So then, within a community—whether a village, a tribe, or even a nation—what roles did miko traditionally fulfill?
1. Guiding the Dead to the Gods
In ancient Japan, the concept of "god" originally stemmed from animistic beliefs that revered nature itself. Over time, as increasing numbers of continental migrants arrived, the custom of deifying ancestors became more common.
When these immigrants became central to village life, the burial of the dead shifted to the outskirts of the settlement. Prior to that, burials had often taken place in central village plazas. Excavations suggest that Jōmon people lived in a circular layout around the graves of their dead, possibly seeking protection from their ancestors.
In time, this ancestor reverence evolved into the worship of ujigami—clan gods believed to protect the community. In Okinawa, there is a saying: "When a household line continues unbroken for seven generations, a god will arise." There, it was believed that ancestral spirits became gods only after long years and complex rituals.
Such a transformation did not occur naturally over time; it required guidance. It was the miko who presided over the rituals that helped spirits evolve into deities.
Likewise, when someone in the clan died, it was the miko who led their spirit to the realm of the ancestral gods. Spirits did not find their way unassisted—they needed an escort. The miko would likely declare something like: "So-and-so, who died on such-and-such date, is your descendant of such-and-such generation; please receive them." A family emblem, or ie-jirushi, was affixed to the spirit as a marker. Crafting this emblem was also part of the miko's role—and these symbols later developed into the kamon, or family crests, we know today.
2. Receiving Divine Oracles
It was a sacred duty of the miko—especially the shaman-queen—to summon the gods from Takamagahara (the High Plain of Heaven) to earth and listen to their divine messages. Two methods are said to have been used to enter this trance-like state:
One involved wearing a sash of kage (an old name for the climbing plant higenokazura), placing twigs of masaki (a sacred plant) in the hair, holding bamboo leaves in the hand, and dancing atop an upturned empty bucket while stomping rhythmically to invite divine possession.
The other method was more solemn: on an auspicious day, the miko would enter a sacred space (itsuki no miya) and begin a ritual that included playing a small koto (harp), shaking bells, or strumming the azusayumi (a sacred bow). A saniwa—a person skilled in interpreting divine messages—would be present. The oracle would be delivered in poetic form over the course of seven days and nights.
In simpler terms, one method relied on ecstatic dance to induce trance and possession, while the other used music and dialogue in a sacred room to channel divine messages. These poetic oracles were precursors to the waka verse form that later became central to Japanese poetry.
3. The Miko as Prophet
Perhaps the most vital function of the miko was prophecy. Matters of weather, warfare, hunting, illness, and voyages—these were all subject to divine forewarning. The miko, or shaman-queen, was revered for her ability to foresee such events. To deliver prophecies, she would chant spells or enter a state of divine possession.
Though this overlaps with the role of spiritual medium, the fact that prophecies were delivered in song made poetic training a necessary part of the miko's spiritual education.
4. The Miko in Warfare
Miko not only foretold the outcome of battles—they sometimes participated in them.
The ancient Mononobe clan, responsible for state rituals, was also a military clan—their name later associated with mononofu, or warriors. Within their ranks was a group of miko known as the "Eighty Maidens" (yaso-otome). The number eighty was symbolic, representing a great many.
In battle, these miko would stand behind the soldiers, praying for victory. They would chant and exhale forcefully—"Hoo! Hoo!"—toward the enemy, both cursing their foes and inspiring their allies.
5. The Miko and Agriculture
As we saw in the discussion of irrigation, rice yields were directly tied to national strength. Thus, agriculture was a matter of the highest importance.
In addition to constructing reservoirs and irrigation systems, rituals were held to appease the gods of nature—particularly those governing the weather. These included the gods Hirose (water), Tatsuta (wind), and Niu (rain). Ceremonies were designed to calm these often wrathful deities, and at times, even human sacrifices were offered.
Miko and shaman-queens presided over these rites—and in some cases, miko themselves may have been offered as sacrifices. While no conclusive archaeological or folkloric evidence supports this, it remains a possibility that cannot be entirely dismissed.
6. The Miko as Healer
As mentioned earlier with Himiko, Taoism included a practice of healing through confession. Zhang Jue, founder of the Way of Supreme Peace, used this method to rally the people and instigate the Yellow Turban Rebellion. Though the rebellion was suppressed, it plunged China into chaos and ushered in the Three Kingdoms era. Some of the refugees from this upheaval fled to Japan.
At the same time, the fractured Wa country was unified under the sudden emergence of Queen Himiko of Yamatai. I believe Himiko's clan may have been naturalized immigrants from China, who gained influence through their irrigation, metallurgy, and healing techniques.
Even before the introduction of foreign medicine, Japan had healing rituals involving miko. The word kusuru (medicine) is said to derive from kusuru—a magical act to cure illness. Miko employed two healing methods: prayer or magic alone, and a combination of prayer with physical substances. These "medicines" were either offerings returned from the gods (osagari) or actual herbs.
In some ancient skeletal remains, holes have been found bored into the skulls—likely a form of spiritual surgery performed by miko to treat possession-related illnesses.
7. The Miko as Tax Collector
The Chinese character for "tax" (zei) combines the grain radical (禾, meaning rice) with the phonetic component 兌, which resembles a crowned person. This implies that taxes originated with miko who, as servants of the gods, collected rice from the people.
In ancient times, these taxes were known as iyajiri—offerings made in gratitude for divine protection. Before the implementation of official taxation laws (so-yō-chō), it was likely miko who primarily performed this role.
Here again, Okinawa offers a parallel. In the sacred omoro (ritual songs) of Okinawa, one verse from Shiyorieto no Fushi roughly translates as:
"Let us gather our taxes and deliver them to the great noro of Akeshino."
While the translation is uncertain, the implication is that noro priestesses once played a direct role in collecting tribute. I often refer to Okinawa because its society has preserved ancient customs in a near-fossilized state.
8. Prayers for Safe Voyages
The Gishi Wajinden mentions a figure called the jishai, who ensured safe passage across the sea:
"When the Wa people sail, they appoint a jishai. This person refrains from socializing, does not groom, wears filthy clothes, avoids women, abstains from meat, and behaves like the dead. If the voyage is successful, he is rewarded; if not, he is killed."
The jishai was male, as indicated by the prohibition on female contact. I once believed women were barred from ships as a source of ritual impurity. However, this appears to be a later belief. In ancient times, it was customary to bring women aboard for long voyages.
While the jishai secluded himself below deck to absorb impurity and keep the vessel spiritually pure, the miko likely performed rituals to ensure safe passage.
Yet, if the ship were lost at sea, the jishai was blamed and executed. But what happened to the miko in such cases?
The wish for a safe journey is universal, found across all cultures. And when people seek such blessings, it is overwhelmingly women who offer them.
Years ago, on several trips to Nepal for work, I was often invited to a friend's home before returning to Japan. His grandmother served as the household miko. She would perform a ritual to pray for our safety. At the end, she would press a red tika—a paste made of wheat—onto our foreheads. The mark would stay red even after the paste fell off, and we would board the plane for Japan with that vivid spot on our brows.
In Nepal and at the airport, it proved oddly helpful. No one did anything in particular, but people—customs officers included—treated us with great kindness whenever they saw the mark.