Archer

Statue of an archer in Otawara, Tochigi-ken.

Koyasan Buddhist Temple Los Angeles

How Japan's Oldest Wooden Building Survives Giant Earthquakes

Below is an interesting article on how Japan's ancient pagoda's survive earthquakes and weather.

How Japan's Oldest Wooden Building Survives Giant Earthquakes

BY ANDREW TARANTOLA OCT 5, 2011 11:30 AM

How Japan’s Oldest Wooden Building Survives Giant Earthquakes
Japan has been struck by magnitude 7.0 or greater earthquakes a staggering 46 times since the pagoda at the Horyu-Ji Temple was built in 607AD. So, how did the 122 foot tall structure stay upright through all that shaking?

Multi-story pagoda technology arrived in Japan during the sixth century alongside Buddhism from China. On the mainland, pagodas were traditionally built of stone. However given Japan's seismic instability and higher annual rainfall, that design was simply untenable. But, after much experimentation, Japanese builders figured out how to adapt them to the shaky conditions through three design changes: the use of wide and heavy eaves, disconnected floors, and a shock-absorbing shinbashira.

Japan is a wet country with roughly double China's annual precipitation. So, to keep rainwater from running off building and onto the soil surrounding the foundation, potentially causing the pagoda to sink, builders extended the eaves far away from the walls—constituting up to 50 percent or more of the building's total width. Builders employed a series of cantilevered beams to prop up the massive overhangs. Then, to combat the buildings' severe flammability, the eaves were then laden with heavy earthenware to prevent tinders from igniting the wooden structure underneath.

Side note: Boy are pagodas flammable. The Toji pagoda, Japan's tallest wooden structure, has burned to the ground after being struck by lightning three times since its first building in 824. Fire-by-lightning-strike is actually the primary way that pagodas are destroyed, hence the inclusion of the large metal spire on the roof that acts as a lightning rod. In fact, only two Japanese pagodas in the last 1400 years, the pair at Todai-ji temple, are known to have actually collapsed from shaking alone.

The wide and heavy eaves aren't only good for fire protection, they also act as enormous stabilizers with a huge amount of inertia that must be overcome for the building to begin swaying. And even with the strongest of jolts, the eaves will cause the building to gently sway rather than shake.

The Horyu-ji pagoda doesn't have any central load-bearing beams like you'd see in modern construction. Since the building tapers as it rises, no single load-bearing vertical beam connects to the one below it. The individual floors themselves aren't solidly connected to their neighbors either, just piled atop one another with loose-fitting brackets. This is actually a big advantage in earthquake country. During a shake, the floors will sway in a slithering fashion, with each floor moving in the opposite direction of the ones immediately above and below. This allows the building to more fluidly ride the seismic wave than a more solid building would.

To keep the floors from flexing too far, builders came up with an ingenious solution—the shinbashira. It looks like a large load-bearing column, but it doesn't actually support any of the building's weight (that weight is supported by a network of 12 outer and four inner columns). Built from a large pine trunk, the shinbashira is strung from the underside of the roof and hangs down a shaft in the center of the structure. Sometimes it's buried into the earth, sometimes it rests lightly atop the ground, and occasionally it doesn't even touch the ground—it just freely hangs. The shinbashira acts as a massive tuned mass damper, helping to mitigate the earthquake's vibrations. It also prevents the floors from swaying to the point of collapse and absorbs some of the momentum of the floors as they strike against it. Basically, it's a giant stationary pendulum with enough mass to prevent the lighter floors from freely swinging around.

This same damping technology is still in use today. The The Taipei 101 employs a massive 4-story, 730-ton steel pendulum hung from the 92nd floor to prevent the building from swaying in high winds. The Citicorp Center in New York, uses a 400 ton concrete block to prevent movement during hurricanes.

[Wikipedia 1, 2, 3 - Economist - Asia Times - National Information Service for Earthquake Engineering- Top image courtesy of (c)Tomo.Yun (www.yunphoto.net/en/) ]

Monster Machines is all about the most exceptional machines in the world, from massive gadgets of destruction to tiny machines of precision, and everything in between.

Samurai Manhole

This is a manhole photo in Otawara I posted this last year but I wanted to post it again since I found who I believe the samurai is. I believe this is Nasu no Yoichi. There is a statue in Otawara that also is Nasu no Yoichi so he must be a symbol of the city.

Nasu no Yoichi (那須 与一?) (c. 1169 – c. 1232) was a samurai who fought alongside the Minamoto clan in the Genpei War. He is particularly famous for his actions at the Battle of Yashima in 1184. According to the Heike Monogatari, the enemy Taira placed a fan atop the mast of one of their ships, claiming it protected the ship from arrows, and daring the Minamoto warriors to shoot it off. Sitting atop his mount in the waves, his target atop the ship rocking as well, Nasu nevertheless shot it down with only one shot. (Wikipedia)

Nasu no Yoichi, as depicted in a hanging scroll in the Watanabe Museum. (Wikipedia)

Otawara Lord's Residence?

While walking in Otawara in Tochigi-ken I came across this really interesting gate. When I saw it I thought it reminded me of a gate to the Edo residence of a minor Daimyo or some other Tokugawa official. But it is not in Edo but in a very average neighborhood in Otawara. I tried to peak through the gate and I think it's just someone's residence. I would love to live in a house with an entrance like this.

Why did Japan surrender? - Boston.com

Why did Japan surrender? - Boston.com: "Sixty-six years ago, we dropped a nuclear bomb on Hiroshima. Now, some historians say that’s not what ended the war."

'via Blog this'

Otawara Archer

This statue is in the city of Otawara in Tochigi-ken. It is on a two-lane busy street near my in-laws house. I don't know the  background of this statue or who it is. Can anyone read the plaque on the base of the statue and tell me what it says? It is interesting that this archer is not in samurai attire so I am not certain what era it is supposed to be from or even if it is a warrior. The bow is a traditional bow used by samurai it appears. Samurai bows were asymmetrical. The samurai archer actually grasped the bow closer to the bottom rather in the middle of the bow. Some historians state one reason for this was that early bows were made from a single bamboo stalk that was narrower at the top, therefore the samurai grasped the bow lower on the wider and stiffer part of the bow. Later, samurai used composite bows but they continued to grasp the bow lower near the bottom, maybe to keep the long bow from tripping them or their horse up.

Japanese Warlord Played a Mean Game of Kickball

Oda Nobunaga, one of the most feared and powerful warlords in Japanese history, liked a good game of kickball. "Kickball?" you say. "Did it even exist 450 years ago?" Well, apparently it did.

Oda Nobunaga 1534-1582

According to the book, Japonius Tyrannus, kickball had been an aristocratic pastime since the late Heian period (794-1185) and surprisingly Nobunaga, a passionate falconer and sumo fan, displayed an interest in this surprisingly ceremonial sport.

Nobunaga actively involved himself with the court such as in 1575 when he organized a match between leading court nobles at the grounds of the temple Shokokuji. Nobunaga used these matches as well as the Tea Ceremony to establish or strengthen political bonds, or to associate with people from outside the warrior class: with merchants in the case of tea, and with nobles in the case of kickball.

The kickball matches also allowed Nobunaga to famliarize himself with the various court nobles. At the time, one of the players, Asukai Masanori (1520-94), served as Crown Prince Sanehito's special envoy to Nobunaga. The Asukai family had earned a dominant position as 'masters of kickball' in the Muromachi period (1336 to 1573), thanks to the sponsorship of successive emperors and the Ashikaga shoguns. Nobunaga continued this shogunal sponsorship of the Asukai, even calling himself Masanori's 'kickball pupil' on one occasion.

I think it would have been pretty cool to have played kickball with the great warlord Nobunaga. I would be careful to always let him win of course.

As Toranosuke correctly pointed out below in his comment, the sport is not like today's version of kickball. The ancient sport is called kemari and is more like the game of hackysack or juggling a soccer ball. There were varying numbers of players, between 2 and 12, and the ball was passed between players. There was no tackling or vying for the ball and the game was not competitive apparently but was more dignified and ceremonious however it did (and does) require a great amount of skill.

Historical Ninja vs. Fantasy Ninja

Many events and stories surrounding the samurai in Japanese history are as much myth as they are reality such as the story of the 47 Ronin. The ninja are no different.

I recently came across a short but concise article describing the difference between the real ninja of Japanese history and the more well known fantasy ninja. The article on Suite101 was written by Carmen Sterba, a periodic and knowledgeable participant on the Samurai Archives Japanese history forums. I love brief yet informative articles such as Carmen's that get right to the point and teach people about the various myths of the samurai and ninja from medieval Japan.

Takashi Miike: Why I am bringing Japanese classics back to life

From the Guardian UK, the Japanese director explains why he has returned to the chanbara samurai films of his youth for his new film 13 Assassins and the up coming remake of the incredible film, Hara Kiri.


It was two years ago, when I was watching the classic 1963 samurai film 13 Assassins, that I was struck by the sheer power and energy the Japanese film industry possessed in its heyday. But I also immediately felt sad, because we have lost the ability to make films like that. I wanted to resurrect this creative spirit. That's why I decided to do a remake.

I was only three years old when the original came out. It's popular among samurai movie fans – a legendary film for my father's generation, among the many fine chanbara (samurai films) made at the time. Most of all, I love the Zatoichi series about the blind swordsman, especially the first one, from 1962. It's a masterpiece. Then there are the films of Hideo Gosha: Kumokiri Nizaemon (Bandits vs Samurai Squad, 1978) and Yami no Karyudo (Hunter in the Dark, 1979). They are a bit on the B-movie side, but they are interesting, cool and very stylish. And of course Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai has to make the list; I don't think any Japanese film-maker can escape the influence of Kurosawa.

I felt that all of us working on our remake of 13 Assassins had to honour the original director, Eiichi Kudo, and everyone else who created the original. It was important to avoid doing what most modern-day chanbara do, which is to insert a love story, or interpose modern-day mindsets. Over the years, people have remade Kurosawa movies, but failed every time because they have not been able to adapt the story into something young audiences can understand.

The story takes place in the 1840s, near the end of the Edo period. But some things never change: mankind is always in pain, no matter what the age, place or political system. I don't need to insert "contemporary themes" into the film – these samurai speak to us even though we are not samurai. That, for me, is the beauty of these period films. Perhaps the samurai genre is unique, even though we Japanese live in an international world where we share the same information and use the same products. But then again, you could compare samurai movies to westerns, in that they're both long-lasting genres in which the characters and the audiences are mainly men. As men, we want to see some kind of ideal of masculinity, even though modern society might restrict us in our own lives.

I wanted to make 13 Assassins in the old manner, to use old techniques and not to rely on modern-day ones such as CGI, or editing that changes the speed. We only had two weeks to film, and the weather up in Yamagata prefecture in the north, where we built the set for the village where the climactic battle takes place, was pretty bad. The actors did surprisingly well, considering that more than half of the main 13 had never held a sword or ridden a horse. They were fighting for their lives as actors.

Have I managed to resurrect the genre? Maybe 13 Assassins is the mortal agony and death rattle of a Japanese film industry that has abandoned its creative talent. But I've got another chanbara on the way, which I'm editing for Cannes right now. It's called Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai, and is based on the 1962 film by the famous director Masaki Kobayashi. And it's going to be in 3D. As a film-maker, it's only natural to feel happy about new possibilities opening up. I picture myself 20 years from now, when 3D is the norm, telling my grandkids: "In the old days, we actually argued about whether 2D was better."

Takashi Miike was talking to Phil Hoad.

13 Assassins

Here is the trailer for the AWESOME looking 13 Assassins that is now playing in the United States. Here is a listing of where it is showing. 13 Assassins is a remake of the original 1963 film and is directed by Takashi Miike. Miike also directed such famous films as Sukiyaki Western: Django, Ichi The Killer, and Yakuza Demon. Although a remake, this film has been getting some very good reviews, apparently the sword fighting and battle scenes are very impressive and violent. The director clearly wanted to give the feeling of the reality and horror of the actual combat, just like was done in the movie Saving Private Ryan. This is showing in Los Angeles so I will make every attempt I can to see this incredible looking samurai film.

Here is a very interesting article from the Japan Times about Daisetz Suzuki, a Zen Buddhist teacher, who died 55 years ago. D.T. Suzuki is one of the great Zen teachers in modern Japanese history.

Zen psychology: Daisetz Suzuki remembered

More than any other Eastern thinker in the 20th century, Suzuki catalyzed the rise of humanistic psychology, which has spurred today's interest in spirituality and well-being

By EDWARD HOFFMAN

Special to The Japan Times

Despite the gloomy global economy, the field of positive psychology is booming. Often described simplistically by journalists as "the science of happiness," it's actually a broad focus on our strengths and talents, virtues and peak experiences in daily living. The name for this specialty originated with Martin Seligman at the University of Pennsylvania a dozen years ago. With amazing speed, it has spawned courses at hundreds of colleges, best-selling books, websites and workshops on topics like mindfulness, and wide-ranging research on the links between mood and wellness.

Zen sage: The works of Daisetz Suzuki have inspired many in the West to study and learn from Eastern philosophy and Zen Buddhism. AP PHOTO

Yet, amid this flurry of excitement, it's shameful that so little credit is given to a key figure who helped shift the focus away from Sigmund Freud's gloomy fixations to a more optimistic view of human nature: Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki. More than any other Eastern thinker in the 20th century, he catalyzed the rise of humanistic psychology in the post-World War II era — and, indirectly, today's mounting interest in spirituality and inner well-being. As 2011 marks the 55th anniversary of Suzuki's death, the time is right to remember the remarkable man born in what's now Kanazawa, western Japan.

Suzuki was descended from a long line of physicians of the samurai class. He was expected to follow in their path, but when he was only 6, his father died and this goal became financially impossible. Academically gifted, he taught English in several small towns before initiating higher education at Tokyo Senmon Gakko (the predecessor of Waseda University) and the nonregular course at the Imperial University in Tokyo. But by his early 20s, Suzuki felt drawn to spiritual matters, and became a novitiate at the Engakuji Rinzai Zen monastery in Kamakura.

What was his motivation? As Suzuki later reminisced, "My thoughts (had) started to turn to philosophy and religion, and as my family belonged to the Rinzai sect of Zen, it was natural that I should look to Zen for some of the answers to my problems (about losing my father and our family's resulting poverty)."

At Engakuji, Suzuki's mentor, the aged Roshi (Zen master) Imagita Kosen, bestowed the Buddhist name Daisetz, meaning "great humility" on his pupil. Suzuki spent long hours in zazen (sitting meditation) and immersed himself in classic Zen texts. He was especially inspired by the "Zenkan Sakushin" (Whips to Drive You Through the Zen Barrier), an anthology of writings on Zen discipline and advice compiled by a Chinese master of the Ming dynasty. Decades later, Suzuki would vividly describe these formative years in his spiritual memoir, "The Training of A Buddhist Monk."

As he later reminisced, "In the way of moral effort, I used to spend many nights in a cave at the back of the Shariden building where the Buddha's tooth was enshrined. But there was always a weakness of willpower in me, so that I often failed to sit up all night in the cave, finding some excuse to leave, such as the mosquitoes."

Suzuki may have been exceptionally modest by temperament, but he was a brilliant linguist. Recognizing this talent was Roshi Kosen's cosmopolitan successor — Shaku Soyen, who arranged for young Suzuki to work near Chicago as a professional translator of Eastern texts for the Open Court publishing firm. There for 12 years, Suzuki enthusiastically introduced Americans to classic Chinese, Japanese, Pali and Sanskrit writings — starting with Taoism's seminal text, the "Tao Te Ching." In 1907, Suzuki authored his first book, "Outlines of Mahayana Buddhism," and thus began his subsequent, nearly 60-year career as a teacher and interpreter of Zen Buddhism to the West. During his stay in the U.S., he traveled widely including a visit to Europe — expanding his translation work and connecting with Theosophists and others interested in mystical teachings for the modern world.

Training ground: Daisetz Suzuki studied Zen at Engakuji monastery in Kamakura. YOSHIAKI MIURA PHOTOS

Late in his life, Suzuki insisted that he had never planned to spend so much time residing in the U.S., but "one year grew into the next and I wound up staying in America for more than a decade. After that, I traveled around Europe for a year before returning to Japan."

During this period, Suzuki also found time for romance. In 1911, he married Beatrice Erskine Lane, an American social worker eight years his junior drawn to Zen and Theosophy. By then, he was back in Japan as an English lecturer at the Imperial University, and they wedded in Yokohama. The two would adopt a son and collaborate on many literary projects until her death in 1939, for Lane was an accomplished scholar in her own right — whose lucid book on Mahayana Buddhism still remains in print after more than 70 years. Sharing her husband's interest in psychology, she devoted an entire chapter in this work to the Buddhist concept of personality — and poetically declared that "The only definite teaching to be found in Zen is that . . . every man is a sleeping Buddha. Consequently, (one) has but to awaken his heart of wisdom by meditation to gain a direct insight into the nature of reality."

The 1920s and 1930s marked Suzuki's most productive years. Joining the faculty of Otani University in Kyoto, he taught both English and Buddhist philosophy, and received an honorary doctorate in literature. During this period, his major books included "An Introduction to Zen Buddhism," "Essays in Zen Buddhism," "The Training of the Zen Buddhist Monk," his translation of the ancient Sanskrit Lankavatara Sutra, and especially "Zen and Its Influence on Japanese Culture."

These works came to influence several major psychological thinkers of the 20th century including Carl Jung, Erich Fromm and Karen Horney. For example, Jung was fascinated by Suzuki's description of the Zen experience of satori(enlightenment) and argued that it showed that we have higher stages of consciousness beyond the ego. For Fromm and Horney, Suzuki's work pointed the way to an exciting new understanding of personality growth and psychotherapy based on the notion of a "real self" that can be nurtured through authenticity and "whole-heartedness."

Fromm admired Suzuki's Zen teaching that we grow spiritually in life not by mere words and intellect, but by involving our entire being. At the time, of course, Freudianism was the dominant approach in Europe and the U.S., and had nothing to say about such matters.

During the interwar years, Suzuki's writings also helped modern Japanese to appreciate the impact of Zen thought on their own culture. For instance, in his preface to "The Training of the Zen Buddhist Monk," Suzuki asserted that "It is impossible, as I maintain, in the study of the Orient, especially in the study of Japanese character and culture, to neglect — much less to ignore — the influence of Zen. "In Zen and Its Influence on Japanese Culture," Suzuki described Zen's impact on four different, long-standing traditions in his country: painting, literature, swordsmanship and the tea ceremony. Each of these domains is worth noting, though space constraint here necessarily make these brief.

A temple room within Engakuji monastery where Suzuki is believed to have meditated.

Artistically, the Sumiye is a kind of sketch in black and white, involving ink composed of soot and glue, a brush of sheep's or badger's hair, and thin paper designed to absorb much ink. As Suzuki noted, such frail material was intentionally chosen to make sure that the artist's inspiration was transferred onto it in the quickest possible time — allowing for no erasing, retouching or remodeling. In this way, observed Suzuki, "Sumiye attempts to catch spirit as it moves" — thereby embodying the Zen principle that in life, "Everything becomes, nothing is stationery."

As for literature, the haiku is a special product of Japanese genius, according to Suzuki, developed in its highest form by the 17th-century Zen devotee Basho. How so? Because he freed haiku from mere wordplay and connected it to the experience of ultimate truth with such poems as "A frog jumps into the water. Hear the sound!"

As for swordsmanship, Suzuki contended that in feudal times, Japanese warriors were taught by Zen masters not to learn scholarly doctrines, but to develop a specific mental attitude: fearlessness before their possible death in battle. The 16th-century Zen master Takuan also taught his disciple Yagyu Tajima no Kami (swordsmanship teacher to the shogun of his day): "What is most important in the art of swordplay is to acquire . . . 'immovable wisdom.' 'Immovable' does not mean to be stiff and heavy . . . It means the highest degree of motility with a center which remains immovable . . . You must leave your mind free to make its own countermovement without your interfering deliberation."

Finally, Suzuki contended that the Japanese tea ceremony, so integral and favored part of its culture — and similar to other long-standing artistic activities as flower arranging — embodies the spirit of sabi by emphasizing such elements as simplicity, naturalness, refinement and "familiarity singularly tinged with aloofness and everyday commonness veiled exquisitely with the mist of transcendental inwardness."

Such insights by Suzuki helped to awaken broad Japanese interest in Zen Buddhism, especially as his reputation grew in the West.

When World War II erupted, Suzuki was under the suspicion of the Japanese government for his opposition to militarism. In his numerous wartime essays on Zen, he kept quiet about political matters, but in private letters as well as public speeches, he made clear his antiwar stance. For example, the day after Pearl Harbor was bombed, the 71-year-old Suzuki plunged Otani University's faculty meeting into uproar when he contended, "With this, Japan will be destroyed. What will destroy it is Shinto and the militarists."

Such shocking words, of course, proved prophetic — and in 1949, he was made a member of the Japan Academy and decorated by the emperor with the Order of Culture.

The postwar era marked the heyday of American Freudianism and its humanistic offshoots — and Suzuki, teaching Zen Buddhism at Columbia University in the 1950s, was at the epicenter of creative psychological thought. Only months before Horney's death in 1952, she accompanied Suzuki and colleagues on a tour of Japanese Zen monasteries and emphasized the importance of his notion of "whole-heartedness" as a vital feature of mental health. Fromm became close friends with Suzuki, and in 1957, sponsored him as a guest speaker for a conference on Zen and psychoanalysis held in Cuernavaca, Mexico. Several years later, the two coauthored an influential book on this topic; like many others, Fromm was greatly touched by Suzuki's personal warmth and kindness.

Abraham Maslow, guru of motivational psychology, was another humanistic thinker inspired by Suzuki during these years. Maslow, who pioneered in studying what he called "peak experiences" — that is, sudden moments of joy and meaning — was excited by Suzuki's concept of sono-mama or suchness, as an element of mystical awareness. Sponsoring Suzuki's lectures at Brandeis University, Maslow also regarded Suzuki's Zen teaching of muga, or total absorption, as vital for a psychology of well-being and growth.

It is an historical irony, though, that Suzuki had much less impact on Japanese psychology than on its humanistic development in the U.S. and Europe. Why so? Because during the postwar years, Japanese psychologists were eager to establish their field as a rigorous experimentalist science, akin to biology, and looked askance at philosophical or spiritual thinkers. As the Jungian scholar Dr. Shoji Muramoto of Kobe City University of Foreign Studies comments, "Unlike in the West, Suzuki's relevance to modern psychology has hardly been appreciated in Japan outside of a few journal articles. Nevertheless, he was perhaps the first Zen philosopher to deal with Zen as an object of academic study in its philosophical basis and psychological aspects, as well as its history."

After retiring from Columbia University in 1957, the elderly Suzuki returned to Japan, where he kept up an active, international schedule of writing, attending conferences, lecturing and receiving awards for his lifetime achievements.

Until his death in 1966 at age 95, he influenced a new generation interested in the relevance of Eastern thought — particularly Zen Buddhism — for contemporary civilization. For instance, his writings on Zen meditation later contributed to mindfulness training for health care professionals as a valued therapeutic tool — and now sponsored by dozens of medical schools in the U.S. and elsewhere.

As Suzuki astutely saw, the world was hungry for Eastern spiritual wisdom. His final words? "Don't worry. Thank you! Thank you!"

Tour of Duty: Samurai, Military Service in Edo

I recently read the book Tour of Duty by Constantine Nomikos Vaporis is professor of history at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. An excellent book on the sankin kotai system, the duty of samurai to "attend" the Shogun in Edo period Japan (1603-1868).

Alternate attendance (sankin kotai) was one of the central institutions of Edo-period (1603–1868) Japan and one of the most unusual examples of a system of enforced elite mobility in world history. It required the daimyo to divide their time between their domains and the city of Edo, where they waited upon the Tokugawa shogun. Based on a prodigious amount of research in both published and archival primary sources, Tour of Duty renders alternate attendance as a lived experience, for not only the daimyo but also the samurai retainers who accompanied them. Beyond exploring the nature of travel to and from the capital as well as the period of enforced bachelorhood there, Constantine Vaporis elucidates—for the first time—the significance of alternate attendance as an engine of cultural, intellectual, material, and technological exchange.

Vaporis argues against the view that cultural change simply emanated from the center (Edo) and reveals more complex patterns of cultural circulation and production taking place between the domains and Edo and among distant parts of Japan. What is generally known as “Edo culture” in fact incorporated elements from the localities. In some cases, Edo acted as a nexus for exchange; at other times, culture traveled from one area to another without passing through the capital. As a result, even those who did not directly participate in alternate attendance experienced a world much larger than their own. Vaporis begins by detailing the nature of the trip to and from the capital for one particular large-scale domain, Tosa, and its men and goes on to analyze the political and cultural meanings of the processions of the daimyo and their extensive entourages up and down the highways. These parade-like movements were replete with symbolic import for the nature of early modern governance. Later chapters are concerned with the physical and social environment experienced by the daimyo’s retainers in Edo; they also address the question of who went to Edo and why, the network of physical spaces in which the domainal samurai lived, the issue of staffing, political power, and the daily lives and consumption habits of retainers. Finally, Vaporis examines retainers as carriers of culture, both in a literal and a figurative sense. In doing so, he reveals the significance of travel for retainers and their identity as consumers and producers of culture, thus proposing a multivalent model of cultural change. (University of Hawai`i Press)

Tour of Duty is one of nearly 200 books submitted for the 2011 International Convention of Asia Scholars (ICAS) Book Prize. The book is currently in second place with online polling taking place until March 20th. If you read this excellent book and enjoyed it like me, please go to the ICAS website and place your vote for Tour of Duty by Constatine Vaporis.

Jizo Bodhisattva: Guardian of Children, Travelers & Souls in Hell

The book, Jizo Bodhisattva - Guardian of Children, Travelers & Other Voyagers, written by American Zen teacher Jan Chozen Bays, provides an informative overview of the history of Jizo Bodhisattva or Ojizo-sama. For those who are familiar with or live in Japan, you probably have heard of Jizo Bodhisattva and you probably have seen many Jizo statues. It is a common sight in Japan.




I also had heard of Jizo but I did not know too much about what Jizo was or signifies. This book provided a good overview from a Zen Buddhist's perspective. The book also provided good information about some of the basic beliefs of Buddhism such as rebirth and the various hell realms.

Here are some of the interesting things I learned from this book.

A Bodhisattva is an enlightened being who vows not to enter nirvana, but instead works to free all others who suffer. Jizo's two most important vows are: "Only after the Hells are empty will I become a Buddha" and "Only after all beings are taken across to Enlightenment will I myself realize Bodhi."




Jizo is known to be the protector of children and travelers. You sometimes will see Jizo statues along roads or highways. At temples or cemetaries, a Jizo statue may be seen holding a child.

Statues of six Jizo's are often found at the entrance to cemeteries or temples. The six Jizo's represent the division of Jizo into six bodies, one to help suffering beings in each of the six realms. The six realms are the Hells, Hungry Ghosts, the Animal Realm, Human Realm, the Realm of the Asuras, and the Realm of the Gods.

There are actually many forms of Jizo. Below are some of them:

Emmei or Enmei Jizo - Jizo who prolongs life and provides benefits including watching over children and curing illness
Hara Obi Jizo - Stomach-wrapper Jizo who protects women during pregnancy
Hikeshi Jizo - Protects houses and harvests from fire
Indo Jizo - Saves humans after death and leads them to enlightenment
Meyame Jizo - Restores eyesight
Taue Jizo - Helps farmers plant rice
Mizuko Jizo - Water-Baby Jizo

There are many other Jizo's besides these above.

The popular Mizuko Jizo or Water-Baby Jizo is often portrayed as a monk with an infant in his arms and another child or two at his feet. In Japan, a ceremony called a Mizuko Kuyo is performed for grieving parents who have lost an infant either before birth or within the first few years of life. The Mizuko Jizo is a more recent creation. This Jizo and the Mizuko Kuyo ceremony arose in Japan in the 1960's.

The Jizo that is the special protector of Children arose during the medieval times in Japan. According to Japanese Buddhist beliefs, young children who have died are innocent souls who are unable to understand the teachings of the Buddha or to separate right from wrong. This also means that, through no fault of their own, they cannot become enlightened. They are stuck in a kind of limbo. Jizo protects the children in this limbo realm from demons.

Jizo statues often carry a pilgrim's staff. At the top are rings, usually four or six. Four for the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism or six for the six realms of existence such as the Hell or Human realms.

In the other hand of most Jizo statues is a cintamani jewel. The cintamani is the jewel that fullfills all wishes. The jewel is supposed to emit a warm brilliant light which illuminates the deepest reaches of the hells.

There were many other interesting facts I learned about the Jizo from this book. If you are curious about the many Jizo's located around Japan, I would recommend this book.

Two blogs of interest

Spike Japan has a new post titled Amakusa: Islands of dread. It details the sad history of Amakusa Island which is situated west of Kyushu. Spike Japan reveals the aspect of Japan's depopulation in much detail including Amakusa's rapid decline.

The second is from Ichijoji and is called The Death of Saigo. This post talks about the famous "last samurai" Saigo Takamori and the myths and legends surrounding Saigo's supposed seppuku during his famous rebellion.

Shogun-ki: Samurai and Death in Battle - A Translation

Shogun-ki: Samurai and Death in Battle - A Translation: "As another translation, I've (Kitsuno from Shogun-ki) picked out a section of a book called '日本の歴史・合戦のおもしろ話' (Japanese History - Interesting Tales of Battle). This translation deals with Samurai and death in battle. Everyone likes to think that Samurai were in love with the idea of death in battle and that they had no fear of death. Japanese historian Owada Tetsuo gives a much more reasonable explanation, which I hope everyone finds enlightening. This is the first of two sections I'll be translating. Due to the vague nature of Japanese, I've added some slight exposition here and there to clarify, but otherwise it is a direct translation."

Trailer - The Last Chushingura

From Nippon Cinema:

A 2-minute trailer was released for Shigemichi Sugita‘s The Last Chushingura, a new film adaptation of Shoichiro Ikemiya’s 1994 novel which was previously made into a 2004 NHK TV drama.

The film stars Koji Yakusho and Koicho Sato as the only two survivors of the legendary raid in which 47 ronin killed a corrupt court official named Kira Yoshinaka for the honor of their executed master knowing full well they’d be forced to commit seppuku afterward. Sato’s character, Terasaka Kichiemon, is a loyal retainer who’s secretly ordered to escape the raid by his leader, Oishi Kuranosuke, in order to relay the facts of the incident for the sake of posterity. Yakusho’s character, Senoo Magozaemon, is an “unworthy samurai” who flees the night before the raid and goes into hiding, establishing himself as a coward and a pariah. The two men cross paths 16 years later, and Magozaemon finally has a chance to explain his actions.

“Saigo no Chushingura” will be released by Warner Bros. in Japan on December 18, 2010.

Apology for slight 600 years ago

Here is an interesting story I found in the Japan Times about a 600 year old apology.

Apology for slight 600 years ago

To offer apologies for an unkindly act committed by their ancestors 600 years ago, the people of Ayukawa, a village in Wakayama Prefecture, will offer mochi (dumplings of glutinous rice) to the Kamakuragu Shrine in Kamakura, Kanagawa Prefecture, dedicated to the memory of Prince Morinaga on Aug. 19, when the 600th anniversary of the prince's death will be celebrated.

Defeated in his battle against rebels, Prince Morinaga with a few retainers was obliged to hide, and on Oct. 15, 1331, he passed through the village of Ayukawa. The prince and his party were fatigued and hungry, having eaten nothing the whole day. At the houses of the villagers they asked for some food, but they were refused because of the disturbed state of affairs at that time.

Soon after that, the villagers learned that the person to whom they refused to give mochi was Prince Morinaga. Such a discourteous act toward an Imperial Prince was something that the villagers could not think of. So to atone for their wrong, they resolved not to make and eat mochi forever. Thus for more than 600 years the village people never made mochi even on New Year's Day.

This year the villagers have finally decided to make mochi on the occasion of the 600th anniversary of the prince's death — and to offer them in his memory at the Kamakuraga Shrine.

The Origin of Za in Japan

Did you know that trade guilds in Japan originated as early as the twelfth century or earlier. Trade guilds derived from an early form of association called a za which means a seat and probably signified a place reserved at ceremonies or a market for a group of persons having the same interest. Early za were social groups that developed into occupational groups such as dancers, musicians, and other entertainers that performed for court nobles, powerful religious institutions, or manorial lords. This custom actually has persisted into modern times such as a company of actors, the Kabuki-za.

By the fifteenth century some mercantile za were organized by market rather than just commodity for example in certain towns. However, in the bigger cities such as Kyoto the za still tended to be organized by specific commodity and were usually concentrated in a special quarter of the city. This can still be seen today in certain cities in modern Japan such as the Zaimoku-za (timber merchants) quarter of Kamakura or the famous Gin-za (silver merchants) of Tokyo.

In their earlier forms, these organizations were not independent but were subordinate to a monastery, shrine, or a manor lord for which they served. But eventually these traders began to form quasi-independent za not only for their own protection but to increase their power and their profits. With this increasing power, many za began to have a monopolistic character by preventing competitors from obtaining raw materials within a certain area. A very powerful early za were the salt dealers of the Yamato province which controlled the salt wholesalers, retailers, and pedlars of the entire province. Eventually by the fifteenth century the za made powerful enemies by abusing their privileges and were forced to give way to other forms of mercantile organization such as "free" markets and guilds established by Oda Nobunaga.

Another famous za that I am sure most of you are familiar that has survived into modern Japan is the Yaku-za. This modern za has interests in many kinds of businesses and trades.

By the 18th and 19th centuries, the trade guilds and associations were transformed into more modern forms of business with the growth of the zaibatsu and keiretsu monopolies of the 20th century.

Reference:

Sansom, George (1961). A History of Japan: 1334-1615.

The myth of of samurai cavalry

I am republishing this 2009 post because there is such a common misconception regarding medieval samurai cavalry.

This poster from the Akira Kurosawa film Kagemusha illustrates the classic view of early samurai cavalry. Great cavalry charges of thoroughbred looking horses.

But as Karl Friday in his book Samurai, Warfare and the State in Early Medieval Japan reveals, the mounted samurai of the movies bare little resemblance to the actual mounted warriors from medieval Japan. Early medieval Japanese war-horses were actually much smaller and slower than the horses seen in classic samurai movies.

According to Friday, the mounts favored by early medieval samurai were stallions raised in eastern Japan and selected for their size and fierce temperament. They were stout, short-legged, shaggy, short-nosed beasts, tough, unruly and difficult to control.

In 1953, a mass grave at Zaimokuza near Kamakura was unearthed that is believed to contain the remains of men and horses killed during Nitta Yoshisada's attack on the city in 1333. The skeletons show the horses of the period ranged in height from 109 to 140 cm at the shoulder. Modern thoroughbreds by comparison range in height around 160 to 165 cm.

Also, these medieval horses could not sustain high speeds for long distance due to their size and the weight they were carrying, mounted samurai with full armor. Even modern racing horses can only go full out for 200 or 300 meters. Early medieval Japanese horses gave the samurai a rugged, stable, and comfortable platform from which to shoot their arrows, but it was a heavy beast not well designed for high speeds or long distance riding.

Horseman had different roles throughout the samurai era. During the Heian/Early Kamakura era they operated much like skirmishers with bows. They began to make greater use of hand-to-hand weapons like naginata and swords as time went by, ending up using primarily short yari during the sengoku. And by the late Sengoku with the advent of firearms, they did begin to function much like 'trucks'-there are many accounts where samurai were told to dismount before they reached the battlefield so as not to have their horses shot. Horses were rare and expensive, and no samurai was in a hurry to throw their horses lives and training away. (Samurai Archives)

In addition, the amount of dismounted combat in Sengoku jidai increased along with the increase with the number of guns. I think this was probably due to the fact that relatively few number of Japanese cavalry made it easier for concentrated fire of arquebus to defeat them. (Samurai Archives)

So the scenes in the movies with the cavalry charges that seem to go on forever are of course greatly embellished. But they make for an exciting movie.