When you look up at the night sky, you can see countless stars scattered across it.
Every star is simply a point in space. From the universe’s perspective, there are no lines connecting one star to another. They simply shine in isolation. Stars that lie tens or hundreds of light-years away from Earth merely happen to be visible in the same direction; in reality, they have no connection whatsoever.
But humans drew a line between those points.
Someone saw a bear.
Someone saw the hunter.
Some people saw the tategoto.
Whilst gazing at the same star, people have each seen a different world.
Whilst gazing at the same night sky, different cultures have perceived it in entirely different ways. The constellation known in the West as Orion was seen in ancient Japanese culture as the shape of a drum. Looking at the same stars, yet seeing different things. This is neither a misunderstanding nor a mistake; it simply means that each culture assigns its own meaning to them.
The stars never change.
What changes is the meaning that people find in it.
However, simply drawing lines was not enough for the constellations to survive.
The constellations that survived each had their own story.
There was a myth.
It had a meaning linked to human emotions.
There is a legend about a hunter in the constellation Orion.
There is a story about Orihime and Hikoboshi associated with Tanabata.
Simply joining dots together just makes a line.
It was only when someone imbued them with meaning—in the form of stories—that the constellations became something that could be passed on to the next generation.
So, what happens to lines that have no meaning?
Just for a try, I’ll pick a few stars from the night sky and draw a square with them. I’ll give it a name. But if there’s no story behind it, that square won’t be passed on to the next generation. By the next morning, it will have vanished.
If there is no meaning, the line will disappear.
What endures for a thousand years is not form, but meaning.
Buildings fall into disrepair. Tools break. Even written records lose their meaning unless someone continues to read them. Yet meaning itself is passed down through time via words, stories, festivals and culture.
The stars have remained unchanged since time immemorial. Yet the constellations have endured because people have continued to ascribe meaning to them.
The meaning is carried by people. As long as people carry it, it will not fade away.
The constellations were not only stories, but also a calendar and a map.
Meaning is not merely something that evokes emotion.
It can also be put to practical use in supporting people’s actions.
The same thing is happening in local communities as it is with the constellations.
Someone has scattered walnut shells along the mountain path.
I don’t know that person’s name. Nor do I know when they laid it. But it was because of them that I was able to walk without falling.
I feel as though I am receiving something that someone has left behind. I have that feeling every time I walk along a mountain path.
But thinking about it now, the act alone might not be enough. It is only when someone finds meaning in the act of scattering walnut shells that it is passed on to the next person as wisdom. When the message that ‘walnut shells work on muddy paths’ is conveyed, the next person will do the same. This is not a chain of actions, but a chain of meaning.
The same applies to the Nagaoka Fireworks Festival. If it were merely a matter of setting off fireworks, the tradition might well have died out by now. However, because the shared significance of ‘commemorating the dead and praying for reconstruction’ continues to be upheld, a million people gather there every year. Preserving that significance is what ensures the tradition itself is preserved.
Regions are just like constellations.
The moment you understand the meaning, you begin to see things that were previously hidden from view.
Niigata has snow cellars. These are systems that utilise snow to preserve food at low temperatures. To those who understand their purpose, they represent a regional culture in which the wisdom of our ancestors lives on. To those who do not understand their purpose, they are simply a chore involving clearing away snow.
The same goes for sake breweries. To those who can see the significance, they appear as the embodiment of the local community, woven together from water, rice and microorganisms. To those who cannot see the significance, they appear as dilapidated buildings.
Whether it’s fermentation culture, terraced rice fields, irrigation channels or local festivals—the way you perceive them can make the same things appear completely different, depending on whether you can see the meaning that runs through them.
To those who can see the meaning, what appears as a resource; to those who cannot, it appears as nothing but a burden.
It is not because something is a resource that it remains; rather, it becomes a resource because it has meaning.
I sometimes wonder whether much of the depopulation and loss of resources in rural areas actually begins with a loss of meaning. It is not that resources are lost because the population has declined; rather, it is because meaning has been lost that people leave, and resources are subsequently lost. Just as constellations revert to mere stars once they are forgotten.
Actions fade away. But their meaning remains.
That is why people have continued to ascribe meaning to things.
The constellations have survived because people have continued to ascribe meaning to them.
I’m sure it’s the same in this area too.
As long as there are people to pass on its significance, that land will be passed down to the next generation.
There are still untapped assets in the region.
I refer to the process of discovering that value and weaving together its meaning as ‘community building’.
Stars are not constellations from the outset.
When someone finds meaning in something, it becomes a constellation.
ATSUSHI KABASAWA
FARM8 Co. Ltd.,
Next chapter: ‘Regions That Become Constellations’ – Chapter 9 : Invisible Forces Drive Regions
