropaic qualities, which were paired with the old terrifying ones. The chapter “Inochi toraruru ningyo no umi” 命とらるる人魚の海 of Budō denraiki 武道伝来記 (1687), an ukiyo-zōshi by Ihara Saikaku 井原西鶴 (1642–1693), reflects this conceptual and physical metamorphosis of the ningyo.

Unusual monstrous fish (kaigyo 怪魚) manifest themselves in the sea of Michinoku Province (Ōshū 奥州). For example, it is written that during the reign of the Emperor Go-Fukakusa 後深草 (1243–1304), on the twelfth day of the third month of Hōji 宝治 1 (1247), a ningyo beached at a site called Ōtsu 大津 close to Tsugaru 津軽.⁷ Its shape was characterized by a head with a crimson cockscomb (kashira kurenai no tosaka かしらくれなゐの鶏冠) and the face of a beautiful woman (bijo 美女). Its body, from which emanated an intense fragrance (kaori ga fukaku かほりふかく), had four legs the color of lapis lazuli (ruri るり) and was covered with glittering golden scales (iroko ni konjiki no hikari 鱗に黄色のひかり). It is said that its voice was similar to the gentle whistle of the lark.

Ihara Saikaku [1687] 1989: 64

Saikaku defines the ningyo of his title as a monstrous fish living in the ocean off the coast of Michinoku (in the Tōhoku region), but he inverts the usual horrific description of the oceanic hybrid by adding lavish chromatic attributes that not only demonstrate an aesthetic appreciation, but also infuse beauty, purity, and eros into the creature’s extraordinary physicality. For Saikaku, the ningyo does not give up its polluting and lethal power, i.e., its legacy deriving from ancient and medieval discourses, but it conceals that power with an intriguing allure symbolized by its perfumed flesh, marvelous feminine face, and shining golden body.

A further eroticization of the ningyo appears a few years later in another ukiyo-zōshi, Yoritomo sandai Kamakura ki 頼朝三代鎌倉記 (1712), written by Hachimonja Jishō 八文字屋自笑 (1661?–1745). This text provides the reader with a parade of irreverent portraits of the first three shoguns of the Minamoto clan in the Kamakura period. The second shogun, Minamoto no Yoriie 源頼家 (1182–1204), is described as a complete womanizer and dissolute ruler psychologically dominated by an evil counselor called Hima no Saburō 比企の三郎. One day Saburō orchestrates a theatrical event to add cheer to the daily routine of Yoriie:

Hima no Saburō said: “The amusement for today is a sensual performance (inraku 淫楽) to comfort your spirit. This is something absolutely new and marvelous that you will surely like. Your beloved Wakasa no Tsubone 若狭の局 is playing the role of Oto-hime 乙姫, the beautiful princess of the Ryūgū.” … A gorgeous female servant (me dōji 女童子) dressed up like a living ningyo (ikita ningyo 生きた人魚) was presented as an auspicious offering on behalf of Yoriie, who became more and more enraptured.⁸

Hanasaki 1978: 85

An illustration of this orgiastic performance concerning the undersea life at the Nāga Palace emphasizes the conflation of Yoriie with the Dragon King (Ryūō 龍王) and of Wakasa no Tsubone with the Dragon Princess, Oto-hime, achieved by him donning a dragon crown and her donning a headgear adorned with a red anemone (figure 2). Saburō, whose voracious attitude is metaphorically displayed by a cap representing a barracuda, places in front of the aristocratic couple a wooden tray for offerings on which is served a living model of a ningyo in the person of an attractive young woman. The woman gazes at Yoriie from within a scaly textile shell that resembles the sinuous body of a golden carp while revealing the white skin of her naked shoulders and breasts. On the one hand, the sensual climax of the scene is based on the visual contrast of a gorgeous female body emerging from the zoomorphic frame of a mysterious abyssal creature. On the other hand, the spectacle is synesthetic, evoking a sort of gustatory appropriation of the woman-ningyo, who is served as a marine delectation ready to be devoured by Yoriie. Like Saikaku, Hachimonja Jishō probably relied on the Azuma kagami 吾妻鏡 (1180–1266) entry dated 1247, which reports that the slaughter of Yoriie was provoked by a curse that emanated from the carcass of a mysterious “big fish” on a beach near Tsugaru in 1203 (Castiglioni 2021: 13). Given that the “big fish” of Azuma kagami was later interpreted as a ningyo by the monk Miura Jōshin 三浦浄心 (1565–1644) in Hōjō godai ki 北条五代記, we can recognize in Yoritomo sandai Kamakura ki a depiction of Yoriie unknowingly facing his own death as he stares at the erotic body of the ningyo-servant.

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Figure 2

Minamoto no Yoriie as Dragon King and Wakasa no Tsubone as Dragon Princess are presented with a ningyo as an offering. Yoritomo sandai Kamakura ki, Hachimonja Jishō, 1712

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

© National Diet Library. All rights reserved. See: https://dl.ndl.go.jp/info:ndljp/pid/2554422

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1712 is also the year in which Terajima Ryōan 寺島良安 (n.d.) finished editing the illustrated encyclopedia Wakan sansai zue. In this text there is a section dedicated to the “barbaric populations” (gai’i jinbutsu 外夷人物), largely based on the geographical and ethnological taxonomies reported in Shanhai jin 山海経 (fourth century BCE–third century CE), a Chinese encyclopedia that had long exerted a considerable influence on various Japanese cultural productions. According to Wakan sansai zue, one of these liminal groups is the Teijin 氐人, i.e., “those who inhabit the slopes of the small mountains.”⁹ These hybrids live in Teijinkoku 氐人國, a country located on the western side of the elm (harinire 蓲) forest in Baguo 巴國 domain. The Teijin have a human face and a fish body: from the chest up they are like humans, while from the chest down they resemble fish. Although Teijin and ningyo were interpreted as two distinct sets of living beings in Chinese and Japanese encyclopedic sources, the phenotypical characteristics of Teijin inspired an anatomical conflation with the ningyo in the broad context of Edo satiric literature and entertainment culture. On the one hand, Teijin were conceived of as peripheral humans who crossed the borders of animality; on the other hand, ningyo were thought of as zoomorphic creatures intruding into the realm of humanity.

The taxonomic encounter between Teijin and ningyo generated a further hybridization between two distinct zoo-anthropomorphic hybrids, as described in the following passage from Zōho ehon kunimiyama 増補絵本国見山 (1757). In this kibyōshi, which was written and illustrated by Sesshōsai 雪蕉斉 (n.d.) and Terai Shigefusa 寺井重房 (n.d.), Teijin are explained as a continental equivalent of what was known in Japan as ningyo. This pairing is revealed to have entertainment and economic potential when a Teijin becomes the main attraction (misemono 見せ物) in a successful itinerant sideshow in China and Japan:

The shape of those who live in the kingdom at the slopes of the small mountains (Teijinkoku) corresponds to a human face mounted on a fish body. They do not have legs. The illustrations of the ningyo, which circulate in our society, are visual representations of their shape. Once upon a time, a Chinese man visited this country and invited an adult Teijin to follow him back to China. The man told this creature that Chinese customs should be known by everyone and it is always better to view them in person. Thanks to these persuasive arguments, [the Chinese man] transformed [the Teijin] into an attraction (misemono) to be displayed in a road show booth (gijō 戯場) within the temple precincts of China. The man with a long beard close to the wooden entrance is screaming that this is a ningyo from Teijinkoku and that just a single glance at it is extremely amusing.

Sesshōsai [1757] 2008: 221

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Figure 3

A Teijinkoku inhabitant exposed in a misemo booth with a painted board on the ningyo at the entrance. Zōho ehon kunimiyama, Sesshōsai, Terai Shigefusa, 1757

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

Source: Tanabe (2008: 223)

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The illustration accompanying the text shows the structure of an exhibit booth (misemono goya 見世物小屋) entirely dedicated to the display of the Teijin/ningyo (figure 3).¹⁰ The perimeter of the booth is demarcated by a fence of bamboo and straw, blocking the view from the outside. In the crucial front part (tsukidanshi ツキダンシ) of the misemono goya is the entrance, where we see a large painted board (kanban’e 看板絵)—providing a visual representation of the attraction—and two eccentric attendants. The attendant on the left side is a tall figure with long hair, a curling beard, and an exotic tunic who is chanting stories about the Teijin/ningyo in a special tone of voice (kōjō 口上) to attract the attention of passersby (Naitō 2009: 193–194). This man holds a thin stick in his right hand and uses it to point toward the image of the Teijin/ningyo on the painted board, thus adding a didactic quality to his oral narration. With his left hand, the same person receives coins from people who have decided to enjoy the show. A second attendant on the opposite side lifts the curtain (mizuhiki no maku ミズヒキの幕) at the entrance and allows these paying customers access to the internal space of the misemono goya, where the actual attraction is taking place. Once inside, the onlookers contemplate the spectacle of a Teijin/ningyo in the act of devouring raw fish while lying on the floor of a bamboo cage. The Teijin/ningyo seems to be a young woman with long hair whose lower body has been inserted in a special sheath resembling the scaly body of a fish. A spectator is depicted holding his nose because of the intense smell of marine products. The placement of large quantities of fish inside the misemono goya appears to be part of a strategy to directly engage the olfactory sense of onlookers, thereby reinforcing the conviction that they are standing in front of a real Teijin/ningyo.

The entire architecture of the misemono goya, which constituted a heterotopic space par excellence, and the “sense-ational” rendering of the attraction itself were based on a delicate equilibrium between the seen and the unseen as well as veiling and unveiling. During the kōjō, the hybrid body of the Teijin/ningyo was aurally evoked through the narrating voice of a professional reciter, visually recreated on the painted board, validated through the olfactory shock produced by the odor of marine products, and, finally, reified through the vision of a female body inserted in a zoomorphic prosthesis. In the abovementioned illustration, the misemono goya is shown to be an architectural device designed to produce an irresistible, alluring secrecy, which is both underscored and subverted by the intrusive gaze of a marginal character who is observing the attraction from a prohibited angle by opening a chink in the booth’s external fence. The scaly prosthesis, which envelops the lower part of the woman’s body, can be interpreted as an epiphanic intrusion of tékne that aesthetically displays the fluidity between different classes of natural bodies.

Both Yoritomo sandai Kamakura ki and Zōho ehon kunimiyama reveal reifications of ningyo enabled by cosmetic interventions on the female body, which is placed within a fish body in the form of elaborate zoomorphic prostheses that are made of textiles and other adaptable materials. Hanamomiji futari ankō 花紅葉二人鮟鱇 (1805), a kibyōshi written by Nai Shinkō 内新好 (n.d.) and illustrated by Kitagawa Tsukimaro 喜多川月麿 (n.d.), sheds light on other performative contexts associated with the sideshows dedicated to ningyo. An illustration of this text depicts a jumble of banners (nobori 幟) deployed on the periphery of a cluster of misemono booths.¹¹ One of the banners advertises a double attraction featuring two “authentic” (shōmei 正銘) specimens from exotic lands—a Karyōbinga 迦陵頻伽 bird (Sk. Kalaviṅka) from India (Tenjiku watari 天竺渡り)¹² and a human-fish that has been captured alive (ningyo no ikedori 人魚の生捕) and brought from the Nāga Palace (Ryūgū watari 龍宮渡り). Once inside the misemono goya, the visitor is welcomed with the following explanation:

A tub filled with water (mizubune 水ぶね) will be placed on the stage with a real ningyo swimming inside. This is not a manufactured object but a living ningyo, and the proof is that it swims while smoking tobacco. This attraction is called “The Entertaining Swim of the Ningyo” (ningyo no yusan oyogi 人魚の遊山泳ぎ).¹³ Taking a puff at the mouthpiece of the ningyo’s pipe, you will prolong your life for one hundred years. If you want to give it a try, please come to the back of the stage. Depending on the money [you pay], you can take as many puffs as you like. Maybe someone among you thinks that although it is called a ningyo and half of its body has the shape of a fish, this is actually a real human being in a disguised form. In order to dissipate such doubts, please, take a careful look at all its crucial parts and verify for yourself that half of its body is human and the other half is a fish. If you grab and pull the tail, the creature will break into two parts as depicted in this illustration, but remember that this is a very indelicate thing to do to a sideshow attraction. Everybody shall agree on the fact that the term ningyo, which is mentioned in this oral presentation (kōjō), refers to the combination of a human being from the waist up and a fish from the waist down.

Nai Shinkō [1805] 2008: 219–220

This misemono booth hosts two fantastic creatures—one, the Karyōbinga bird, belonging to the aerial sphere, and the other, the human-fish, to the aquatic sphere. The link between these two hybrids is constituted by the fact that both share a degree of human physicality, which is specifically represented by the attractive face of a woman. In the case of this misemono, the human body is not a mere insertion within animal physicality but is instead conceptualized as a sort of anatomical bridge that connects two different classes of hybrids linked to the Buddhist lore.

In another illustration, which complements and expands the meaning of the written segment above, a man is laughing together with a long-haired young woman who is depicted as having a body that is truncated below the navel (figure 4). The man has just pulled the maimed woman out from a manufactured sheath resembling the body of a carp. In his right hand he holds a folding fan inscribed with characters meaning “great match” (daichō 大丁); the fan occupies the space between the woman and the fish prosthesis, as though filling the interstice between her upper and lower halves. This image is not only a humorous representation of the backstage area of the misemono goya, where two performers make fun of the gullibility of the audience; it also works as a visual explanation of the taxonomic ambiguity from which the concept of ningyo originates. The “great match” folding fan serves as a pointer precisely indicating that shadowy territory where the human and animal anatomies complete each other and, at the same time, dissolve into one another to become something else—the hybrid—which contains but then inexorably surpasses the original dyad of human-animal.¹⁴

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Figure 4

Initial and final moments of a misemono show dedicated to the ningyo. Hanamomiji futari ankō, Nai Shinkō and Kitagawa Tsukimaro, 1805

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

© National Diet Library. All rights reserved. See: https://dl.ndl.go.jp/info:ndljp/pid/9892995

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On the right side of the same illustration, another man is sitting on the stage holding the pole that serves as a perch for the Karyōbinga bird while contemplating the pipe of the ningyo. He wears a kimono with the character kanau 叶 on the back, which refers, first, to the smooth encounter between pairs of entities belonging to different taxonomic classes, such as the human and avian parts of the Karyōbinga’s body or the human and ichthyic parts of the ningyo’s body. At the same time, this character also advises spectators that these two hybrids can fulfill (kanau) every sort of human wish. This is a fundamental detail important to our understanding of the socioreligious mindscape of Edo-period visual consumers, who were accustomed to transforming amusing aesthetic experiences involving extreme titillation into salvific or redeeming religious epiphanies. If a parodic text such as the Hanamomiji futari ankō refers to the phantasmagoric staging of the ningyo as a suitable scene to make fun of the everyday customs and beliefs of urban classes, this tells us something: we can surmise that in the real-world society of the day it must have been rather common for misemono goya clients to aesthetically engage the ningyo and its life-prolonging pipe while experiencing a kaleidoscope of interwoven emotions that reflected themes ranging from the trivial to the more serious, including the quest for numinous protection. In other words, to go for a stroll among the grotesque shows of the misemono goya was considered a ludic pilgrimage where the powerful presence of moot deities, i.e., neither proper kami nor proper buddhas, could be sensorially perceived, and therefore soteriologically activated, through the extraordinary spectacle of mutating anatomies.

3 Maritime Bestiality and Erogenous Jewels

During the seventeenth century, the progressive eroticization of the ningyo’s body naturally fostered a proliferation of textual as well as visual narratives with themes focusing on possible sexual intercourse with members of the human species: usually, between fishermen and a great variety of feminine aquatic creatures. For instance, Kiizōtanshū 奇異雑談集 (1687), an anonymous collection of Buddhist tales extremely popular during the Edo period, describes an encounter between a monk from Daitokuji 大徳寺 named Gyūan 牛庵 and the mysterious acolyte of a hermit who lived near a fishing village in Ise 伊勢 Province. According to this tale, when visiting the hermit and being served a cup of tea, Gyūan realized that the acolyte was similar to a human being and yet was strangely lacking in something. Pressed by Gyūan, the hermit explained that the youth had been conceived during an encounter between a fisherman and a ray (ei no uo 円魚). Years ago, the boy’s father had brought home a big ray to cook. While placing the live fish on a cutting board in the kitchen, he noticed that it had an orifice (kaihei 開閉) exactly like that of a human being.¹⁵ The fisherman thought that “violating it” (kore o okaseba これを犯せば) would be equivalent to having sexual intercourse with a person. After the copulation, the fisherman felt pity for the ray and decided to release it into the sea. Ten months later the ray appeared to him again in a dream, providing precise instructions about where to find their son among the rocks of the bay. Inspecting the coast, the fisherman indeed found the baby. He took care of the boy, who expressed the intention to become a disciple of the hermit as an adolescent. At the time of this tale, the youth was eighteen years old, and the story ends with the hermit laughing at Gyūan’s futile questions, aimed at establishing whether the acolyte’s body should be considered a human or a fish (Kiizōtanshū [1687] 2017: 213–214).

This tale is based on the notion that zoomorphic physicality and anthropomorphic physically are porous classifications that share crucial similarities, especially concerning sexual organs. The male body of the fisherman is described as dependent on the reproductive functions of the female body of the ray, whose extraordinary benevolence allows the fisherman to transform the negative karmic load of the sexual violation into a chance for repentance and, eventually, receiving the gift of a semihuman offspring. The hermit, who is none other than the fisherman himself, is liberated from the yoke of human passions only because of the redeeming bestial intercourse with the ray, which becomes his ichthyic savior. The karmic result of such an unusual interaction between two different classes of living beings is reified through the hybrid offspring. This mysterious youth’s somatic aura, like that of the ningyo, reflects both the zoomorphic and anthropomorphic realms, while at the same time overcoming them.

Carnal exchanges between humans and aquatic creatures became a relatively common topic in early modern Japan, as testified by various visual sources. An example can be seen in a late eighteenth century woodblock-printed erotic book (shunpon) entitled Ketsudai Kamigata enpon 欠題上方艶本, illustrated by Terasawa Masatsugu 寺沢昌次 (d. 1790) and So’unsai Sensui 蘇雲斎千酔 (n.d.). In one scene, a fisherman is penetrating a ningyo whose vagina is depicted immediately below the two ventral fins (figure 5). The ningyo tightly embraces the neck of the fisherman while enjoying the moment. While engaging in intercourse, the man tells another fisherman, who is watching the interspecies copulation with an erect penis protruding from his loincloth, that it is better to have sex with a ningyo than with a red ray (aka ei あかゑひ) because the flesh of the human-fish is warmer (Suzuki 2017: 110–111). In this case, the bodies of the ray and the ningyo are conflated and contrasted owing to the ability of both creatures to arouse the desire of human males through physical characteristics resembling a woman’s genitalia. An argument for just such a conflation appears in Chōshū honzō kōmoku keimō 重修本草綱目啓蒙 (1844), where the botanist Ono Ranzan 小野蘭山 (1729–1810) explains that the foreign term “woman-fish” (heishi mureru ヘイシムレル) actually refers to the ray because a portion of that fish’s body resembles the human female’s genitals (nyo’in 女陰). Ono adds that South American fishermen often vent their erotic passions on the ray, which is frequently passed off as a ningyo although Ono insisted it be considered a different marine creature (Sasama 1995: 95–96).

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Figure 5

A fisherman penetrates a ningyo while another man is watching. Ketsudai Kamigata enpon, Terasawa Masatsugu and So’unsai Sensui, late eighteenth century

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

Source: Suzuki (2017: 110–111)

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Toward the end of the eighteenth century, the ningyo began to be associated with the sea lion (ottosei 膃肭臍), the two forming a sort of aquatic couple in which the first symbolized femininity and the second masculinity. At the same time, the bodies of both were considered inexhaustible cornucopias of rare and powerful materia medica. An example of this can be found in Rokutsū hanryaku no maki 六通半略巻, a 1793 kibyōshi illustrated by Katsukawa Shun’ei and written by Shicchin Manpō 七珍万宝 (1762–1831). One episode in this satiric picture book describes the journey of Minamoto no Yoshitsune 源義経 (1159–1189) to the kingdom of Ezo 蝦夷, where he was nominated counselor to the king.¹⁶ One day, the sovereign received a visit from the king of Mongolia (dattan 韃靼), who gave him the desiccated body of a ningyo (ningyo no namabi 人魚の生干) and the penis of a sea lion (ottosei no takeri オットセイのたけり) as two precious gifts (figure 6).¹⁷ The second item, once dried and transformed into an edible medicament, was prized for having a positive effect on male sexual energy based on the fact that a single male sea lion is able to copulate with hundreds of females during the mating season. In a similar way, not only was the ningyo’s body considered an object of sexual desire by certain fishermen, but its flesh was also specifically prescribed as a medical remedy to quell the tempers of irritable (kan no mushi 疳の虫) male infants with the aim of helping them grow to become virile men (Usui 1993: 164).

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Figure 6

The king of Mongolia donates a mummified ningyo and a sea-lion’s penis to the king of Ezo. Rokutsū hanryaku no maki, Katsukawa Shun’ei and Shicchin Manpō, 1793

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

© National Diet Library. All rights reserved. See: https://dl.ndl.go.jp/info:ndljp/pid/8929875

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Figure 7

Mummified female ningyo with a wish fulfilling jewel clitoris. Kawaraban, Edo period. Collection: Yumoto Kōichi Memorial Japan Yōkai Museum, Hiroshima

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

Source: Yumoto (2016: 70)

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Figure 6 shows the sad corpse of a mummified ningyo, who covers her genitals with both hands crossed over the pubis while under the male gaze of Yoshitsune, together with the Mongolian and Ezo kings. The way in which this ningyo holds her arms is unusual, because representations of human-fish mummies generally place the “corpse” in a supine position with its right and left hands raised at the sides of the head, as illustrated in figure 7. This anonymous tile print (kawaraban) shows the desiccated body of a ningyo, which was included among the treasures of a Buddhist temple in Osaka. In this case the theriomorphic hybrid grinds its teeth like a demon and rests its head on a soft cushion while exposing wasted breasts and a gem-like vagina, with a protrusion resembling the cusp of a wish-fulfilling jewel (nyoi hōju 如意宝珠) and a prominent clitoris (Yumoto 2016: 70). This tile print exposes the viewer to a doubly transforming encounter. First, the human sight is attracted by the otherness of the ningyo’s body and, second, this shocking sensory experience activates the salvific presence of the wish-fulfilling jewel—i.e., a Buddha relic (busshari 仏舎利)—which is physically encapsulated in the genitals of the human-fish. In a similar vein, a kawaraban preserved in the storehouse of the Yoshida 吉田 family in the Iwakura-chō 岩倉町 district in Nagoya shows an anti-cholera ningyo with two breast-jewels and a third ventral one. The written text of the kawaraban explains that this ningyo originally was the daughter of a ritualist devoted to Takekoma Myōjin 竹駒明神; the girl drowned herself and became a protective goddess (shugojin 守護神) in the retinue of the maritime deity Ōwatatsumi 大海神 (Iwakura-chō Shihensan Iinkai 1955: 663–664).¹⁸ Because of the visual conflation of the body of the ningyo and the fragmented body of the Buddha in the guise of jewel-relics, the human owners of the kawaraban were not simply amused, but also apotropaically shielded against evil influences. Thus we see the powerful fusion of three archetypical bodies: the Buddha, the animal, and the human.

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Figure 8

An ogress-face ningyo with breasts and clitoris in guise of wish fulfilling jewels. Kawaraban, Edo period. Collection: Yumoto Kōichi Memorial Japan Yōkai Museum, Hiroshima

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

Source: Yumoto (2016: 39)

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Another undated kawaraban further elaborates on the abovementioned connections between the ningyo, the wish-fulfilling jewel, and the sea lion. This tile print tells of an oracle delivered by a human-fish with a charming captivating ogress-like face (hannya men 般若面), long black hair, and the huge body of a carp decorated with three Buddha relics in the form of wish-fulfilling jewels: two pectoral jewels representing breasts and an abdominal jewel corresponding to the genitals (figure 8; Yumoto 2016: 39). The ningyo’s prophecy warns humans about an imminent epidemic of an inflammatory skin disease that would strike all people who dared to look toward the sea lion star, appearing in the northwestern sector of the sky between the first and third hours of the night. However, all those who contemplated the shape (sugata 姿) of the ningyo depicted on the kawaraban would be protected from the contagion. The narrative of this tile print runs counter to the aphrodisiac image of the ningyo/sea lion dyad, conflating the speckled appearance of the aquatic mammal with the epidermic lesions left on the skin by contagious diseases such as measles (hashika 麻疹). This kawaraban also represents a battle between two opposing visions, one empowering and the other lethal. Only the eroticized, extraordinary body of the ningyo, whose feminine erogenous zones are transformed into salvific jewels, can deactivate the malevolent influences (jaki 邪気) emanating from the sea lion star. In other words, only people whose eyes visually engage the sexualizing and soteriological power incarnated by the ningyo’s somatic shape are shielded from the deadly effects of the evil zoomorphic astral body. Whether the ningyo is thought of as standing opposite to the sea lion or sharing a continuum with it, clearly human life, pleasure, suffering, and death are always intimately entangled and regulated by this theriomorphic hybrid.

4 Ningyo, Itinerant Peddlers, and Epidemics

In eighteenth-century Japan, there was a cause-and-effect relationship between epidemics and the proliferation of practices and theories related to ningyo. In certain cases, simply invoking the possibility of an outbreak was enough to drive concerned people toward ad hoc talismanic objects whose apotropaic function was based on the ningyo’s physicality. For instance, the merchant and intellectual Ishizuka Hōkaishi 石塚豊芥子 (1799–1862) writes in an entry of Gaidan bunbun shūyō 街談文々集要 (1804–1816) that in Bunka 文化 2 (1805) a monstrous fish (kaigyo) appeared in the port of Ecchū Province (Ecchū no kuni 越中国).¹⁹ The inhabitants of the city requested muskets from the lord of the province in order to shoot this howling marine creature that had a body measuring 35 meters; was endowed with hair 34 meters in length; and was adorned with a red abdomen and a red dorsal fin. Hōkaishi expresses no doubt in calling this terrifying fish a ningyo. He also adds an illustration of the hybrid, which he follows with a further elaboration:

The illustration [of the ningyo], which I present here, is based on a drawing that reported on a colorful and unusual print, which was sold by an itinerant peddler (uriaruki 売歩) on the streets. Although there are some small differences [with the original print], the figure has a face similar to the Noh mask of the female demon, arabesque fins, and three eyes each on the left and right sides of the abdomen. Bunpōtei 文宝亭 says that “according to a monk of Sado Province (Sado no kuni 佐渡国),²⁰ sometimes it happens that the Sado fishermen find this creature entangled in their nets. If someone catches the ningyo on purpose, all the other fish will disappear from the sea. If someone catches it by mistake, food and sake must be offered to it before it is released. The ningyo of Sado Province is one meter long, with a face similar to the human one, has few hairs, and knows the human language (jingo wakimaete 人語弁へて) enough to understand and reply (ukekotae うけ答へ) to questions.” … Later on [this creature] was also called “Divine Snake-Princess” (Jinja-hime 神蛇姫).

Ishizuka Hōkaishi [1804–1816] 1993: 47

According to Hōkaishi, at the beginning of the nineteenth century there were professional itinerant peddlers who specifically targeted urban areas as a market to circulate print materials related to ningyo, which were known by a variety of names depending on the location. One of these appellations was “Divine Snake-Princess” (Jinja-hime), a name intended to suggest that the elongated scaly body of this marine hybrid placed it halfway between the ichthyic and the ophidian realms and, through the suffix “princess,” to supply a clear feminine connotation.

In an entry of the miscellaneous essay Wagakoromo 我衣 (1825), Katō Ebian 加藤曳尾庵 (1763–?), a haikai master and physician, considers the variegated nomenclature surrounding the ningyo. In this text, Ebian writes that in Bunsei 文政 2 (1819) a hunter called Hachibei 八兵衛 found a beached ningyo who introduced herself as an emissary of the Ryūgū and gave her name as “Shrine Princess” (Jinja-hime 神社姫). This name served to emphasize the ningyo’s spatial connection with the Nāga Palace, i.e., the submarine “shrine” (jinja) that hosts the greatest quantity of the Buddha’s relics, rather than her bodily characteristics. Ebian goes on to explain that Jinja-hime ordered Hachibei to “copy her figure in a drawing (ware no sugata o ga ni utsushite 我姿を画に写して) and contemplate it (miseshimu beshi 見せしむべし).” Diligently performing this visual protocol, Hachibei would be able to escape an imminent pandemic of cholera (korori コロリ) and to live a long and prosperous life (Yumoto 2003: 106–107). Both Ebian and Hōkaishi seem to agree that the allegedly insurmountable linguistic divide between humans and human-fish is irrelevant since ningyo, as clearly pointed out by Hōkaishi, can learn the human language.

Ebian relates that ningyo can also be considered divine instructors who teach humans the proper ritualistic protocol for graphically replicating and visually worshiping their salvific physicality. Also referring to events that took place in 1819, Saitō Gesshin 斉藤月岑 (1804–1878)—a local administrator in Edo and author of the famous Edo meisho zue 江戸名所図会 (1834)—wrote in the chronicle Bukō nenpyō 武江年表 (1850–1882) about how socioreligious factors triggered a diffusion of graphic representations of the ningyo among members of Edo’s urban classes:

During the summer there was an outbreak of cholera (ribyō 痢病). Many people died. This type of disease is known among the ordinary population by the name of korori. Some people copied (utsushi 写し) the illustration of the snake-woman (nure-onna ぬれ女) as a sort of protective talisman (sakurumori 避る守り) [against the epidemic]. [They followed] the humorous painting (giga 戯画) made by Kanō Tan’yū 狩野探幽 (1602–1674) in the Hyakki yagyō 百鬼夜行, circulated (rufu seshi 流布せし) [this copied image] under the name “Shrine Princess” (Jinja-hime), and worshiped it as a venerable object (tōtobu mono 尊ぶもの).

Saitō Gesshin [1850–1882] 2009: 152–153

In this case, the impetus for copying and diffusing the effigy of Jinja-hime was cholera, which raged throughout the city of Edo at this time. It is important to note that in Buddhist culture, copying something perceived to be numinous or extraordinary, such as a religious text or a sacred image, had always been considered a positive karmic action, generating merit not only for the copyist but also for the beneficiaries of the reproduction. In this context, the replication of a well-known painting like Kanō Tan’yū’s snake-woman was not a pedantic reiteration of its subject, but rather the creative customization of a zoo-anthropomorphic feminine creature into another apotropaic aquatic hybrid—the ningyo—which was dubbed “Jinja-hime” and worshiped as a talismanic object. If we compare Gesshin’s description with the one by Hōkaishi discussed earlier, we can begin to understand that the itinerant peddlers responsible for the diffusion of ningyo images in urban areas often relied on previously painted representations of the human-fish (or other similar theriomorphic creatures) as models for the creation of new print materials in the form of engraved woodblocks (hangi 版木). These prints not only showed a visual representation of ningyo, but also included a short introductory text explaining the conditions under which the marine creature manifested itself. The technology of the woodblock allowed these itinerant ritualists to spread their devotional objects—which also included the kawaraban discussed earlier—to a large number of people in a short amount of time, maximizing their income as well as their religious impact.

What about the social background of people who took an interest in ningyo-related events? Did they invariably come from the subaltern classes? One piece of evidence refuting this assumption is a written record compiled by Asaba Nisaburō 浅葉仁三郎 (1816–1892), the headman of the Miura-gun 三浦郡 district in the village of Ōtawamura 太田和村 in the Sōshū 相州 province.²¹ Nisaburō noted in his diary that on the eighth day of the first month of Ansei 安政 4 (1857), the people of his household went to the Kodenma-chō 小伝馬町 district in Edo to enjoy an itinerant exhibition of a ningyo (ningyo jisan 人魚持参) organized by a certain Ōsakaya Jihei 大阪屋治兵衛. After paying an entrance fee of seven mon 文 they were provided with a packed lunch to be eaten inside the booth. Coincidentally, another five or six people from their village had also come to see the ningyo (kore mo migi no ningyo mi ni san sōrō 是も右の人魚見ニ参候), as the members of the Asaba family discovered upon exiting the show (Tanabe 2008: 224). From this spare prose it is impossible to establish whether the ningyo on display was a living human-fish (ningyo no ikedori)—i.e., a performer’s body camouflaged with a prosthesis—or a mummified one (namabi).²² What is relevant is that the frequency of such ritual viewings of ningyo probably increased around the time of New Year celebrations owing to the apotropaic valence attributed to this hybrid creature. Clearly salvific and titillating representations of the human-fish held a fascination that attracted members of the peasant aristocracy, such as the Asaba family, as well as simple villagers.

5 Mummified Ningyo and Modernity

One might assume that the Meiji Restoration, the nation-state paradigm, and the discourse on “civilization and enlightenment” (bunmei kaika 文明開化) would have led inexorably to the decline of any sort of ningyo-related discussion or practice. This, however, was not the case. Public displays of human-fish survived the tempest of modernization and symbiotically adapted themselves to a hitherto unknown cultural environment that was exclusively based—at least on paper—on technological progress, scientific advancement, and the reassuring panoptic control of society by a central authority. For instance, in 1874 a certain Terayama Chūbee 寺山忠兵衛 requested and received from the city hall of Hirosaki a special authorization to publicly display ningyo (Ningyo misemono kenryō negai 人魚見世物見料願) for an admission fee of five rin 厘 per person (Yumoto 2016: 94). Chūbee probably belonged to the widespread social group of itinerant lay ritualists who earned their living exhibiting extraordinary objects, such as mummified ningyo, and selling related talismanic accessories like the kawaraban to the inhabitants of urban and rural centers. For these mendicant ritual performers, whom the written sources of the period sometimes label with the generic and derogatory term “beggar” (kojiki 乞食), a taxidermic specimen of a human-fish was an essential piece of material capital whose possession enabled them to perform practices—partly religious and partly entertaining—in front of small crowds in exchange for food or monetary offerings.

In Minwa no robata 民話の炉ばた, Iguchi Sōhei 井口宗平 (1885–1971), a rich peasant of Gifu, tells of an itinerant mendicant ritualist who visited his house in the mid-Meiji period. This lay performer, whom Iguchi refers to simply as “a man” (otoko 男), traveled from village to village distributing rudimentary prints depicting human-calves (kudan 件)—oracular hybrids with a human face protruding from a bovine body (figure 9). Although this passage by Iguchi is not directly related to the mummified corpses of human-fish, we can assume that very similar entertaining religious displays of taxidermic specimens also took place with manufactured ningyo as their object:

When I was a youth, there was a man who wandered around receiving rice or coins while carrying on his shoulders a cloth wrapping (furoshiki 風呂敷) containing the corpse (igai 遺骸) of a kudan. He distributed slips of paper (shihen 紙片) printed in red ink using a woodblock (mokuhan 木版). On these paper slips was written: “The kudan said to the woman that ‘for seven years from now the crops will be abundant.’ After saying this [the kudan] immediately died.” Under the text there was a drawing of a kudan with a human face and a bestial body (jinmen jūshin 人面獣身). This man came to my house when I was not there with the intention of distributing his slips of paper. It seems that the other persons of the house asked to be given a look at the dried thing (kanbutsu 乾物) placed within the cloth wrapping he carried on his back. They said that this [mummified specimen] was the same size as a kitten. Guessing from the text of the print, it seems that the kudan was born from a human mother, but I can tell nothing more than this because I have not seen or heard about similar things besides this one.

Iguchi 1966: 173–174

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Figure 9

A seated human-calf. Kawaraban, Edo period. Collection: Yumoto Kōichi Memorial Japan Yōkai Museum, Hiroshima

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

Source: Yumoto (2016: 30)

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The religious aura of these mendicant itinerant ritualists depended on the fact that they presented themselves as human propagators, via printed materials, of an oracular message that had originally been delivered by a zoo-anthropomorphic creature such as the kudan or the ningyo. As tangible “proof” of the historical factuality of their narratives, these wandering performers usually kept with them mummified corpses of theriomorphic beings that, when revealed, provided onlookers with a spectacle that was at once grotesque and salvific. In other words, these artificially manufactured taxidermic bodies of hybrids were conceptualized as metamorphic manifestations of powerful moot deities whose numinous and protective halo was no different from that of the wish-fulfilling jewels—Buddha’s relics—which were often visually associated with their anatomy. The healing power of these man-made mummified hybrids was immediately activated by the gaze of the spectators, which in turn legitimized the authority and practices of their human guardians, i.e., the itinerant mendicant performers, in the eyes of other members of society.

It would be a mistake to dismiss these ludic and, at the same time, religious spectacles as peripheral practices by liminal ritualists. On the contrary, the second half of the Meiji period saw a proliferation of public displays of hybrid creatures even under the auspices of governmental authorities. Local trade fairs (hakurankai 博覧会) were one such venue. These fairs, which almost invariably had a section dedicated to the exhibition of “curious things” (chinki butsu 珍奇物), were sponsored by Meiji bureaucrats in order to promote the rapid development of industry and commerce (Yumoto 1999: 105–106). In these heterotopic pavilions for the contemplation of mirabilia, large numbers of mummified ningyo were displayed before crowds of modern citizens, whose senses could be titillated just as surely as their Edo counterparts had been, despite the fact that, at least according to Meiji intellectuals, their generation had been blessed by the reassuring light of civilization and progress.

On the one hand, displays of ningyo at Meiji-period trade fairs can be interpreted as disguised extensions of the old misemono shows of the Edo period; on the other hand, it is also crucial to bear in mind that some of the hermeneutics that surrounded and fostered the rendering of these hybrids as spectacles were completely different. The main divide between the pre- and post-1868 visual representations of hybrid bodies was probably the invention of the very notion of modernity and its functions. According to Bruno Latour, modernity is always based on two opposing and, at the same time, converging practices: “translation” and “purification” (Latour 1993: 10). In the translation phase, modernity continually substantiates itself by creating mixtures of unrelated human and nonhuman agents. At the same time, modernity pretends to keep the constitutive elements of this ontological mishmash neatly separated. This (impossible) clarifying moment is the purification phase. Returning to the Meiji paradigms of modernity, we can see that “uncivilized” and “antimodern” items such as the mummified ningyo, as spurious elements of reality, were actually essential foils for the illusory images of inexorable progress. Meiji-period taxidermic bodies of hybrids still retained their eroticizing, apotropaic, and religious functions, just as in the Edo period, but at the same time they were also transformed into theriomorphic mirrors serving to reflect the distorted image of humans pretending to be modern. The physicality of the ningyo constituted a sort of zone of complexity where human actors were reassured, healed, and, at the same time, invariably mocked and threatened by the hypocritical violence of their myths.

In the Meiji period, the phenomenon of the human-fish was held up for scrutiny vis-à-vis both propagandistic statements selling technological mirages as a form of spectacle and a new wave of natural sciences inspired by evolutionism and morphometrics. In other words, living beings were now supposed to be catalogued, analyzed, and clearly differentiated based on their bodily measurements, both internal and external. As a hybrid whose biological existence was predicated on the amalgamation of anthropomorphic and zoomorphic elements, the ningyo constituted an ideal ground for testing the validity of this new scientific epistemology. For instance, in 1885 the natural scientist Matsumori Taneyasu 松森胤保 (1825–1892) composed a long entry about the ningyo in a collection of scientific annotations now known as “Matsumori bunko” 松森文庫.²³ Taneyasu based his empirical analysis on the observation of a mummified ningyo that was among the properties of his household in Tsuruoka, Yamagata Prefecture. Although he wrote nothing about the exact provenance of this taxidermic body, he had already made a preliminary sketch of the specimen in 1856, which testifies to a lifelong interest in this unique item. When Taneyasu examined the taxidermic corpse of the ningyo once more in 1883, he noted sadly that the thick layer of underfur on the face and among the bones of the fingers had almost completely separated from the body. Taneyasu’s extremely detailed second pictorial portrait of the desiccated ningyo (ningyo no kansōbutsu no shashin 人魚の干燥物ノ写真) shows an emaciated creature whose upper body calls to mind a small monkey with massive hands and whose lower body resembles a salmon (figure 10).²⁴ Each part of the hybrid’s body is marked with a letter, and the anatomical distances between one part and another are all carefully measured and recorded at the top of the page. Taneyasu lays out the following thesis:

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Figure 10

Zoo-anthropometric scrutiny of a mummified ningyo. Matsumori monjo, Matsumori Taneyasu, 1885

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

© Sakata City library. All rights reserved. See: https://miraini-sakata.jp/sakata-lib/matumori/ym lst.php

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I will limit myself to an abbreviated description of the ningyo because it has been a well-known subject since the time of the Ching emperors, who used its oil as combustible fuel for the lamps of their mausoleums.²⁵ Also in Japan there are a multitude of books and popular legends about the ningyo that can without exception be regarded as groundless falsities (fukei no mōsetsu 不経の妄説). When one happens to see [a ningyo], most of the time it is a pseudospecimen (gibutsu 擬物). The reason for the proliferation of such fictitious things (uyū no mono 烏有のもの) is the Westerners (yōjin 洋人). However, the real specimen (genbutsu 現物) on which I relied to make this drawing does not show the slightest trace of human intervention (jinzō 人造). In particular, the human face (jinmen 人面) [of this ningyo] still hides (inzen toshite 隠然として) [the creature’s] bestial nature (jūsō 獣相), and this is an aspect that cannot be artificially created …. Therefore, as I wrote before, [the ningyo] is a mysterious natural creature (tenzō no myō 天造の妙) endowed with a hidden bestial nature that is missing in [objects that are] man-made (jinkō 人工).

Matsumori [1879–1892]: Gyorui zufu: kaigyo 魚類図譜 海魚, part 3)

For Taneyasu, the mummified bodies of the ningyo could be divided into two types. One was the manufactured human-fish, whose diffusion intensified because Westerners were avid buyers of these objects—as Kume Kunitake also pointed out in his diary—and the other was the desiccated cadaver of a real ningyo. Taneyasu regarded examples of the second type as rare natural specimens (shizen no mono 自然の物) from the ichthyic realm; it goes without saying that the human-fish in the possession of his family was of this category.

The other crucial point in Taneyasu’s analysis was that ningyo were by no means variants of the human species. This, he held, had been proven by the fact that their chests were too short to be considered human, coupled with the clearly ichthyic characteristics of their abdomens. Taneyasu dismissed as biologically impossible the idea of a human chest being grafted onto a fish chest (hito mune tsukite sakana mune 人胸尽きて魚胸). Despite physical traits suggesting kinship with humans, then, Taneyasu saw the human-fish as nothing other than a beast (Matsumori [1879–1892] Gyorui zufu: kaigyo 魚類図譜 海魚, part 3). For this scientist, detection of a bestial nature in taxidermic specimens of ningyo was essential not only in establishing a given specimen’s authenticity, but also in confirming fixed taxonomical boundaries between the animal and human realms.

What distinguishes Taneyasu’s annotation from other narratives about ningyo is that it seems to defend against the threat ningyo posed to a stable and univocal definition of what it meant, taxonomically, for a creature to be human. Along these lines, Taneyasu ends his scientific considerations on the ningyo by comparing it with another destabilizing zoomorphic hybrid known as the “mountain woman” (yama onna 山女):

In Tōzaiyūki 東西遊記 (1795), Tachibana Nankei 橘南谿 writes that once he hunted a strange thing (ibutsu 異物) with an arrow on a mountain in Hyūga 日向 Province.²⁶ This thing was identical to a woman. It was completely naked and presented white skin and black hair. Although it was not dissimilar from a human being, it was a beast. This was clearly a mountain woman (yama onna).

Matsumori [1879–1892]: Gyorui zufu: kaigyo, part 3

Unlike the human-fish, the mountain woman is an animal whose external appearance does not differ from that of a woman. The hybridity of the mountain woman is more terrifying than that of the human-fish because its attractive somatic shell, marked by exposed white skin and black hair, wholly conceals from the human—read male—eye the lethal nature of a true beast. Similarly, the human portion of the ningyo’s body, which in the Edo period had been progressively gendered female and transformed into a receptacle of sexual desire and marvelous devotion, became in the Meiji period a scandalous creature that triggered all sorts of anxiety concerning the body. This hermeneutic caesura between the Edo and Meiji ningyo can be grasped visually by contrasting Taneyasu’s drawing of the human-fish with an illustration made by the comic storyteller (rakugoka 落語家) Sanshōtei Karaku 三笑亭可楽 (1777–1833) in the satiric 1804 book Edomae 東都眞衛 (figure 11; Hanasaki 1978: 93–96). Karaku also assigns names and roles to the various parts of the ningyo’s body, but his intent is to emphasize an erotic and humorous exchange between the male spectators and the female hybrid. With a contrary purpose, Taneyasu’s representation of the ningyo aimed to eliminate the porosity between the animal and human realms, stigmatizing the deceitfulness of dangerous bestial bodies that disguised themselves as humans. In this way, Taneyasu actually ended up restoring the medieval perspective of the ningyo as a mysterious natural omen (kaii) inspiring horror. The difference was simply that he relied on the new language of the biological sciences.

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Figure 11

Humorous and erotic analysis of the ningyo’s body. Edomae, Sanshōtei Karaku, 1804

Citation: Journal of Religion in Japan 12, 1 (2023) ; 10.1163/22118349-01201003

Source: Hanasaki (1978: 93–96)

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Mummified ningyo fashioned in the Edo period continued to resurface throughout the Meiji period, haunting every sort of scientific and homogenizing certainty that authorities sought to disseminate to the public. For instance, an article published in 1888 in the Tōkyō e-iri shinbun 東京絵入新聞 reports the finding of a human-fish that had been preserved as a secret treasure (hizō 秘蔵) in a drugstore located close to the Yotsuya 四ツ谷 district in Tokyo that specialized in animal- and plant-based materia medica (yakushuya 薬種屋). According to the report, an unspecified medical university in the capital had immediately begun a research project to analyze the “somatic shape” (karada 形象) of this hybrid. In contrast to Taneyasu, whose argument assigning ningyo a nonhuman nature was based on chest size, these university scholars relied on craniometry: they established that the shape of the skull of the human-fish was not suitable for swimming. At this point in the narrative, the journalist provides the reader with an anatomical overview of the mummy and a concluding interview with the pharmacist who owned the specimen:

And yet, if we ask what type of animal this is, it seems that the cranial bones belong to a monkey (saru 猿猴) and the entire body does not differ from that of a carp (koi 鯉). Even the owner of this secret property in the guise of a ningyo agreed that it was probably made by sticking together the head of a monkey and the body of a mullet (kanagashira 鮄). Although the ningyo is an artificial thing (koshirae mono 拵へもの) that does not exist in reality (jicchi ni nai mono 実地に無いもの), in the past it was believed to have fireproofing qualities and the ability to spurt water for extinguishing fires. The Yotsuya owner said that he still had a written document in which two or three daimyo [indicated that they] prized its special virtues (tokkō 特効).²⁷

Yumoto 1999: 90–92

Although scientific examinations negate the existence of actual human-fish, both the journalist and the pharmacist indulge in reminiscences about the extraordinary powers of so-called ningyo, which were widely recognized not only by common people but also by members of ruling elites, including at least two feudal lords.

The pharmacist who was interviewed refers to the respect toward ningyo expressed by two high-level representatives of the defunct Tokugawa regime, but the same can also be said of certain Meiji bureaucrats. For example, an article in the Tōkyōchū shinbun 東京中新聞 reports the story of a certain Mimura 三村, a rich merchant of Shimofusa Koga 下総古河,²⁸ who kept in his alcove a desiccated (kansō 乾燥) specimen of a ningyo measuring 1 meter and 30 centimeters in length. As in the case of the ningyo belonging to Matsumori Taneyasu and the one owned by the Yotsuya pharmacist, this human-fish was handed down as a family treasure from generation to generation. Mimura told the journalist that his ningyo got caught in a fisherman’s nets in the fourth month of Eiroku 永禄 4 (1561) in the sea close to Mt. Kinka 金華 in Ōshū 奥州 Province.²⁹ Observing the mummy, the journalist noticed that the bones from the shoulders to the fingertips on both sides did not differ from those of humans. A brownish down covered the back of the head of the ningyo, and its facial traits had an anthropomorphic appearance—except for the nose, which appeared to have an orifice for blowing away water. From below the waist, the ningyo had the body of a fish (gyotai 魚体). The article ends with the following account:

Visiting the village of Koga, the high official Fujinami Genchū 藤波言忠³⁰ heard about the story of Mimura’s ningyo, and once back in Tokyo he arranged with some museum curators for the transfer of this exemplar to a museum in Tokyo, which did not have any specimens of such creatures to display. In his collection, Count Ōki Takatō 大木喬任³¹ had a similar specimen, which was also caught in the sea close to Mt. Kinka in Ōshū Province. … According to Mimura, the written text on [his human-fish’s] origin (yuraisho 由来書) reports that the ningyo has a howling voice with a cry resembling the sound “zangorō”³² ザンゴロウ.³³

Yumoto 1999: 229

According to this source, not only did Meiji oligarchs have mummified ningyo among their private family possessions, but they were also active in getting these items into the collections of the state’s most relevant cultural institutions. Thus, there was a sort of intersocial loop in the diffusion of ningyo. During the modern period, top-level members of the ruling elite fostered the circulation of taxidermic specimens of the human-fish among universities and museums, de facto acting in parallel with those itinerant mendicant ritualists who were also producing their own discourse and practices concerning zoo-anthropomorphic hybrids.

Ultimately it does not matter if societal conceptualizations of the ningyo spread from the bottom up or the top down, or whether they prioritized religious, ludic, civilizing, or scientific perspectives. What really matters is that the human-fish has never been completely silenced. It has always been able to speak—sometimes reassuringly, sometimes hauntingly—to all of the human agents who have dealt with it, regardless of their social status.

6 Conclusions

In the early modern and modern periods, the medieval ningyo, a dread-inducing emissary of the gods with a zoo-anthropomorphic body, went through various processes of cultural reframing that added complexity to its conceptualization as a moot deity. Although the ningyo was progressively gendered, eroticized, spectacularized, and ultimately moralized, its demonic character was never completely obliterated. Instead, the human-fish was imbued with new apotropaic features, which were activated by expanded encounters between social actors and these anatomical hybrids through the circulation of illustrations, narratives, printed talismans, and taxidermic specimens. The mummified human-fish served to reify what had once been considered a mysterious natural omen whose divine agency had been investigated since the seventh century. This transformation allowed human actors to establish ties with the hybrid creature that were ludic, religious, and, in certain cases, scientific. Even the biomedical discourse of the Meiji period, despite its attempts to debunk the taxonomic anomaly constituted by the ningyo, ended up becoming another epistemic language with which to reassert the importance of this liminal creature.

A fundamental step for maximizing the apotropaic and soteriological impact of the human-fish was the incorporation of the Buddha’s relics—in the guise of wish-fulfilling jewels (nyoi hōju)—within its flesh. The “ludic vision” of a zoo-anthropomorphic body whose erogenous zones consisted of wish-fulfilling jewels was always a “salvific vision.” The gaze of the human spectator worked as a sort of optic trigger, switching on the apotropaic power of the ocular-luck (ganpuku 眼福) embedded in the theriomorphic anatomy of the ningyo. Once the human eye activated the creature’s salvific functions, the onlooker became exposed to its thaumaturgic—and, at the same time, uncanny—gaze, establishing a visual interdependency.³⁴ For the religious culture of the Edo period, the display of certain marginal bodies within ad hoc heterotopic spaces such as the misemono goya produced a sensory shock that was aesthetically both chaotic and orgiastic; this was a crucial moment for sparking what we might call a ludic soteriology. As heteroclite objects created through the revelatory interlacement of tékne (prostheses, textiles, papier mâché) and natural elements (sharks’ teeth, simian torsos, fish tails), the mummified bodies of ningyo were transformed into interstitial stages for contemplating heterogenous but, at the same time, interwoven physical paradigms. Such reifications of the human-fish in the form of taxidermic specimens, disguised women, or talismanic printed figures sensorially allowed human actors to transpose their physicality within a rhizomic network, often including metamorphosed manifestations of the Buddha. This network could be ironically, as well as devotionally, deployed against epidemics, fires, or any other impeding danger.

With the advent of the Meiji period, the ningyo did not abruptly disappear; instead, it came face-to-face with modernity and its myths. In this new context, its somatic ambiguity became a double-edged sword. As pointed out by Miri Nakamura, the harshest threat to the “normal bodies of modernity” were precisely those liminal bodies that defied clear-cut classifications (Nakamura 2015: 6). At the same time, deviant bodies such as the ningyo were not merely censored but were also recruited by what Foucault defines as the normalizing power of modernity. This power is repressive in the sense that it aims to eliminate all types of psychophysical deviance; at the same time, however, it is also creative in the sense that it constantly pushes toward the invention of new anatomic forms to substantiate its archetype (Foucault 2003: 51–52). These invented bodies can originate endogenously within the boundaries of scientific discourse, such as with the discovery of microscopic entities like viruses or bacteria; however, they can also be reified exogenously through the hermeneutic reframing of preexisting polysemic entities such as the ningyo.³⁵ For instance, the local trade fairs, which propagandized the technological progress of the Meiji state, derived their popularity from their showcasing of mesmerizing objects, whether that be innovative machines or the human-fish that were inevitably found in a corner set aside for “curious things” (chinki butsu). This type of seemingly incongruous but ultimately convergent dynamic is also evident in cases where aristocratic members of the political elite donated the taxidermic bodies of ningyo—until then jealously enshrined as secret treasures within the private collections of their households—to the exhibition rooms of public museums, another heterotopic site for the enculturation of the subjects of the modern state.

The socioreligious reframing of the human-fish during the Edo and Meiji periods allows us to contemplate the modalities through which a moot deity from the ancient and medieval periods was continuously actualized, reimagined, and ultimately reified within heterogeneous mindscapes. Every metamorphosis of the ningyo’s body marked a transformation of its religious valence, made possible through endless interventions by a variety of social actors. Although these actors engaged in seemingly unrelated semantic fields and practices, they nonetheless diversified and expanded the concept and religious impact of the ningyo.