Religion, State & Society

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Fear and the construction of minority religions in

Japan

Erica Baffelli

To cite this article: Erica Baffelli (2023) Fear and the construction of minority religions in Japan,
Religion, State & Society, 51:3, 223-237, DOI: 10.1080/09637494.2023.2212579

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/09637494.2023.2212579

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RELIGION, STATE & SOCIETY
2023, VOL. 51, NO. 3, 223–237
https://doi.org/10.1080/09637494.2023.2212579

ARTICLE

Fear and the construction of minority religions in Japan

Erica Baffelli
Department of Modern Languages and Cultures, The University of Manchester, Manchester, UK

ABSTRACT ARTICLE HISTORY

This contribution uses examples from ‘new religions’ (shinshūkyō) to Received 7 April 2022
discuss how minority religions have been constructed in Japan, Accepted 4 May 2023
highlighting in particular the centrality of fear in the creation and KEYWORDS
perpetuation of minority status. Groups labelled as new religions Japan; ‘new’ religions;
have, since the late nineteenth century, provided the blueprint for minority; marginality; fear
defining what is considered ‘mainstream’ or ‘proper’ religion, often
associated with supposedly ‘traditional’ religions seen as part of
Japan’s culture and heritage, and ‘marginal’ or ‘outsider’ religions or
religious practices that do not fit the definition of tradition in
a given time and are viewed with suspicion, and, at times, con­
trolled or suppressed. This contribution discusses how such margin­
alisation intersects with empowerment dynamics in the creation
and perception of minority status among religious groups in Japan.
Fear, I argue, is not only central to how minoritised religious groups
are perceived by the external world but has also worked on inter­
actions and relations between religious organisations and society in
the other direction, from group members towards the external
world. Paying attention to how groups navigate and respond to
marginalisation, whether by hiding or eschewing their marginal
status or by embracing it as a means of empowerment, is therefore
crucial to understanding the dynamics of minoritisation.

Introduction
This contribution uses examples from so-called new religions (shinshūkyō) to discuss how
ideas of religious minority have been constructed in Japan since the nineteenth century,
highlighting in particular the dynamics produced by the ‘affective economy’ (Ahmed
2004) of fear. In Japan, the conception of the ‘mainstream’ is often associated with the
idea of supposedly ‘traditional’ religions, which are seen as historic and part of Japan’s
culture and heritage. Religions or religious practices that have not fitted the definition of
tradition in a given period have been viewed with suspicion and, at times, tightly
regulated or suppressed. As Ian Reader’s (this collection) discussion on pilgrimage
demonstrates, what is considered ‘traditional’ can shift over time. However, groups that
have been labelled as new religions have, since the late Tokugawa period (1603–1867),
occupied a central position in the construction of the idea of ‘mainstream’ or ‘proper’

CONTACT Erica Baffelli erica.baffelli@manchester.ac.uk Department of Modern Languages and Cultures, The
University of Manchester, Manchester, UK
© 2023 The Author(s). Published by Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group.
This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (http://creativecommons.org/
licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly
cited. The terms on which this article has been published allow the posting of the Accepted Manuscript in a repository by the author(s) or
with their consent.
224 E. BAFFELLI

religion in Japan and its ‘other’: ‘marginal’ or ‘outsider’ religions. If, as Okai and Takahashi
(this collection) argue, religion in general can be seen as ‘marginal’ in the Japanese
context (see also Di Febo, this collection), ‘new religions’ have been even further margin­
alised and ‘othered’ and at times seen as a potential threat to be suppressed or strictly
controlled.
Groups that have been labelled as new religions in Japan are not necessarily numeri­
cally very small or chronologically new. Their active membership can exceed that of
organisations deemed ‘traditional’ and some were founded over a century ago. Yet they
are often attributed minority status and perceived and portrayed as marginal because
they are not part of what is considered ‘mainstream’ and ‘traditional’, namely religious
practices performed at Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples. As suggested by Laurie and
Khan (2017), when analysing minorities it is therefore important to look at the processes
of ‘minoritisation’ and marginalisation, rather than just focusing on numbers. The ideas of
minority and majority are interdependent. ‘Othering’ a group as a minority implies
a specific power relation and structure that creates marginalisation. Collective ‘others’
are created ‘to set boundaries and mark off the dynamics of the we’ (Appadurai 2006, 50).
Yet, minority and marginalised groups are never ‘entirely powerless in the process of
othering’ (Modood and Thompson 2021, 8); they might reject some of the negative
characteristics attributed to them or accept and reconceive them as positive. Some
groups find ways to resist marginalisation, to challenge it, or even to use it as a source
of empowerment and a means to challenge or repudiate mainstream values or views that
they perceive as negative, creating elitism among members.1
This contribution will discuss how marginalisation and empowerment dynamics inter­
sect in the creation and perception of minority status among religious groups in Japan.
I start by outlining the negative perception and treatment of ‘new’ religions in Japan since
the nineteenth century, drawing on an example of one organisation’s response to the
COVID-19 pandemic to illustrate the persistence of their marginalisation up to the
present day. In the remainder of the contribution, I examine in more detail how fear
works in the creation of minority religions, discussing its centrality to how religious groups
are both perceived by and – crucially – respond to the external world, whether by hiding
or eschewing their marginal status or by embracing it as a means of empowerment. My
main focus is on the ‘new religions’ that I have been studying for the past 20 years;2 ‘new
religions’ have, I argue, provided the blueprint for defining ‘proper’ (majority) and
marginal (minority) religion in Japan. But in this contribution I also refer to the other
cases described in this collection to demonstrate that such dynamics are not limited to
interactions between new religions and wider society in Japan; they can also be found in
a wide variety of other contexts, from the creation of internal minorities within both ‘new
religions’ (Di Febo, this collection) and ‘mainstream’ traditions and practices (Reader this
collection), to processes of minoritisation of and within ‘mainstream’ Japanese religions
transplanted to other countries (Kolata, this collection) and transnational religious move­
ments localised in immigrant communities in Japan (Okai and Takahashi, this collection).

New religions and the idea of marginal religions

In the Japanese context, the term ‘new religions’ (shinshūkyō) is a generic label, first used
following the end of the Second World War, which has been applied to a large variety of
 RELIGION, STATE & SOCIETY 225

diverse groups that developed from the early decades of the nineteenth century until the
present day.3 The descriptor ‘new’ does not straightforwardly equate to a religion being
very recently formed or new in a chronological sense, but rather serves as a contrast to the
notion of ‘established religions’ (kisei shūkyō) (Inoue et al. 1991; Shimazono 1992a, 1992b;
Astley 2006; Reader 2015).4 These ‘new’ groups were usually founded around
a charismatic leader who promised a new vision and new healing practices, and who
was often critical of other religions. Although their practices and doctrines are not entirely
different from those found at Buddhist temples or Shinto shrines, they have historically
been perceived as threatening and potentially dangerous.
During the Meiji period (1868–1912), when Japan was transitioning from a largely rural
country to a modern state, the government introduced policies aimed at eradicating what
it saw as superstitious, marginal, and minority practices and groups that were perceived
to be undermining a specific model of cultural identity or religious orthodoxy. These
practices and groups came under the intense scrutiny of the government and were
labelled with derogatory terms such as ‘pseudo-religions’ (ruiji shūkyō) and heresies
(jakyō) (Ketelaar 1993, 42; Dorman 2012, 25). Some of the groups at the centre of criticisms
at the time attracted attention because of their popularity, key examples being Tenrikyō,
established in 1838 by Nakayama Miki5 (1798–1887), and Renmonkyō, founded by
Shimamura Mitsu (1831–1904) in 1883. Such groups were seen as potentially dangerous
by both Buddhist leaders who worried about losing their parishioners (Sawada 2004, 250;
Dorman 2012, 28) and secular authorities who saw members’ devotion to their religious
leader as a potential threat.6 Leaders were accused by the media of illicit and fraudulent
practices and, in the case of Renmonkyō, of being anti-Shintō, that is, of not being in line
with what was considered religious orthodoxy at the time. Media criticism was not aimed
exclusively at new religions but also at other practices deemed superstitious, unproduc­
tive, and antithetical to the idea of a modern country, such as pilgrimage (see Reader, this
collection). Violent suppression of groups seen as potentially dangerous continued in the
post-Meiji period, as exemplified in the case of Oomoto, a group that started as a small
regional organisation under its first leader Deguchi Nao (1837–1918). Under her successor,
Deguchi Onisaburō (1871–1948), Oomoto became one of the largest new religions at the
time and was heavily suppressed by the state in 1921 and again in 1935, when the leader
and members were arrested on suspicion of lèse-majesté and the group’s facilities were
destroyed.7
The concept of shinshūkyō was introduced in post-war Japan in an attempt by the
newly established Federation of New Religious Organisations of Japan (Shinshuren) to
provide legitimacy to groups previously labelled with pejorative terminology (Thomas
2019, 221) and was initially embraced by the groups themselves. As an analytical term,
‘new religions’ is considered neutral by scholars, but its adoption failed to stop those
organisations from being marginalised. In post-war Japan, rapidly expanding groups, such
as the Nichiren Buddhist-based organisation Soka Gakkai, were seen as potentially dan­
gerous and frequently attracted criticism and media attacks for their aggressive proselyt­
ism. While the media no longer used terms such as ‘pseudo-religions’, it favoured (and still
favours) the term shinkō shūkyō (newly arisen religions), which implies ephemerality and
superficiality (Astley 2006), over the more neutral term ‘new religions’.8 Moreover, since
the sarin gas attack in 1995 perpetrated by members of the religious group Aum
Shinrikyō,9 the word cult (karuto) has come into common usage as a label applied to
226 E. BAFFELLI

groups seen as potentially dangerous, fraudulent, and violent, delegitimising them as not
‘proper’ religion (Baffelli and Reader 2012).
After 1995 groups started to reject their identification as new religions (Kato 2021)
since the term implied that they were marginal and not seen as ‘proper’ religion. As this
labelling is based on how groups are perceived rather than on chronology – some so-
called new religions are now beyond their third or fourth generations of membership and
are as many as 200 years old – even very large religious movements with millions of
member households continue to be portrayed as ‘new’ and therefore depicted and
perceived as marginal.10 Terms such as ‘new’ and ‘pseudo-’ or ‘quasi-’ religion can only
exist in relation to what is considered ‘traditional’ or ‘proper’ religion. In other words, the
emergence of minority and majority is a dialectic, dynamic process. Minorities are not
static, objective groups (White 2011) but rather an arbitrary and shifting category. In
Japan practices and rituals connected to Buddhism and Shinto are represented as having
histories that can be traced back centuries and, therefore, as inherently representing
Japanese identity and culture. Conversely, ‘new’ religions, by not being equally
embedded in the structures of Japanese state and social structures, are portrayed as
somehow different and not part of a supposed Japanese cultural religious identity.
In practice, it is often difficult to distinguish between ‘mainstream’ and ‘new’ religious
organisations, since ‘new’ religions tend to become less dynamic and more static as they
develop, operating in ways very similar to those of established organisations and with
memberships that are often less involved (Baffelli and Reader 2019; see also Di Febo, this
collection). Some new religions may even be seen by the public as less threatening and
more mainstream. Nevertheless, their responses to the COVID-19 crisis illuminate the
perpetuation of processes of marginalisation and negative labelling, as well as continued
awareness among these groups that they are always at risk of criticism.
As news about the new coronavirus disease started spreading in early 2020 and the
World Health Organisation named it COVID-19, the Japanese government launched a call
to residents for jishuku (self-restraint). While schools closed and businesses reduced their
working hours, religious organisations also introduced restrictions on their activities. Most
new religions imposed some of the most restrictive guidelines, including completely
shutting down their centres and moving all activities online (McLaughlin 2020). For
example, Shinnyoen, a Buddhist organisation established in 1936 by Itō Shinjō and his
wife Tomoji, announced on 20 February 2020 that it was interrupting in-person visits to
temples, and moving rituals and services online, including its annual Shinnyo Lantern
Floating Festival in Hawaii.11 While some Buddhist temples of mainstream denominations
were still holding rituals at temples, so-called new religions appeared more prepared to
respond quickly to the new challenges.
One reason for the prompt response among new religions is likely to have been their
awareness of public scrutiny and the risk that they might be accused of posing a potential
health threat. An example from a neighbouring country that was reported in the Japanese
media would only have confirmed such concerns. In February 2020 a cluster of infections
was identified among members of a new religion in South Korea, Shincheonji Church of
Jesus, Temple of The Tabernacle of the Testimony (hereafter Shincheonji). In South Korea,
this resulted in public condemnation of the group, which was already controversial, and
the news was reported by international media (Cheung and Noh 2022). As a consequence
of this public exposure, not only did Shincheonji’s reputation and marginality worsen, but
 RELIGION, STATE & SOCIETY 227

the government required all members to get tested (even outside the initial cluster in the
city of Daegu). This reinforced the public perception that many had been infected and
could potentially spread the virus to other people (Grisafi 2021). In interviews reported in
Japanese newspapers, members of Soka Gakkai, one of the largest and most controversial
religious organisations in Japan, mentioned the Korean case as an example that they did
not want to follow (McLaughlin 2020). Marginal organisations in Japan were well aware of
the public scrutiny and potential damage to their reputations that an infection cluster
could cause. Even though large groups such as Soka Gakkai now have an important
presence in different sectors of Japanese society, including education and politics, they
are still largely perceived as different from the mainstream (McLaughlin 2012) and feared
as a potential threat to the social order and the religious establishment. Once minority
status has been attached to a group, it seems very difficult to reverse.

Invisible minorities, unwelcome minorities: fear and the construction of

minority status
Fear is a crucial element in creating the perception of potential danger and a distinction
between who is a threat (‘new religions’) and who is under threat (‘traditional’ religions,
customs, morals). As already noted, the label of ‘new religions’ in Japan has been applied
to groups not seen as fitting the ‘mainstream’, marking them out as ‘minority’ and
‘marginal’ regardless of their practices, structure, size, or longevity. These groups are
represented by media, the government, and (at times) other religious organisations as
potentially dangerous since they challenge the status quo and offer an alternative life­
style. They are also seen as potential threats to public order and political authority and as
providing alternative (and often) critical voices on existent religious practices. Although in
the period after the 1995 sarin gas attack the fear of new religions expanded to include
‘religion’ in general (Baffelli and Reader 2012), groups labelled as new religions came
under more invasive suspicion and scrutiny from the government and media. They were
not only criticised for their aggressive proselytism or for soliciting money from members
but were also portrayed as a potential threat to public safety, with some of them being
flagged as potential ‘new Aum’ (Baffelli and Reader 2012).12
Nowadays, some new religions that have a longer history, such as Tenrikyō, or that
have actively engaged in interfaith dialogue, such as the Lotus Sutra-based Buddhist
organisation Risshō Kōseikai, are regarded as less threatening. These organisations are
now based primarily on household affiliation rather than conversion and therefore
increasingly resemble the so-called established religions in terms of their structures and
membership. Even so, new religions are mostly omitted from any positive public coverage
of religious activities, for example, in the event of natural disasters. In the aftermath of the
Tohoku earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear meltdown on 3 March 2011, religious groups’
mobilisation of volunteers for disaster relief activities and psychological support gained
favourable media attention, in part thanks to the work of sympathetic academics.
However, as McLaughlin (2016, 120) points out, such positive portrayals mainly focused
on individuals rather than organisations, while several active contributors to the aid
efforts, in particular those from new religions, were ‘conspicuously absent’ (McLaughlin
2013, 321) in mainstream media and academic reports about religious mobilisation in the
wake of ‘3.11’.
228 E. BAFFELLI

As other contributions in this collection illustrate, the centrality of fear as a ‘powerful

driving force’ (Bourke 2005, xii) in the construction of religious minorities is not limited to
‘new’ religions but is also visible in other contexts in Japan, including in ‘mainstream’
settings such as pilgrimage tourism. Ian Reader (this collection) shows how the perception
of itinerant beggars as a threat has made them an unwelcome minority on the Shikoku
pilgrimage, leading to a ban on the Buddhist practice of soliciting alms (takuhatsu) at
temples. This practice is rooted in the history of pilgrimage in Japan, but those who
engage in it today represent only a tiny number of pilgrims, most of whom now travel by
tour bus and car. While the image of the mendicant pilgrim is used in guidebooks and
promotional materials as a symbol of tradition and national heritage, itinerant pilgrims
who engage in begging (and do not contribute to the local tourist economy) are
presented as antisocial figures, even potentially immoral and dangerous. As elsewhere
in the world, ethno-religious minorities can also be feared and unwelcome in Japan.13
Transnational movements established and localised in immigrant communities, such as
the Sunni Muslim group studied by Okai and Takahashi (this collection), are viewed
suspiciously because they are ‘other’ and also represent, in some cases, an alternative
to the mainstream. As Okai and Takahashi discuss, thus far Islamophobia has been less
evident in Japan than in contexts such as Europe, but Muslim groups have nevertheless
been closely scrutinised by the media and monitored by the Japanese Public Security
Intelligence Agency in relation to potential ‘terrorist’ threats.
While dynamics such as the circulation of global terrorism discourses shape anxieties
about religious ‘others’, in Japan ‘new religions’ provided the blueprint for defining what
is considered proper religion and what is deemed ‘shady’ (ayashii) and therefore to be
feared. This is why minority groups such as the youth group in Risshō Kōseikai may prefer
to stay ‘invisible’ (Di Febo, this collection) rather than to reach out to local communities
and face suspicion and feelings of rejection as an unwelcome minority. It also means that
other fears (e.g. of ethnic ‘others’) intersect with fear of ‘shady’ religion to shape percep­
tions of and interactions with religious groups, particularly when people make affective
associations between those groups and ‘new religions’. This is evident in the case of the
Taiwanese organisation, Fo Guang Shan.14 As a Mahayana Buddhist organisation, it might
on the surface appear to share common ground with ‘mainstream’ religion in Japan, but
as an ethno-religious minority, it has had to deal with suspicion and fear and with the
feeling of being unwelcome.
Founded in Taiwan by Master Hsing Yun, initially as a publishing business, Fo
Guang Shan expanded rapidly in the 1990s, establishing centres across the world
(Chandler 2004; Mair 2014). Fo Guang Shan follows a strategy of spreading Buddhist
teachings through ‘sowing seeds of affinity’ with non-Buddhist cultures (including
managerial capitalism) and adapting Buddhism to make it ‘convenient’ in new settings
(Mair 2014, 74–5). When it attempted to establish itself in Japan, however, Fo Guang
Shan encountered suspicion and concern among the local population. In Yamanashi
prefecture, the large Fo Guang Shan facilities were established in the early 2000s in
buildings that had been used as a training centre for boat races and then abandoned.
According to one of the resident nuns, the owner was initially reticent to sell the
building to a religious organisation, but a Japanese university professor reassured the
vendor that Fo Guang Shan was not a ‘fishy’ (henna) religion. The concerns expressed
by the vendor were possibly partly due to the fact that Aum Shinrikyō had its main
 RELIGION, STATE & SOCIETY 229

facilities in Yamanashi, in Kamikuishiki village, which became notorious for being the
place where the sarin gas was produced. Therefore, the arrival in Yamanashi of
a Buddhist group from overseas, whose nuns had shaved heads and wore robes
(contrary to most Japanese Buddhist priests who tend to wear ‘lay’ clothes and not
to shave their heads), was seen immediately as suspicious. Although the initial setback
was resolved through the intervention of a respectable supporter who could vouch for
the group, the organisation struggled to attract local members and encountered
a cold reception by Buddhist temples in the area. As a result, despite their efforts to
reach out to other local religious organisations and communities, the main activities
conducted at the centre were related to studying Buddhism and providing training
facilities for visitors coming from Taiwan and Malaysia.
The spectre of Aum Shinrikyō was still very present in Yamanashi when Fo Guang Shan
opened its temple there. Some of the behaviours and ways of life of its members, such as
wearing Buddhist robes and living in a commune, reminded residents of Aum Shinrikyō
and generated concerns about the new group. Members of Fo Guang Shan’s Tokyo centre
mentioned similar suspicions among locals when the group moved into its current building
in 1993. They pointed out that it was initially viewed by residents as another possible
‘shady religion’ (ayashii shūkyō) like Aum Shinrikyō. Gradually, over the years, Fo Guang
Shan has been able to improve its relationship with people in the neighbourhood, but
Japanese members are still very few, in part because ritual activities and services are
conducted in Chinese. Although numerically a minority in Japan, Fo Guang Shan is
a large ‘multi-million member’ (Mair 2014, 68) transnational organisation that has the
cultural and financial resources to be able to intervene when local branches encounter
conflict. The challenges it has faced in Japan highlight how the process of marginalisation
is often driven by fear: fear of ‘others’ as immigrants or as people with values and practices
considered heterodox and unfamiliar, but also fear that ‘sticks’ (Ahmed 2014) to the bodies
of religious others through aesthetic and affective association with groups or individuals
who have lent concrete form to fear and prejudice through their perpetration of violence.
While fear has been central to the marginalisation of certain groups by the
government, media, and public, it has also worked on interactions and relations
between so-called new religions and society in the other direction, from group
members towards the external world. As Aura Di Febo (this collection) discusses,
young members of Risshō Kōseikai often hide their affiliation when interacting with
non-members for fear of being seen as religious and of being discriminated
against. Worried that externals will make negative assumptions about them, they
would rather remain ‘invisible’ than attempt to explain their beliefs to others.
Talking to members of different ‘new’ religions over the years, I have often heard
the claim that ‘externals won’t understand us’. This fear of rejection can strengthen
the internal cohesion of the group. In the case of Aum Shinrikyō, the fear of being
‘contaminated’ by the material attachments of the external world (and therefore
falling into ‘hell’) became central to the group’s doctrine, reinforcing the internal
discourse that externals rejected Aum Shinrikyō because they did not understand
its superior truth.15 Fear of others and encounters with them became contagious
inside Aum Shinrikyō and created the idea of a dystopic future in which people
doing something different from ‘us’ (or questioning our status quo and lifestyle)
would ‘take over’ or in which people who did not listen to the truth would suffer
230 E. BAFFELLI

damnation. As Ian Reader (2011) shows, the vision of persecution and ‘spiritual
elitism’ inside Aum Shinrikyō increased as the group failed to recruit as many
people as it had hoped, upsetting its mission to bring about world salvation. The
external world was increasingly portrayed as dangerous and threatening, and the
process of ‘external marginalisation and conflict’ (Reader 2011, 311) reinforced
‘internal absolutism’ and self-marginalisation.
The reactions of so-called new religions to the COVID-19 pandemic illustrate their
fear of being marginalised and stigmatised during a period of crisis and disaster. At
the same time, the pandemic has created opportunities for these organisations to
publicly demonstrate their solidarity with ‘mainstream’ society and their care for their
own members amidst widespread public anxiety and fear. In the case of Shinnyoen, for
example, in addition to heeding the government’s call for ‘self-restraint’ by curtailing
in-person activities (in the interests of both members and wider society), the group
was actively involved in supporting the wider community, organising donations of
food to organisations supporting single parent households and donations of surgical
masks to medical centres and hospitals.16 Moreover, the pandemic provided an
opportunity for doctrinal reflection. One of the central narratives in Shinnyoen is
about how the founder Itō Shinjo overcame several difficulties in his life and could
provide a role model and a guide to members. The restrictions on face-to-face meet­
ings also meant that Shinnyoen actually increased its regular contact with followers.
On 6 March 2020, the leader Itō Shinsō released a video message encouraging
members to take care of each other and other people.17 Senior members contacted
other members via phone to provide them with spiritual guidance during those
difficult times. In December 2021, the group was still using a hybrid approach to
their events. They were allowing some members to attend in person depending on the
infection rates in the area. However, according to their assessment some members
were enjoying attending the rituals at a distance, especially via phone, as they felt that
this was creating a more direct connection with the leader. Listening to her voice over
the phone, instead of sitting in a large room with many other members, may have
given members the impression that the leader was addressing them personally.
In her discussion on how the politics of fear gives rise to Islamophobia among global
Protestant evangelicals, Melani McAlister shows how fear can bring a group together and
enhance its cohesion, despite internal divisions such as race: ‘fear can produce new kinds of
identification and solidarity that may cross the very boundaries it originally fortified’ (McAlister
2012, 135–6). As seen in the example of Shinnyoen, although the fear of stigmatisation
encouraged new religions to act promptly in adapting their activities and engaging in
community support, their response to the pandemic also offered an opportunity to enhance
members’ participation in rituals and feeling of proximity during difficult and anxious times,
reinforcing the idea that the organisation looks after its members. But fear can also strengthen
the boundaries that minoritise ‘new’ religions by deepening their internalisation of the
concept of the ‘marginal’, with some new religions accusing other organisations of being
potentially dangerous or ‘cult-like’ and ‘different’ from them. In the aftermath of the sarin gas
attack, both new and mainstream religious organisations in Japan were very preoccupied with
distinguishing themselves from Aum Shinrikyō and demonstrating that they were not dan­
gerous (Baffelli and Reader 2012). In so doing, they reinforced the idea that ‘proper’ religions
exist in opposition to ‘marginal’ and ‘inappropriate’ religions. Fear is about preserving what is
 RELIGION, STATE & SOCIETY 231

known, a supposed ‘us’, but it also delineates ‘that which I am not’ (Ahmed 2014, 67) or that
which ‘we’ are no longer.

Embracing minority status: dynamics of empowerment?

While minorities might seek to hide or distance themselves from the religious ‘other’ in
reaction to public fear and potential criticism, marginalisation and minority status can also
be used as an empowering mechanism by groups and strategically embraced as a way to
reinforce internal cohesion. This is evident in the case of renunciants (that is, members
living in commune) in Aum Shinrikyō, who used negative portrayals of the group in the
media and accusations made against it by ‘externals’ to fuel the perception that society
was rejecting the group, its leader, and its members and that the government was
conspiring against them. This reinforced group elitism, that is a belief among members
that they were an elite of chosen ones who possessed the ‘truth’ (Reader 2000; Baffelli
2012). Consequently, this justified their isolation from a society that they saw as cor­
rupted. For Aum Shinrikyō members, the external world became associated with the fear
and danger of falling into ‘hell’ due to its attachments and desires, while for externals,
Aum Shinrikyō would end up representing the negative and fearful aspects attributed to
religion (Baffelli and Reader 2012).
Another example of (self) marginalisation as a way to reinforce group elitism is
provided by another ‘new’ religion, Kōfuku no Kagaku (also known as Happy Science),
a religious group established in late 1986 by Ōkawa Ryūhō (1956–2023), who is believed
by his followers to be both the current manifestation of Buddha and the group’s supreme
deity, El Cantāre (Baffelli 2011). During the initial stage of the COVID-19 pandemic, Kōfuku
no Kagaku represented an outlier amongst Japanese new religions. Instead of closing
down its activities or moving them online, the group continued to hold public meetings in
February and March 2020 (McLaughlin 2020). In his sermons, Ōkawa started promoting
a ‘spiritual vaccine’ to fight COVID-19, ritual prayers (kigan) against the virus and, later,
sacred music to repel it. Kōfuku no Kagaku publications explain that the infection is akin
to spiritual possession and that fear and a bad mental attitude increase the risk of
contracting the virus.18 Although the promotion of prayers and rituals to fight viruses
and illnesses is not uncommon for a religion, Kōfuku no Kagaku was unusual among
religious organisations in Japan in focusing on the efficacy of its leader’s teachings rather
than emphasising public measures and ‘self-restraint’ to control the transmission of the
virus, as other groups did.
Kōfuku no Kagaku’s response to the COVID-19 pandemic reinforced and reas­
serted the ‘uncompromising attitude’ (Baffelli 2017, 147) that the organisation has
shown in other contexts, when it has explicitly promoted an anti-secular utopian
vision emphasising religious values in secular spheres such as politics, education,
and economics. This vision, while increasing the group’s marginalisation from wider
(secular) society, reinforces the idea that only those who fully embrace the teach­
ings will build ‘Utopia’ on earth. This has allowed the group to create a sense of
elitism amongst its members and to justify its setbacks; failures such as the
government’s rejection of its application to establish a university in autumn
2014,19 or the poor share of the vote won by the group’s political party during
elections, are represented as part of a larger plan for the future that external
232 E. BAFFELLI

people are still not ready to understand (Baffelli 2017). Particularly since the 1990s
Kōfuku no Kagaku has seen the media as hostile and responded to criticism from it
and other detractors forcefully, while also refusing dialogue or exchanges with
other organisations (Baffelli 2016).
(Self) marginalisation in Aum Shinrikyō, Kōfuku no Kagaku and other groups has
empowered members, while their rejection by wider society has reinforced their belief
that they are a spiritual elite. But while processes of self-marginalisation and victimisation
may reinforce internal cohesion, they can also inevitably increase marginalisation.
Furthermore, perceived rejection can be used to justify violent action, be it physical
violence (as in the case of Aum Shinrikyō) or discursive attacks on media and those critical
of the group in the case of Kōfuku no Kagaku.
Embracing minority status as a way to reinforce internal cohesion and spiritual
elitism is not peculiar to so-called new religions or to the Japanese context. This is
illustrated by Paulina Kolata’s (this collection) discussion of the experiences of non-
Japanese members of the Three Wheels Shin temple in London. Pure Land or Shin
Buddhism is the largest Buddhist denomination in Japan, but in the UK and Europe
more broadly it remains little known. Non-Japanese members of Three Wheels
appear to embrace their minority status within the UK’s Buddhist landscape,
enjoying a sense of exclusivism and elitism in belonging to what one of them
describes as a ‘small but unique’ group. The niche that this group has carved out
for itself in London suburbia is very different from the marginalised position of
‘new’ religions in Japan. Buddhism in the UK, although numerically a minority
religion, generally enjoys a positive, even fashionable reputation, particularly
among the middle-class and temples like Three Wheels tend to be seen as exotic
rather than threatening. In this sense, it could be defined as a ‘positive minority’
(Tsuda 1998), that is numerically very small, but it is accepted by the larger society
also because of its higher socioeconomic status. The inward focus of Three Wheels
is therefore not primarily driven by external criticism, rejection, or fear of exposure.
Rather, it seems to be an active choice among members who prioritise mainte­
nance of a more exclusive and cohesive community that meets the needs of
individual members and where they can feel ‘at home’.
Processes of empowerment can also emerge as minority groups form within
minorities. Okai and Takahashi (this collection) discuss relationships between differ­
ent cohorts within Tablighi Jama’at, a transnational Sunni Islamic movement that
started to flourish in Japan from the late 1980s with the arrival of Muslim immigrants
from South and (later) Southeast Asia. They show how the ‘social localisation’ of the
movement to Japan resulted in an inversion of the minority status held by second
generation and convert members, who claimed authority over the foreign-born first
generation (still numerically the majority) through their professed greater under­
standing of and belonging to Japan. This example shows how internal power
relationships in minority groups are not fixed but change over time. It also indicates
a potential dynamism within minority religious groups in immigrant communities
that seems to be relatively lacking in the more static and conservative ‘new’ religions
in Japan such as Risshō Kōseikai, an organisation in which younger members and
their needs and ideas have remained largely invisible to the senior leadership (Di
Febo, this collection).
 RELIGION, STATE & SOCIETY 233

Concluding thoughts
Examples from Japanese so-called new religions illuminate the dynamic, dialectic
processes involved in the emergence of minorities and help to explain why some
religious groups in Japan are still labelled as new even when they become very large
and in many respects difficult to distinguish from ‘mainstream’ organisations. I have
argued for the importance of looking at how emotions influence these processes and
dynamics (see also Tolomelli and Gironda 2015, 1). In particular, fear plays a crucial
role in the process of minoritisation and how a state of marginalisation is maintained.
This is exemplified by the impacts of the Aum affair in 1995, which heightened fears
and concerns about groups that were seen as ‘other’ and appeared to be set apart
from the mainstream. Increased fear of and concern about marginal groups have made
things harder for religions that seem to be set apart from the normative definition of
‘tradition’, whether they are ‘new’ religions, immigrant religions, or minority practices
within mainstream organisations.
Understanding how groups navigate and respond to such labelling and marginalisa­
tion is important in understanding the dynamics of minoritisation. Groups may react to
feelings of rejection or of being unwelcome by becoming invisible or, in contrast, by
seeking validation through the promotion of their activities and societal contributions in
ways that distinguish them from ‘odd’ religions. In both cases, such tactics of hiding and
distancing end up reinforcing the ideological separation between ‘legitimate’ and ‘bad’
religions. Groups might also use their minority status to reinforce internal cohesion. By
creating a sense of elitism, (self) marginalisation can be a way for a group to empower its
members, encouraging the idea that they are part of an exclusive group, but it can also
result in further isolation and, in some cases, violence.

Notes
1. For a discussion on the concept of religious minorities, see also Stausberg, Baffelli, and van
der Haven (2023).
2. The research was conducted following the requirements of the University of Manchester
Research Ethics Committee.
3. Scholars have estimated that there are around 300–400 groups that could be defined as ‘new
religions’ in Japan (Staemmler and Dehn 2011, 5–6) and that around 10–30% of the Japanese
population are passive or active members of such groups (Kato 2021). Soka Gakkai, for
example, is the largest single religious organisation in Japan, claiming around eight million
households as members (McLaughlin 2019). It should be noted that there is no legal defini­
tion of ‘minority’ or ‘new’ religion in Japan. The annual Shūkyō nenkan (Religions Yearbook)
published by the Agency for Cultural Affairs (Bunkachō) classifies groups under the categories
Buddhism, Shinto, Christianity, or Other; there is no category of ‘new’ or ‘minority’. Similarly
the Shūkyō hōjinhō (Religious Corporations Law) under which religious organisations can
legally register (and obtain tax relief) does not differentiate between mainstream and ‘new’
religions (Larsson 2020). All legally registered religious organisations are considered the same
regardless of their size or year of establishment. See Baffelli and Reader (2019) for a discussion
of the problems with the definition of ‘new religions’.
4. We find a similar conceptualisation within the study of new religious movements more
generally. While some scholars use analytical frameworks based on the concept of ‘newness’,
taking first-generation membership as the key defining feature of ‘new religions’ (see, e.g.
Barker 2004), others emphasise the alternative nature of these organisations in relation to
234 E. BAFFELLI

a dominant cultural and religious milieu (see Bromley 2004; Robbins 2005). Gordon Melton
(2004, 84) defines new religions as ‘a set of religions assigned an outsider status by the
dominant religious culture and then by elements within the secular culture’ and argues that
they therefore should be understood as existing in ‘contested space within society as
a whole’.
5. Japanese names in this contribution are given in the Japanese order, with the surname first.
6. It is important to note that even before the Meiji period, some ‘new religions’ entered into
conflicts with other practitioners, namely the Yamabushi who were in charge of popular
religious rituals and saw the leaders of new religions as competitors, especially regarding
healing rituals. For a detailed discussion, see Hardacre (1994).
7. For a detailed study on the repression of Oomoto, see Nagaoka (2020).
8. It should be noted that some scholars have problematised the category of ‘new religions’
(Thomas 2019) and suggested that groups should be studied in relation to the wider religious
tradition in Japan rather than as a separate category (Covell and Rowe 2004; Stalker 2008).
Baffelli and Reader (2019) also question the viability of the term ‘new’ in Japan for movements
that emerged as long as two centuries ago. On the definition of new religions in Japan, see
also Kato (2021). These debates reflect broader discussions in the study of religion beyond
Japan over the usefulness of the concept of ‘new religious movements’ (Barker 2004; Bromley
2004; Robbins 2005; Reader 2005; Chryssides 2012).
9. On Aum Shinrikyō and the aftermath of the sarin gas attack, see Reader (2000) and Baffelli
and Reader (2012).
10. It is important to note that Christianity is not usually categorised or perceived as a ‘new religion’
in Japan since it fits the notion of an established (kisei) religion, even though Protestant
churches started to establish themselves in the country in the nineteenth century, at around
the same time as the early new religions were founded. See, for example, Mullins (1998).
11. See https://www.shinnyoen.org/news/2020-shinnyo-lantern-floating-hawaii.html. Accessed
22 September 2022.
12. Further evidence of this hostile attitude to some religious movements perceived as a potential
threat came in response to the assassination of former Prime Minister Abe Shinzo in July 2022.
His alleged assailant, Yamagami Tetsuya, stated that he killed Abe because of Abe’s alleged ties
with The Family Federation for World Peace and Unification, widely known as the Unification
Church. Yamagami blamed the church for ruining his family because his mother was a member
and had given large sums to it. While the links between the Unification Church and politicians
became a matter of scandal, the public and media reaction to this shocking event also focused
heavily on blaming the Unification Church for what had happened, and gave rise to numerous
critical articles about it in the press. This event and its ramifications unfolded after this
contribution was submitted and it would deserve further study.
13. For surveys on immigrant religions in Japan, see Miki and Sakurai (2012) and Miki (2017). For
discussion on the notion of ‘multicultural coexistence’ (tabunka kyōsei), see Takahashi,
Shirahase, and Hoshino (2018). For an overview of studies of ethno-religious minorities in
Japan, see Takahashi (2021). On Muslim communities in Japan, see Okai (2016), Sakurai
(2003), and Tanada (2015). On the importance of emotions, in particular empathy, for critical
multiculturalism, see Kawai (2017).
14. The author and other contributors to this collection visited Fo Guang Shan centres in Manchester,
Tokyo, and Yamanashi during our research collaboration. Unless otherwise specified, the findings
presented here are based on observations and conversations during those visits.
15. This idea is still stressed by some former members, creating an emotional connection
between them. For a discussion on this, see Baffelli (2022).
16. See for example the news reported on Shinnyoen’s website about these donations: https://
www.shinnyo-en.or.jp/news/2020/03/20200309.html; https://www.shinnyo-en.or.jp/news/
2020/04/20200411_2.html. Accessed 22 September 2022.
17. https://www.shinnyoen.org/news/20200306-hh-message.html. Accessed 22 September 2022.
 RELIGION, STATE & SOCIETY 235

18. See for example their website in English language explaining faith immunity and how
infection is connected with fear: https://info.happy-science.org/2020/1409/. Accessed
22 September 2022.
19. The application was rejected by the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and
Technology (Monbukagakushō, or MEXT).

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Funding
Research for this contribution was supported by the UKRI Arts and Humanities Research Council and
Economic and Social Research Council under UK–Japan Connection Grant number ES/S013482/1
(‘Religion and Minority: Lived Religion, Migration and Marginalities in Secular Societies’).

Notes on contributor
Erica Baffelli is Professor of Japanese Studies at The University of Manchester (UK). Her research
interests lie in religion in contemporary Japan with a focus on religious minorities/marginalities,
media, violence, emotions, and temporalities. Her publications include Baffelli, Castiglioni and
Rambelli eds. The Bloomsbury Handbook of Japanese Religions (2021); Baffelli, Caple, McLaughlin,
Schröer eds. 'The Aesthetics and Emotions of Religious Belonging: Examples from the Buddhist
World', Special Issue of Numen (2021); (with Ian Reader) Dynamism and the Ageing of a Japanese
‘New’ Religion (2019); Media and New Religions in Japan (2016). She is co-editor, with Michael
Stausberg and Alexander van der Haven, of Religious Minorities Online, an open access publication
by De Gruyter.

ORCID
Erica Baffelli http://orcid.org/0000-0003-3236-8814

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