Tegami-dera's Initiatives Featured in "Shanghai First Finance"

2018年　手紙寺の取り組みが、中国で最も視聴者の多い「上海第一済経」というメディアに
掲載されました。

Below is the content in both Japanese and its original Chinese.

【Japanese】

A Letter Written to You, Who Has Passed Away | 100 Fascinating People – Inoue Joji

Among the 4,495 entries in Japan's Good Design Best 100 in 2017, one particular work left a deep impression. This wasn't merely because its planner was a temple priest.
What's more significant is that the ultimate users of this work are seemingly not those of us who are currently living.

In 2017, out of 4,495 entries in Japan's Good Design Best 100, one work stood out. This wasn't simply because the planner was a temple priest; more significantly, the ultimate users of this work don't seem to be those of us currently living. The temple worship facility "Tegami-dokoro" (Letter Place) and the new grave for two, "& (Ando)," jointly designed by Inoue Joji, the chief priest of Shodaiji Temple in Tokyo's Edogawa Ward, and architect Shoji Oshio, won the Good Design Award for Best Religious Architecture and the Good Design Gold Award, respectively, in 2017. The design concept of "Tegami-dokoro" is a place for writing letters to the deceased and fulfilling the purpose of grave visits through written communication to honor ancestors. "& (Ando)" is a grave for two that breaks with traditional Japanese funeral practices, allowing individuals to freely choose their partner for joint interment.

Inoue Joji is the creator of "Tegami-dokoro" and "& (Ando)." He gave his temple the unique nickname "Tegami-dera." Its main temple is in Harue-cho, Edogawa-ku, Tokyo. Both "Tegami-dokoro" and "& (Ando)" are located and actively used within the temple graveyard in Funabashi City, Chiba Prefecture.

In Japan, the Meiji era's anti-Buddhist movement (廃仏毀釈) dramatically reshaped the Buddhist clergy. Unlike their predecessors, contemporary Japanese Buddhist monks are now permitted to marry, raise children, and consume alcohol and meat. The Jodo Shinshu sect, to which Inoue Joji belongs, is famously said to have broken these taboos as early as the 12th century. This shift transformed temples into a kind of family enterprise, with the esteemed position of chief priest becoming a hereditary role passed down through the male lineage, generation after generation.

In 1997, at just 23 years old, Inoue Joji succeeded his late father to become the 20th chief priest of Shodaiji Temple. This period in Japan, the early Heisei era, was marked by the collapse of the bubble economy, rising unemployment, and a sudden doubling of the annual suicide rate.
While the Danka system (檀家制度), established during the Edo period, had historically ensured the financial stability of temples by requiring every household to belong to a specific temple for funeral rites, memorial services, and grave management, this ancient relationship was faltering. The number of believers and donations dwindled, placing the daunting challenge of the temple's survival squarely on the young shoulders of Inoue Joji. Fortunately, a relative with an MBA from the United States stepped in, offering crucial assistance.
This intervention paved the way for a more corporate management approach, a necessary adaptation for the temple to thrive in an era where traditional faith was undergoing profound changes.
Even as the temple's finances turned from red to black, this positive shift brought Inoue Joji no joy. "I felt this wasn't the kind of temple I was looking for," he recounted.
"The temple had transformed into something like a company, and the affiliated branch temples were also achieving stable management.
Everything was running smoothly, but paradoxically, I wanted to escape even more." Troubled, he began writing letters to his deceased father, and at this time, he also recalled a "gift" his father had left him when he was a child.
When he was nine, his father told Inoue Joji, "I've hidden a letter on the roof of the temple's main hall; read it when I'm gone." When this long-forgotten phrase unexpectedly came back to him, Inoue Joji was already 29 years old. He asked his mother, but she had no knowledge of such a letter. He couldn't help but wonder if it was just something his father had said when he was drunk. With a mix of doubt and hope, he searched every corner of the temple until, to his surprise, he discovered the letter in the attic of the main hall. In the letter, his father had written: "Do not let the lamp of Nembutsu at Shodaiji Temple go out." This was everything; it was the only important thing—the teachings of Shinran Shonin were alive and not to be defied.

His father's final letter profoundly shook Inoue Joji. He had always loved reading the Chinese historical novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and one particular anecdote had long captivated him: "A dead Zhuge Liang puts a living Sima Yi to flight." This phrase, illustrating how a deceased person can move the living, resonated deeply. "Isn't it like, when we're running a company, we think about what the previous CEO did?" Inoue Joji mused. "We wonder what the first founder did, and the one before that, and the one before that. What I mean is, it's incredibly important to reflect on those who have passed away." He believes that a letter can serve as a medium, allowing the living to engage in dialogue with the deceased.

"When people around us tell us to give up, or when things aren't going well, don't we feel like going somewhere or talking to someone important?" Inoue Joji asks. "Don't we sometimes feel certain that we're walking the same path as a departed loved one? This is precisely what I believe, and it's exactly where the temple's essential role lies."
The idea of creating "Tegami-dokoro"—a place in the graveyard for writing letters to the deceased—was thus conceived and nurtured. Inoue Joji conveyed this idea to architect Shoji Oshio, inviting him to participate in the design. In 2016, "Tegami-dokoro" was completed at Showa Joen in Funabashi City, Chiba Prefecture.

This wooden building has a strikingly modern appearance, with transparent glass walls on both sides. On the first floor, there are several chairs and tea tables. On the second floor, a long table is placed right against a floor-to-ceiling glass window, allowing those seated at the table to write letters in quiet contemplation. Simultaneously, they can gaze out at the entire graveyard through the glass.

In recent times, with the rapid pace of life, the number of people visiting graves annually is decreasing. Furthermore, the accelerating economic downturn and declining birthrate have made the succession of family graves a growing concern. Inoue Joji, the chief priest, believes that changing the form of honoring the deceased might be one way to preserve the significance of grave visits. "From my perspective, visiting graves is very important," says Inoue Joji, "but in reality, it's not absolutely necessary for everyone to mourn in this particular way. When we remember that important person and do something, it doesn't always have to be by pressing our hands together in prayer. We can also communicate with the deceased by writing letters."

For this reason, Inoue Joji devised a new form of ritual at the "Tegami-dokoro," connecting the deceased and the living through the exchange of "letters." For example, while still alive, customers can place significant items or letters they wish to leave for the living into a "letter box" and entrust it to the temple for safekeeping. After the customer passes away, the temple delivers the "letter box" via "Tegami-dera Post" to the recipient designated by the deceased during their lifetime. Recipients who are unable to visit the temple's grave site can perform memorial rites by writing letters through "Tegami-dera Post." The letters they send are then ritually burned by the temple and sent to the other side. This entire process is also referred to as "grave visiting by letter."

This development led to the improvement of grave sites, with the design concept and new ideas for "& (Ando)" being quite bold. The two characters for "Ando" (安堵) directly convey the meaning of "peace of mind" or "relief" in Japanese. From its overall exterior, one can no longer discern the shape or composition of a traditional tombstone. Made of pure white marble, the stone lid at the top can be rotated and removed. The interior of the slender cylindrical grave is hollowed out to contain the remains of the deceased. On the exterior of this cylindrical grave, the name, age at death, and date of death of the deceased are carved. This cylindrical grave has a diameter of 20 cm and a height of 120 cm. While its capacity isn't large, according to Inoue Joji, this is "because & Ando is a grave for only two people."

"In Japan, only immediate family members listed in the family register can be buried in a family grave, and typically, the eldest son inherits it generation after generation," Inoue Joji explains. "However, with rising divorce rates and changing family structures, many people are increasingly reluctant to take on the high succession costs associated with graves, including changes to the grave owner's name (from the deceased to a living successor), management fees, memorial services, and inheritance taxes. The problem of a lack of successors is becoming more and more serious. Furthermore, two people who are not related by family register cannot purchase a grave, and LGBTQ+ couples cannot be interred together."

Inoue Joji believes that as society changes, so too do values regarding graves. He posits that joint interment is inherently a matter for two people, and the choice of whom one wishes to be buried with should be a personal freedom. This includes couples without children, unmarried partners, LGBTQ+ couples, and even owners with their beloved pets. The "& (Ando)" grave designed by Inoue Joji places no restrictions on the status, nationality, or religious beliefs of those to be interred. This pure white cylindrical monument is designed to hold the ashes of only two individuals, requiring those to be buried to make reservations while alive, have their names carved on the monument, and apply to the temple for perpetual memorial services.

While the declining birthrate is profoundly impacting Japanese society, leading many to point to Japan's move towards a "grave-less society," how many have truly considered that a graveyard is merely a place to bury the deceased? What is the true significance and role of a graveyard's existence? Inoue Joji, the chief priest, says, "When many people face death, they often focus only on the impact, gains, losses, advantages, and disadvantages that this fact of death brings to themselves. However, haven't we, in reality, sometimes wondered if our relatives are quietly cheering us on from another world, or what expectations a lost loved one, whom we can never meet again, had for us? When life throws us into difficult situations, we will always seriously consider what we truly need through the act of honoring the deceased."

Q: What led you to decide on installing the "Tegami-dokoro" at that time?
A: The "Tegami-dokoro" was built two years ago, but the idea itself had been with me for 20 years. Two main things led me to this concept. First, at that time, I had broken up with my girlfriend. When people choose a romantic partner, they often pick someone similar to themselves. Because of this, during our relationship, we were able to frankly express our opinions to each other, almost like looking into a mirror. She was a very important person to me then. I didn't want to forget the valuable life lessons she gave me 10 or 20 years down the line. So, I decided to write her a letter. However, I didn't know where she was at the time, so the letter never reached her. Instead, through the act of writing the letter, I had a conversation with her and re-examined the life lessons she had imparted to me.
The other matter relates to my father. When he fell ill, I often wrote letters to him on my way to the hospital and showed them to him. After his passing, I struggled with how to continue living a life filled with so many hardships. So, I wrote all of these struggles down in a notebook. But each time, I started by writing, "Dear Father, Dad, this is what I'm thinking, what should I do?"
Through these two experiences, I realized that there are always important times in our lives when we want to communicate through letters. However, everyone's lives are so busy now, and it seems like a "Pure Land" or a place of peace is hard to find; if you slow down, you'll feel like you're sinking. Since this graveyard is very large, I wanted to create a place where people could write letters at their leisure. A place where the living could look at the graves of their loved ones and have a dialogue with them through letters, undisturbed.

Q: What kind of difficulties did you face when managing the temple at that time?
A: If I had only considered it from a management perspective, a place like the Tegami-dokoro could not have been built. Creating a place that makes everyone feel it's wonderful, comfortable, and peaceful is no easy feat. I put a lot of effort into this. How to make money was certainly not my primary consideration.
When it comes to managing the temple, I once had someone like a relative help me. With their assistance, the temple's revenue became very good, but in the process of increasing revenue, the temple gradually transformed into something like a corporation. This feeling made me sick of it, and over time, I even started wanting to escape from my own temple, and felt sorry even towards my deceased father. Now, the revenue might not be as good from a management perspective, but if my father were to see it, he would surely be happy and wouldn't blame me.

Q: The role and design of Tegami-dokoro are probably acceptable to most, but there's a significant gap between the design of Ando and traditional tombstones. How did you and the architect approach the design?
A: I'm married now, and my wife is Korean. All Korean graves have a circular, mound-like structure, similar to traditional Japanese kofun, which people can touch and embrace. I once saw someone visiting a grave, stroking the tombstone and whispering, "Thank you, Dad, thank you, Mom." I was surprised when I saw it, but it was as if their deceased family members were sitting right in front of them, and they were having a conversation. I told the architect what I had seen and heard, and I conveyed to him that I wanted a tombstone that could be embraced in such a way.
Furthermore, there are very few graves for two people in Japan. Many consider buying a grave to be bad luck and only purchase one just before they die. However, I believe that buying a grave is a form of expressing love. Firstly, preparing in advance can lighten the burden on those left behind. Secondly, if a couple, for example, wishes to be together in death as they were in life, or if they wish to be buried together after death even if they didn't have the chance to be together in life, it's like life beginning anew. Therefore, when we were designing, we wanted to emphasize a sense of sacredness. We made the color entirely white to represent purity, symbolizing two people embarking on another new world together.

Q: When you first designed it, what challenges did you face in getting people to accept this new type of grave?
A: Actually, it wasn't passively accepted at all. The same was true for market advertising. When people hear that two lovers can be buried together and become one after death, most are usually pleased. However, because the shape of this new type of tombstone differs from traditional Japanese tombstones, somewhat conservative individuals still show reluctance to accept it.

Q: Are there still people who don't accept it?
A: Yes, there are. However, the number of foreigners in Japan is increasing, and while they come from different countries and have different religious beliefs, their desire to cherish their partners is the same. For example, feelings like celebrating or making wishes, don't these remain unchanged? This is not about differing religions; it's about deeper human emotions and expressions. I believe this grave can represent such emotions. It's unrelated to any nationality, and that's why I want foreigners to be able to use it, and I want it to become a grave that can accept everyone.

Q: I've noticed you've also established a Tegami-dokoro in the heart of Tokyo—Ginza. What was the thinking behind this?
A: Thank you for your question. It takes at least an hour and a half to get here from Tokyo. So, I figured that working professionals in Tokyo wouldn't come all the way here to visit a grave after work. However, I thought that people who have just lost a loved one would likely want to visit every day. That's why I chose Ginza, in the heart of Tokyo and with the most convenient transportation, to set up an office. We also created a smaller version of the "& (Ando)" grave, allowing people to place a portion of the ashes inside.
We've established graves here, but no one truly knows where people go after death. In the past, people could seek answers from the Bodhisattvas; it was a kind of view on life and death. Today, many people no longer have a clear view on life and death. In this world, they don't need to think too much; a little happiness is enough to settle things. But what about after death? That's why we transmit Buddhism. To enable more people to embrace Buddhism, we established a Buddhist Life University, allowing everyone to freely come and learn to cultivate faith. We even created Buddhist study groups where we teach the Buddhist view on life and death. Everyone who visits graves here can participate for free.

Q: So, in your opinion, does the Buddhist grave-visiting culture need to change to adapt to modern lifestyles?
A: I don't think it's necessary. A temple is a temple, grave visits are grave visits, and it's probably better for monks not to be too busy. For a monk to preach Buddhism isn't simply about liking it or not liking it. It's also relatively important to have another way of thinking. For example, no matter what you do, you shouldn't give up. We don't need to do things beyond the temple's true nature. However, we still need to move forward in tune with the times.

Q: From an outsider's perspective, whether it's "Tegami-dokoro" or "& (Ando)," you appear to be breaking with tradition and creating new ventures—essentially, a new kind of temple manager. However, you've also stated that you wish for the traditional grave-visiting customs to be preserved. So, ultimately, do you consider yourself a protector of tradition or someone who breaks with it?
A: Thank you for understanding this deeply. We are Asians, and Asians create new things from old by learning from the past. If we don't thoroughly learn and understand past matters, we cannot create better things. The only thing I can be sure of is what my parents cherished, and there is definitely a reason for their existence. We need to deeply understand what our ancestors held dear, and on top of that, we must adapt and implement these methods in accordance with the changes of the times. No single thing has an absolute prototype, and we don't even know if it will succeed. I'm relieved when I see that people still hold such thoughts. This is why when I hear statements like, "Why do we still have to visit graves?" or "There's no need to keep photos of deceased people at home," I feel that these are incorrect and morally unacceptable. Aren't there many old, distinguished families and long-established businesses in China too? This is only natural. When we deeply understand even things from the past, and then implement them using current methods, even old things can emit a new light.
Q: Are many people using Tegami-dokoro? How effective is it?
A: We've had some good things happen since setting up the postbox. When we first started, four letters were written without signatures. Before burning them, I secretly opened and read them. One of them said, "Hello. Nice to meet you. I was born in [place], graduated from [school], and work as [job]." I thought to myself, 'Isn't this a resume?' Another one read, "I now love with my life the daughter you once cherished." Perhaps the writer's wife's previous husband had passed away, and this man was having a dialogue with him here. I believe such letters are more valuable than the structure we built on this land. People can express their unspoken, innermost thoughts here in just one or two hours.
Q: How is the utilization rate of Ando?
A: There are currently just over 200 "Ando" units, but only about 40 people have truly contracted to use them so far, so the number isn't high.
Q: What are the characteristics of the people who are using them?
A: First, it can be said that a relatively high number of users are people without children. Next are those in de facto marriages (not legally registered). In Japan, many people don't buy a grave unless they are married and their ancestral grave is passed down through generations to their own. For couples with children, a two-person burial can be inconvenient. However, there are many other reasons, but we have no way of knowing what they are.
Q: When you first designed Ando, were there any opposing opinions? For example, why would a temple undertake something like this?
A: The opposition was indeed the majority. The reasons were that casting such a structure at a temple was unprecedented, people didn't understand what was being built, and unease permeated the surrounding graveyard. There were also opinions questioning why a resting place was needed at this temple location. While these kinds of objections were numerous at the beginning, after it was built, the people who were most pleased were actually the local residents nearby. It became a place to escape the heat when it was hot, and with the addition of more restrooms, it became very convenient to use.
Q: So, it's fair to say that people eventually came to your place with gratitude, understanding its value? Can I interpret it that way?
A: I once read a letter from a child addressed to their father. It said, "Dad, I never told you 'thank you' when you were alive, and I've regretted it ever since you passed away. Now, I've found someone I love. I really want to introduce her to you, but I can't. So, I've come here to write you this letter. Just to tell you 'thank you.' Today's your birthday, isn't it? Thank you."
Reading a letter like that brought me a sense of relief. While not many people can express such feelings directly, I still thought it wasn't a bad idea to have a place where one could write such letters. I've heard that some people here have cried aloud and truly bared their souls. To go back to the beginning, actually, creating a place like this was initially about satisfying my own needs.
Q: From listening to your story, your intention seems to be that graves are not just for mourning ancestors, but also have a role in healing the living. Is that right?
A: Exactly. It's not just about healing and comforting people's hearts; it's also about finding renewed energy and taking a step forward. This place can probably become a direct conduit to people's hearts, where we can open the windows of our souls.
Q: In Japan, we often hear the two characters "kuyo" (供養), referring to memorial services or offerings for the deceased. From your perspective, Chief Priest, what constitutes the highest form of kuyo?
A: I am a monk. What I see is that Kuyo means we should not bid farewell to the deceased. I am like my parents; I share both their strengths and weaknesses. Even though they have passed away, I feel as though we have long been living as one. They understand my worries better than anyone, because they are inside my body, in my heart. If we are fused as one and can dispel worries together in this way, we can consider any matter as a question of "Is this enough?" or "What is true happiness?" I feel they are constantly in dialogue with me. If I keep them in my thoughts, they will always support me. I consider this my goal. In reality, such a thing can be done anywhere, regardless of location. However, people often don't have the time to think about such matters. Therefore, I believe that good Kuyo means not keeping our deceased parents as distant presences, but constantly engraving in our hearts that we are together. That is why writing letters is necessary.
Q: The price range for the Ando grave is quite a bit higher than for a typical grave. Why is that?
A: The price range for one Ando grave is 1 million yen. Even if we calculate it for two people, it's 500,000 yen per person. The reason for this high cost is that we also need to purchase land, dig wells for purification, and the initial costs are unavoidable. While the current price of Ando is relatively high, we expect it to eventually decrease as transaction volume increases and the number of graves excavated grows. We believe that purchasing many Ando units is about acquiring a lifestyle, not just a single grave.
I believe that people managing temples today are gradually losing confidence. If they want to maintain funding, they should commission consultants or seek out those who need to build new grave sites. Nevertheless, ultimately, it should still return to what everyone seeks. Everyone wants the temple to maintain its proper appearance. That means it shouldn't do anything beyond its fundamental purpose that goes against people's expectations. We should consider what to do and still adhere to the temple's true nature. I want everyone to come here not just after a loved one has passed away, but also when they are still well, to embrace Buddhism and find peace within their hearts.

【Chinese】

https://www.cbnweek.com/articles/normal/22417