KAPPAS: A LEGEND REVEALED

KAPPAS: A LEGEND REVEALED

Igor and "Kappa."

 Meet Igor the dog and his very special friend Kappa. You will all agree that it is a charming photo of a dog and his otter friend; however, the photograph caused me to pause for a moment and think. Perhaps it was fortuitous that not only did I see the cute picture, but that the otter’s name is of all things “Kappa!”

For those of you unfamiliar with the word “kappa,” allow me to take a moment to explain. A kappa (河童, literally “river child”), also known as a kawako (川虎, literally “river tiger”, is a yōkai (demon) or imp found in traditional Japanese folklore.

  

 A ceramic female kappa and children in the town square in Tajimi, Japan.

The name is a combination of the words kawa (river) and wappa, a variant form of 童 warawa (also warabe) “child.” In Shintō they are considered to be one of many suijin (水神), or “water deities”). A hairy kappa is called a hyōsube (ひょうすべ). In Japanese Buddhism they are considered to be a kind of hungry ogre. Kappa are especially noted for having a small pool or “bowl” of water situated on top of their head, signifying, and by some legends, holding their life force.

  

 Various forms of Umagappa, the kappa mascot of Tajimi, Japan.

Now, as many of you may know, I have a special affinity for kappa, and have included them in my “Nekojins” cartoons.

  

 From "My Neighbors the Nekojins" featuring Vinnie Nekojin and his kappa friend fishing together.

You may also know that I also have a special affinity for otters as evidenced by the “Nekojin” cartoon character “Otto,” a North American river otter who stowed away in a backpack at San Francisco’s Land’s End, only to be discovered later and adopted into the family.

  

 From "My Neighbors the Nekojins," Otto the North American river otter and his teddy bear.

That having been said, as I looked at the photo of Igor and Kappa, I had what might be called a type of epiphany — both a realization and a question. Could otters actually be kappa? I read and questioned, read some more, and have arrived at the realization that they probably are. The following is my theory on the matter: 

Museum display of a Japanese river otter.

Kappa, the legendary “river children” are indeed otters; specifically, they are (or were) Japanese river otters (Lutra lutra whiteleyi) or 日本川獺 (Nihon-kawauso). I say “were,” because they are no longer. The Japanese river otter is an extinct variety of otter which at one time was quite widespread in Japan. Reports by Westerners of them living in the Tokyō area go back to the 1880s. The Japanese otter population (not unlike the otter populations along the west coast of North America, and particularly California) suddenly declined drastically in the 1930s and also as in California, nearly vanished. In more recent times, Japanese otters have only been spotted in the Seto Island Sea (1964) and in the Uwa Sea (1972 – 1973). The last time one was officially reported as having been seen was in the southern part of Lochi Prefecture in 1979, photographed in the mouth of the Shinjo River in Susaki. Alas, that was the last photograph. The otters were then classified as “Critically Endangered” and on August 28, 2012, the Japanese river otter was officially declared extinct by the Ministry of Environment.

   

Reported to be the last photograph taken of a Japanese river otter.

Fully grown, A Japanese otter was between 25.5 and 31.5 inches long with a tail measuring 17.5 – 19.5 inches long. They had thick, luxurious fur, dark brown in color and had short, webbed and “fingered” feet and hands. Studies prior to their extinction revealed that the otters had two types of fur. They would shed their under fur from May to August and after that they would shed their guard hair from August to November, allowing them to adjust to the changing of seasons. Information obtained from past studies indicated that the otters had a lifespan of up to 25 years and historically, there were thousands of river otters in Japan.

  

 A pre-Meiji chart showing various types of kappa.

The kappa is typically depicted as roughly humanoid in form and about the size of a child, also between 25.5 and 31.5 inches long. While descriptions vary from region to region, it is sometimes described as having scaly reptilian skin. Now, an otter with a full coat, which is quite wet, shimmers and the fur can in fact look like longish, shiny scales. Kappa purportedly inhabit the ponds and rivers of Japan (typical otter habitat), and have various features to aid them in this environment, such as webbed hands (with fingers) and feet (with toes) — just like otters. They are sometimes said to smell like fish (no surprise there for anyone who knows otters) and they can swim like them as well. Again with the regional differences in descriptions of kappa, their alleged appearance has varied and has included a beak, a shell, and a plate (sara), a flat hairless region on the top of the head that is always wet. Some legends have referred to this area as actually being a bowl of sorts, containing water, which is regarded as the source of the kappa’s power. This “bowl” must be full whenever a kappa is away from the water; if it ever dries out, the kappa loses its power and may even die. I have often observed otters first hand with sea weed or various forms of water vegetation on their heads and they are known to, from time to time, balance objects are their head — for fun.

  

 North American otter balancing a rock or "bowl" on top of his head.

Now I cannot fully address the appearance of a shell but one might suspect that what were reported as kappas with shells were actually turtles of some size or tortoises. That would also explain the reported “beaks,” which are apparent particularly when a turtle pokes his head out of the water. Otter noses themselves can vary from a whitish pink to black as well as in size. I submit to you that the schnoz of an otter, depending on size and color, could be mistaken for a beak; perhaps most particularly by fishermen who have been enjoying sake during warm days of fishing.

While they are primarily water creatures, kappa do on occasion, and according to legend, venture on to land. So do otters, and while on land, both kappas and otters both are usually seen as mischievous troublemakers or tricksters. For kappas, their pranks range from the relatively innocent, such as looking up women’s kimonos, to the malevolent, such as drowning people and animals, kidnapping children, raping women and at times eating human flesh — pretty treacherous for such little guys. Not so for otters! Playful tricksters yes — malefactors no! Folk beliefs claim the cucumber as the traditional favorite meal of kappas. Otters, I will admit, are not overly fond of cucumbers and prefer fish or such kibble as Meow Mix.

  

 A kappa by Toryama Sekien, c. 1780.

It is said that kappa are curious about human civilization, as are otters. Scuba diving in Monterey Bay, I have experienced otters coming right up to me and peering through my mask, or reaching out to touch it or even me. While kayaking in the same region, considered “otter rich,” I have even had them climb up onto my boat to explore or even hitch a ride. It is also widely stated that kappa understand and speak Japanese. I think this is just a regional phenomenon as sea and river otters in California and elsewhere who have exposure to humans appear to understand to some degree or other whatever the regional language may be. They do “speak” in series of squeaks and clicks, which, with time and study, can be interpreted to mean various things. Kappa may even befriend human beings in exchange for gifts or offerings of nasu (茄子, Japanese eggplant), soba (そば or 蕎麦, buckwheat noodles), nattō (なっとう or 納豆, fermented soybeans) (there is no accounting for taste), or kabocha (カボチャ, 南瓜, winter squash), but especially cucumbers, the only food kappa are known to enjoy more than human children. While otters do not eat children and don’t seem to care for cucumbers or natto, they do enjoy and appreciate gifts of fish and with frequent exposure to humans can become quite friendly and playful.

It’s been a long time since anyone has reported seeing a kappa or an otter. Beginning in the Meiji era, the Japanese government opted for a policy of increased wealth and military strength. Otter pelts became quite valuable as a money-making export and populations declined. They did make a slight comeback after the creation of hunting regulations; but even so, as one might now expect in hindsight, pollution and human development damaged their environment; thus, the resources needed to build habitats and to obtain food. Compelled to seek adequate food sources, the otters were forced into more dangerous settings which in due course, resulted in the extinction of the Japanese river otter in the late 20^th century.

  

 A Japanese postage stamp depicting a Japanese river otter, issued in 1974.

There may be however, a glimmer of hope for the otter, and I think therefore the kappa. Throughout the 1990s there were several official attempts to locate a surviving Japanese river otter. In December of 1991 the Environmental Agency of Japan, working with the government of Kochi Prefecture, put together a research team of otter experts (not necessarily themselves experts on kappa) and began the search. It was in March of the next year that the research group discovered hair and excrement in the Kochi region believed to have come from an otter. They also located three footprints and additional ten excrement samples. An analysis of the cross-section of the hair determined that the fur did in fact come from an otter – solid scientific evidence that the Japanese river otter, and I suspect the kappa, still existed in Japan at that time.

  

 North American river otter in meditation.

So there it is and there you have it. Knowing how Japanese people love to listen to and to tell tales, and knowing how such stories can be embellished as they are told and retold, is it any wonder then that the Japanese river otter became kappa? I think not.

Natsume Soseki’s London: A Literary Odyssey

Natsume Soseki’s London: A Literary Odyssey

2016 marks the beginning of two years of anniversary commemorations for Natsume Soseki, the greatest literary figure of modern Japan: 2016 marks the centennial of his death in 1916; and 2017 marks the 150th anniversary of his birth in 1867. Damian Flanagan will show us the boarding houses that Soseki lived in, located in different parts of the city, and introduce us to the people that Soseki met and lived amongst. Join us for a literary odyssey round London like no other, that will make you see the capital through entirely fresh, Sosekian eyes.

Please grab a cup of coffee or tea and some snacks, and sit back, relax and enjoy the story.

FLOWER BLOSSOMS IN THE HEAVENS By Aoi Tokugawa

FLOWER BLOSSOMS IN THE HEAVENS

By

Aoi Tokugawa

     As was his habit, Takashi Nagai arose before sunrise, ate a modest breakfast, and then dressed in his kokumin fuku, his "national clothes," the quasi-military uniform mandated as standard wear for Japanese men, particularly those engaged in public service. After hanging the canteen of water, which his wife had lovingly prepared for him, over his shoulder, he slid open the front door to his home, looked out, and took a deep breath. The rays of the sun were strong, even in the early morning; seven o'clock and already it was hot and humid - a very Nagasaki summer's day. Even now, a line of sweat was forming on his shirt at his waist.

     "It's going to be so hot today," he murmured in a low voice and shaking his head, as if talking to no one but himself. Then he turned to his wife.

     Alright, I'm going now. I don't know what time I'll be back; but Midori, listen to me. If the air raid siren sounds, run away. I don't care where. I don't care if our house burns. I only care about you. As soon as you can, run away quickly."

     Midori, already dressed in gaily-colored monpe, comfortable, loose-fitting pants and a matching tunic that resembled pajamas more than the work clothes they were, and ready to do some gardening, simply nodded and grasped the white, Catholic rosary beads that hung around her neck. "I'll be just fine," she said, looking up at her husband with a smile. Remember my Christian name is 'Maria,' and Christ is with me. Really, I'll be just fine. Don't worry. Please take care of yourself."

     Takashi, a bit more pragmatic than his wife, and thus not quite as certain, simply smiled at Midori, touched her shoulder, then turned and headed for the bus station. All the while, Midori stood at the door and watched her husband until his form disappeared from view. She gave a small sigh, then turned, and walked back into the house.

     As he walked along the road toward the bus stop, Takashi looked around his neighborhood. Here and there, smoke drifted up from some of the houses along his way as families prepared breakfast; the aroma of cooking food riding on the hot morning breeze. He stopped for a minute and gazed at the skyline of Mt. Konpira and Urakami Village in the clear, early morning sunlight. Thin clouds drifted across the pastel sky, as if rendered in the style of the old prints and paintings: a view of which he never tired.

     Twenty-five minutes later, he arrived at the Nagasaki Medical College where he first checked into his small office in the Outpatient Clinic on the second floor, read his messages, and then left to teach his first class of the day as an associate professor. Shortly before eleven o'clock, he was back at his desk, just getting comfortable and preparing to sort through a stack of x-ray photographs, when he thought he heard a sound outside, somewhere in the distance. Takashi stood up, walked to the window, and peered out into the bright day. The sky was still the pastel blue of Japan, the same sky that one can see in countless prints by Hiroshige and Hokusai; but now a large, thick cloud hovered over Urakami Catholic Cathedral.

     He listened. There it was: a sound, which seemed to be coming from somewhere above the cloud. The noise then faded away. He listened again. Yes, there it was, a dull buzzing, which gradually grew into a low-pitched roar. "A B-29?" he wondered. "Yes, that must be it." He had heard them with increasing frequency during the past few weeks as they made their way north to Honshu: Osaka and Tokyo. He looked upward and squinted against the sun's glare; but he couldn't see the now familiar silhouette of the American bomber. There was only the drone of the approaching engines - growing louder - growing closer. Takashi remained by the window for another few moments, hoping to catch a glimpse of the giant plane.

     At 11:02, there occurred a sudden, brilliant flash of light - white light - followed in an instant by a tremendous blast. He was violently thrown into the air amid a mass of broken wood and sharp glass shards as the window imploded. As if in a dream, a surreal scene, he drifted in  slow motion through a sea of rubble; a bed, bookshelves and their contents, pieces of paper, chunks of galvanized metal, plaster, and wood danced through the air in random motions with a brontide, that unearthly, low rumbling thunder-like noise, caused by earthquakes so familiar to anyone who lived in Japan, throbbing in the background. Just as suddenly, the nightmare ended and both he and the rubble fell to the floor.

     Takashi was buried. His eyes were open; yet, he couldn't see, as though he were a blind person. As he lay there, beneath the wreckage, he wondered what had happened. He could feel something, as if warm water was inching, trickling down to his neck from the right side of his head - but there was no pain. Was he alive or dead? At that very instant of thought, all sound stopped. There was nothing but darkness and silence: the perfect silence of the mu world - the empty underworld of legend.

     "Takashi-san! Takashi-san! Takashi-san!"

     He heard a voice calling to him out of the dark void.

     "Takashi-san! Takashi-san! Takashi-san!"

     He could hear it clearer now - his wife's voice in the darkness.

     "Midori!" he called out - at least he thought he heard himself call out. "Run away!"

     "I am alright. I am with Christ. My name is 'Maria.'"

     "Where are you?" he called out. "Midori, where are you?"

     Fireworks burst across the darkness, like a chrysanthemum-burst of light; and there was his beloved Midori standing amid the beautiful lights, dressed in a blue monpe and white blouse: the same clothes she had worn so many years ago when they went to watch summer fireworks together for the first time. Behind her, beautiful colored flowers of light flashed and disappeared, only to reappear and disappear, again and again. A spark fell on her, but she just stood there smiling.

     "Midori! Watch out! Come here!" Takashi reached out for his wife, but she did not move.

     "Takashi-san. It's so beautiful here. Do you understand? The fireworks are for the repose of the souls of those who have died. I am here, waiting for you."

     Again, the fireworks flashed, and when they had disappeared, so had Midori. Takashi simply lay there, not knowing how much time had passed, if he was alive or dead, if it was day or night.

     "Nagai-sensei! Nagai-sensei!" It was the voice of his assistant. He strained to regain his consciousness. He felt hands on him - human hands; and he suddenly realized he was alive and being pulled from the detritus by his assistant and others from the medical school. Reality slowly returned and he realized that he was in trouble. He knew now a vein, at his right temple, had been cut. Summoning all his faculties, he ripped his own shirt apart and fashioned a bandage to bind it. Then, he stood up and set to work; there were other victims, much worse off than he was, who needed his help - he was alive, and he was a doctor of medicine.

     A day later, dirty, his clothes stained with soot and blood, exhausted and barely able to stand, Takashi slowly made his way home. The sun rose as usual from Mt. Konpira and gave its blessing of light to the earth; yet, there was no life left in Urakami Village to receive the benediction. With an effort, he eventually reached the burnt ruins of his home and called for his wife. There was no answer, only the terrible roar of silence. He continued to call out to her as he began digging through the destruction. It was then that his worst fears were realized. There, amid the scorched timbers, lay the charred bones of poor Midori, her melted rosary with its cross, still around her neck.

     He clutched the prayer beads in his hands and then slumped in grief over his dear wife's body. No one knows for how long he remained like that, until a neighbor at last pulled him away.

     Some years later, the poet Sato Hachiro would write:

My wife was called to Heaven by God.

She left me for that world.

As a memory of her, she left her rosary.

My white tears on the rosary's chain - 

Ah, the bells of Nagasaki ring.

Comfort and encouragement for Nagasaki.

     Takashi Nagai later wrote of the bells of Nagasaki [1]:

     These are the bells that did not ring for weeks or months after the disaster. May there never be a time when they do not ring! May they ring out this message of peace until the morning of the day on which the world ends.

     This year [2012], fire flowers will blossom in the night sky over Nagasaki, again to console the victims. It is the sixty-seventh summer since the bombings of the city.

     Takashi Nagai, even though ill and slowly dying from leukemia, a direct result of the radiation from the bomb that fell on Nagasaki, dedicated the remainder of his life to prayer and service to the other victims. He died on May 1, 1951. Midori and Takashi's son, Makoto, and daughter, Kayano, survived their mother and father, having been evacuated to another town.

[1]  The Bells of Nagasaki, written by Takashi Nagai in 1949, was refused publication in post-war Japan on the orders of General MacArthur and his GHQ administration until an appendix was added, which described alleged atrocities in the Philippines. This appendix was later removed.


Translated and edited by Tokugawa H.

COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Aoi Tokugawa and Shisei-Dō Publications. Japanese version Copyright © 2012 by Aoi Tokugawa and Shisei-Dō Publications.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States and Japan by Shisei-Dō Publications. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

ELEPHANT ROCKS II

ALONG THE NATURAL TRAIL: Oniwa Park, Mitake, Gifu-ken.

MORNING MUSINGS OVER COFFEE

MORNING MUSINGS OVER COFFEE

It was an interesting week here in Lake Wobegon – oh wait, that’s Garrison Keillor’s line. Well, anyway it was an interesting week, what with an out-of-season storm that brought snow to the mountains, heavy rain and wind to the city scattering what few sakura were still left on the trees, and the end of the spring break necessitating my going back to work at the university. It’s amazing how only a couple of weeks rest will necessitate massive doses of aspirin when classes start up again! “Oh, the pain, the pain, the pain. I’m getting too old for this!” But the most exciting thing to happen was more in keeping with my activities as a quasi-journalist/writer/historian. It’s no secret that I am an enthusiastic student of Japanese history. Several years ago I published an essay on a figure from post-Meiji history which became extremely popular; however, when I wrote it, I had it in the back of my mind that someday, it could be possibly expanded to a neat little book – if I could find more information.

Recently I started to re-write the essay and expand it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, not a heavy chore, but suddenly I found myself delving deeper and deeper into the history of the Taisho period and the early Showa period, which is fascinating. But I also found myself (of necessity) exploring Chinese history going back to the 1400s, then to the First Opium War, the Qing Dynasty, the Boxer Rebellion, and the Xinhai revolution, Emperor Pu Yi and on and on. I’ve watched “The Last Emperor three times this week if for no other reason than to immerse myself in the era. Even though I surficially knew that Japanese history and Chinese history (not to mention politics) was labarynthine, I had no real idea: twists and turns, plots and subplots, it goes on and on. Well, I thought the treatment of the person that the essay focused on was rather straightforward and conclusive. Then, little bits of new information were revealed, which led to questions and then more questions. Sources were checked and found limited at best; some sources in China (actually as it turns out some of the most important sources) were made unavailable to me and in some cases I was just plain blocked. China, it seems doesn’t like snoops!

Now this simple rewrite project has turned into a full-scale investigation and I even now have my very own “secret agent” in China doing the snooping for me! Suddenly lots of information has been uncovered which is leading to new possibilities for investigation, new information on interrelationships of people involved that I wasn’t aware of – it’s become even more labarynthine – and one heck of a lot of fun! Makes me want to put on my old fedora and trench coat! I can’t wait to see what information develops next 

Copyright 2013 by Hayato Tokugawa and Shisei-Do Publications. All rights reserved.

THOUGHTS FROM A TAKAYAMA ROOFTOP: Musings on a View of History

Musings on a View of History

kishamichi ni
hikuku kari tobu
tsukiyo kana

low over the railroad
wild geese flying –
a moonlight night

-Shiki

The warm days of summer are now gone and the soft, gentle breeze that drifted through the open doors of my study and rustled the papers on my desk has grown teeth. In summer, it would make its way through this old “samurai house,” blending indoors with out, lending a certain tenderness and ease to life. Today, sweater replaces yukata, iced tea is now traded for steaming coffee. Last night the wind shook the closed shutters over our doors and windows, as though demanding entry: equal time with the zephyrs of mid-year. Now our warmth comes from the electric heater and the fire which crackles and snaps from the pit in the main tatami room, on which rides the smoky incense of oak rather than the perfume of flowers and fresh grass.

As I look through the sliding glass door of my refuge, filled with the volumes of Japan past which stir my imagination and answer my questions, only then give birth to new queries, I can see the cats at play in the garden; enjoying the day in their newly fluffed coats. The old puss perches high up on the gate, surveying her domain, as though she is some ancient daimyō watching over her han (domain). The two young ones dart here and there; games of hide-and-seek or perhaps imagining themselves as tigers in the wild; hiding in the now brown grass; waiting for some elusive prey to venture too close to their place of cover. Occasionally one cat ventures out to the edge of the pond and looks in. Yes, the koi are all still there in their places. Then he’s off again to pounce on his preoccupied sibling who just found a mouse. All too soon, the pond will be covered with ice, the ground will be blanketed in snow, and the garden mice will be safe in their nests below the porch.

One cannot help but to smile a bit at the moment, and then I look at the volumes of history that line the walls of my room and think about autumns long ago. Did Tokugawa Ieyasu look out his window at Edo Castle, or later at Sanpu in Suruga, and see similar scenes? Some might say no, he was without doubt too busy plotting and scheming. I think he did see such things and probably thought deeply upon them in his later years. Nevertheless, that is a difference in the viewing of history.



History is merely an attempt to write about events that belong to the past. What is written depends on documents: manuscripts, essays, and articles from the period being written about. Modern-day topics and events are often regarded as being too ordinary and thus, unworthy of documentation except as television newsbytes or a few short columns in a newspaper.
I often find myself wondering how historians, perhaps two or three centuries from now, will regard the last few years, and especially this year of 2009, in viewing Japan or the United States. Will they describe 2009 as a year when America began to once again find direction and to re-assume a position of world leadership, this time for the betterment of the world in general and in particular for its own citizens; or, will they perhaps hold 2009 up as enduring evidence that a once great notion grew too big to sustain itself and its ideals, and in the end failed?

Will they say that Japan continued its socio-political decline, and that its culture continued to erode, giving way to the forces of globalization, just as a beach is consumed by the waves of an approaching typhoon, or will they perhaps say that 2009 was a year when Japan, at last, broke free from the miasma from which it suffered, beginning at the end of World War II? Did Japan at last find its feet and stand up to demand equity with the United States among the nations of the world and cast off its acquiescence to Western domination?

Recently I wrote a short essay on the topic of Bushidō and its core. The article, much to my delight, stirred more than a little controversy and debate, which in itself, was a very good thing; for in my mind, such writing has little point unless it stirs thought and stimulates discussion. The essay and resulting commentary became the subject of conversations among myself and other Japanese with a more than passing interest in Japanese culture and history. Some were outraged by the views expressed by a group from the San Francisco Bay Area: others were simply dismayed. More than one comment was made that they should “admit their shame and end their life.” The comment was also made that some, whose samurai heritage had been insulted, would be more than willing to assist the group in the called for acts of seppuku. Some may indeed by surprised that one’s samurai heritage can be insulted, more than one hundred and forty years after the conclusion (note I did not say fall) of the Tokugawa Era. Most Japanese, even those who we might term as “liberals” are far more conservative than their American liberal cousins are. Most Japanese still attach great significance to their family histories: their clans and their samurai heritage. That is being Japanese.

Certainly, the group, Asians Art Museum, which parodies the San Francisco Asian Art Museum, has every right to express their views and opinions; indeed, I encourage it. Yet, the Japanese who read it and expressed their opinions to me, felt that the group’s views were tainted, that there was a certain “agenda” not too well hidden beneath their words: expressions marked with an irony that does not translate to Japanese thought. Among the Japanese students of Japanese history, none of my associates regard themselves as scholars but simply as students, sincehistory is an unending process of study and analysis– a process we often engage in over coffee, tea, sake and snacks (we try to do things with a bit of flair), the view was frequently expressed that aspiring or pseudo-historians tend to notice or to select records which match their own pre-conceptions of the past and support (or can be bent to support) their own personal, revisionist agendas; that is, they have an ax to grind.






Certainly there exits confusion about the complexities of Japanese history, even among Japanese. In this particular case, however, we have Western historians giving interpretation to Japanese history. In the West, modern historians still are greatly influenced by 18th century theories of history and long-past Age of Enlightenment in Europe. They still regard the European medieval age as the “dark ages” and as a corollary, the age of Japanese feudalism: cruel, dark, dismal. Certainly some Japanese historians and intellectuals (such as Nitobé Inazo) are equally as guilty of this view, having themselves imported ideals of Western feudalism and overlaying them on unique, Japanese concepts. Add to that a certain taint of Marxism interlaced with the American penchant for political correctness, and the overall result becomes skewed. A result is the compartmentalization of Japanese history into Japan’s “Classical Era,” Japan’s “Feudal Era” or Dark Ages, and the Modern or “Post-Tokugawa Era”, when it is far more complex than that. This tends to perpetuate the selective (and often simplistic) reporting of history: ignoring the complexities of Japanese history, which can be likened to the weaving of some fine tapestry.

Nevertheless, the overall result of the discussions was twofold. First, that certainly, everyone should be free to express their thoughts and opinions, even though it may lack wisdom or good manners – expression is essential. The second conclusion was that Japanese history and its interpretation should be left to Japanese, since the West is not equipped to understand and appreciate Japanese thought and the depth of Japanese culture and the intricacies of its history.

(To be continued)

-Tokugawa H.

Copyright 2009 by H. Tokugawa and Shisei-Do Publications. All rights reserved.

Sakura and Samurai

THOUGHTS FROM A TAKAYAMA ROOFTOP:

Some thoughts by Aoi Tokugawa-sensei on

Japanese Thought, Samurai, and Bushido.

I think of history as a series of lines, not dots. Many of the small things, the small day-to-day things that occurred maybe be regarded as dots, for example a fire, a storm, a flood; but not the major events (a war, a coup, a regime change, etc.). These things are connected to other events of the past with a straight line. The same can be said of the history of thought.

The evolution of thought definitely occurs at the various turning points in the history.
It does not pop into the mind as if God’s own voice. In order for thought to spread through society, it requires a background that people can accept. For example:

Why didn’t European Chivalry take root in Japan?
Why didn’t Islam religion take root in Japan?

I have never seen a Japanese who perform prayers five times in a day and abstain from food, nor do we accept Muslim dogma. Why? Because we Japanese have no background, no history which would permit us to accept it.

The “background” I mention could be anything from a shared history (and shared experiences) to a shared culture (shared thought, aesthetics, character). It could possibly extend to a shared DNA: Japanese DNA inherited from our ancestors – the ancient Japanese. Much of what we are is carried in our DNA; however, this is not something unique to Japanese but common to all the people in the world. No one completely understands the evolution of DNA or how national and social characteristics are passed along, but it would seem that they are. It is part of what makes a Japanese, Japanese, and all Japanese thinking, our viewpoint of the world and ourselves come, in part, from it.

Why do Japanese love Sakura? Because we are Japanese. That is all that needs to be said.

Samurai and Kamikaze pilots must have seen their life in Sakura. Yet, there are people who think that the Sakura is an icon of militarism. Certainly there is a relationship between Sakura and militarism: it is true so I won’t try to deny it. However, for the majority, when we see Sakura, everyone senses its beauty. No one thinks, “Oh! Militarism has blossomed. Oh! Sakura is terrible!”

What I want to discuss in this blog, in the future, is Japanese thought. But do not be too concerned, as I will not harp on the matter of DNA as I mentioned briefly above – it is too difficult a topic for most people, including myself.

The thought has form but no form; we cannot touch it or hold it, but the form reveals itself in human’s behavior.

When it comes to the Japanese thought, the first thing that comes to mind is Bushido.

“Loyality” exists in Bushido thinking as a major principle. Did every samurai obey it? The answer is no. The actual, historical samurai is different from the popular image of samurai (cool and gentlemanly); an image we receive from movies and literature. Because the historical samurai is different from the “pop” samurai, some are inclined to say that Loyalty was a quality that didn’t exist in samurai.

They felt hunger, they felt pain when a sword cut them; and to die, was terrible. Some of them hated even the thought of hari-kiri: “No, no, I don’t want to die that way!”
The existence of such samurai is to be expected, because they were human beings: not supermen. A few were even brats; yet aside from them, we can see the form of Loyalty in the good, ethical behavior of the samurai.

Thanks to Nitobe Inazo and his book on Bushido and the film The Last Samurai, I think everyone has a bit of knowledge now about Bushido and the Hagakure. However, few seem to know about Shido, which is vastly different from Bushido as described by Nitobe or in the Hagakure.

Shido was born as Japan became peaceful society during the Edo Period, parented by such men as Soko Yamaga, Sorai Ogyu who were Confucians. How is Shido different from Bushido? Let me show you a bit of the difference through example.

In the film The Last Samurai, there are lines of dialog that clearly illustrate Shido. In one of the last scenes of the film, after the death of Katsumoto (Ken Wtanabe) in battle against the government forces lead by the Meiji Era oligarch, Omura; the central character Algren (Tom Cruise) has an audience with Emperor Meiji and presents him with Katsumoto’s sword.

“Tell me how he (Katsumoto) died,” said the Emperor.

“I will tell you how he lived,” answered Algren.

Here then, in these two lines,is the difference between Bushido and Shido, layed out for us. How to die is Bushido. How to live is Shido. It is said that Bushido is the philosophy of death; Shido is the philosophy of life.

There are those who regard Shido (those who even know of it) as the opposite extreme of Bushido; yet, I disagree. Bushido and Shido are bound together by the same core of thought: To die with honor, one must live with honor. As one lives honorably, one may then die honorably, just as the cherry blossom (Sakura).

There were many samurai who based their lives on the principles of Shido; such as Byako-tai, the men of the Shinsengumi, the 47 Ronin. In simple terms, they were the personification of loyalty and products of loyalty.

Later, I will tell you of the 47-Ronin and through their thoughts and behavior, I believe we will be able to see and better understand Japanese thought and Shido. We might even talk more about Japanese DNA!

*There are many terms in the Japanese language and thus in Japanese history which are difficult to translate into English. I will use the Japanese words and then attempt to explain their meanings and concepts to the reader. Also, please bear in mind that this is not an academic paper, but simply my thoughts, my blog, so I will write it in my own, humble style.