The revolt that reshaped Tokugawa foreign policy

In the autumn of 1637, peasants on the Shimabara Peninsula in western Kyushu rose in rebellion, sparking what would become the largest uprising of the Edo era (1603-1867). At the time, much of the population was Christian, the area having been ruled by devout daimyō who promoted the religion during the last decades of the 16th century. The Tokugawa shogunate, realizing that Christians could place their loyalty to the Church and fellow believers above their loyalty to the shogun, had banned Christianity in 1614. Shimabara’s daimyō, Matsukura Katsuie, zealously enforced this ban in his domain, executing believers and destroying churches.

Adding to the persecution, the peasantry struggled under the heavy taxation imposed by Matsukura Katsuie and his counterpart in Amakusa, Terazawa Katataka. Seeking funds to maintain Shimabara Castle and win shogunate favor through military contributions, Matsukura raised taxes despite poor harvests, ignoring the famines and droughts that ravaged much of Kyushu. Those unable to pay were punished and tortured. Starvation became widespread, and many families were reduced to eating grass and tree bark. As discontent grew, the region’s many rōnin—masterless samurai whose former lords had been dispossessed—began meeting secretly with local peasants to plan a revolt.

Although desperation to relieve the harsh taxation seemed to be the main cause of the uprising, one unfortunate overreach is rumored to have set it off. On October 25, 1637, Matsukura’s officials seized a peasant’s daughter as payment for overdue taxes, which provoked local villagers to attack the officials. This revolt grew and spread, eventually uniting thousands of peasants and rōnin.

Leading the rebels was Amakusa Shirō, a 16-year-old whose charisma and claims of divine visions inspired hopes of victory. Carrying crosses and banners bearing Christian prayers, the rebels attacked Tomioka Castle in Amakusa and then Shimabara Castle but failed to capture either. They withdrew to the abandoned Hara Castle on the southern tip of the Shimabara Peninsula, where they repaired its walls, strengthened its defenses, and began rationing what little food they had.

To quash the rebellion, the shogunate called upon daimyō from across Kyushu to provide troops, assembling an army of more than 125,000 men to besiege Hara Castle. It also enlisted the assistance of the Dutch, who sent the ship De Ryp from Hirado to bombard the fortress in January 1638. The shelling caused little damage, and according to contemporary accounts, the rebels mocked the besieging army, sending them a message asking, “Are there no longer courageous soldiers in the realm to fight us? Are you not ashamed to call upon foreigners against so small a force?” 

The siege went on for three months. The rebel forces succeeded in a few brave attacks, but their lack of supplies gradually weakened their defenses. On April 12, 1638, shogunate forces launched their final assault. Three days later, Hara Castle fell. An estimated 37,000 rebels and sympathizers were slaughtered, their bodies buried among the ruins. The few survivors, mostly women and children, were executed or enslaved.

Amakusa Shirō was captured, interrogated by shogunate officials, and beheaded. His severed head was displayed in Nagasaki as a grisly deterrent to Christians and would-be rebels.

The rebellion also claimed the lives of some 4,000 shogunate troops. The Tokugawa government held Matsukura Katsuie responsible for the unrest that had led to the uprising. Later that year, he was executed in Edo, the only daimyō put to death by the shogunate during the Edo period. Terazawa Katataka’s Amakusa domain was confiscated, and he lived in disgrace in Edo until taking his own life in 1647.

Because of the slaughter, the Shimabara Peninsula was severely depopulated. People were brought in from other domains to resettle. All were required to register with Buddhist temples as part of the shogunate’s policies to identify and suppress Christianity. They were also subjected to periodic fumie, a practice introduced in 1629 in which people were required to step on Christian images to prove they were not Christians. Refusing to was punishable by torture and death.

Soon after the Shimabara Rebellion, the Tokugawa shogunate moved further toward national seclusion by expelling the Portuguese, confining the Dutch to the man-made island of Dejima in Nagasaki Harbor, and tightening its control over foreign trade.

The post The Shimabara Rebellion—The Last Stand of Japan’s Christians first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Kagoshima’s Unique Cat Shrine

Decades before Europeans started using pocket watches, Shimadzu Yoshihiro relied on a different, more cuddly timepiece. This valorous samurai was the 17th head of the Shimadzu family, feudal lords of all of southern Kyushu since 1185.

By Yoshihiro’s time in the late 16th century, Toyotomi Hideyoshi had succeeded in unifying Japan, but his ambitions did not stop there. Flushed with success, he set his sights on China and, in 1592, sent Japanese armies across the sea to Korea to clear the way.

At the behest of Hideyoshi, Shimadzu Yoshihiro set off to battle in Korea, bringing along his treasured katana, tanegashima machlock gun, kemari ball—and seven cats to help him keep track of the time, and one would suppose, to keep him company.

Fighting on the Korean peninsula was fierce. Japanese forces faced off against the armies of the Joseon Kingdom, reinforced by the vast and seemingly inexhaustible troops of Ming China. The samurai fought valiantly, and none moreso than Yoshihiro, who distinguished himself to such a degree that Ming soldiers nicknamed him “The Demon Shimadzu.”

Nevertheless, Hideyoshi’s dream of becoming emperor of China ended in tremendous losses. After his death at his lavish Kyoto residence, the weary samurai finally retreated, bringing with them slaves, apothecaries, master potters—and, in Yoshihiro’s case, his two surviving cats, Yachi and Take.

On his return to Kagoshima, Yoshihiro had a shrine built on the grounds of Kagoshima Castle next to the toki no kane, the bell used to mark the hours for the town. There, his loyal cats were enshrined as Shinto deities and christened the Kami (Shinto god) of Time.

After the Meiji Restoration in 1868 ended the feudal system in Japan, the Shimadzu family left the castle grounds and moved to their seaside villa, Senganen, bringing the Cat Shrine with them. Today, it remains on a quiet hill behind the Shimadzu estate, one of the very few cat shrines in Japan—and the only one dedicated to the keeping of time.

Memorial Services

Each year on “Cat Day,” February 22, the shrine holds the Aibyō Chōju Kigan-sai, a ceremony to pray for the health and longevity of beloved cats.

Another ceremony is held on the little-known Toki no Hi, or “Time Day,” which commemorates the day in 671 AD when Emperor Tenji installed Japan’s first water clock in his capital at Otsu, in what is now Shiga Prefecture. Because Yoshihiro’s cats were instrumental in timekeeping—so much so that Yachi and Take came to be revered as Kami of Time—the shrine holds a Memorial Service for Cats, Aibyo Kuyo-sai, on that day. Clockmakers and cat-lovers alike flock to the shrine to honor Yoshihiro’s trusted “time cats” and the military precision he achieved during the Korean campaigns, thanks to their help.

The shrine’s ema depict Yoshihiro’s two cats. Visitors write their prayers and wishes on these wooden votive tablets and hang them at the shrine. Some ask for the return of a missing cat, others for healing, but most simply pray for long, healthy lives for their furry friends.

How to tell time with a cat

In the mid-17th century, the scholar Tanigawa Shisei penned this catchy poem to explain how to tell time by observing a cat’s eyes. As is typical of Japanese, the subject is understood.

Translated from the Edo-era time terminology, the poem reads:

At sunrise and sunset, they are round.

At 8 am and 4 pm, they are egg-shaped.

At 10 am and 2 pm, they are melon-seed shaped*

At noon, like a needle.

*Melon-seed was a common descriptive shape back in the day, probably more familiar to us as the shape of a persimmon seed.

Anyone who has spent time around cats will have noticed this. Their pupils widen into dark circles at night and narrow to thin slits in bright daylight. By learning these changes and keeping a cooperative cat handy, it’s possible to make a rough, but practical, estimate of the time.

If you ever find yourself in Kagoshima, consider visiting Senganen and seeking out the Cat Shrine dedicated to the Kami of Time—the only one of its kind in Japan.

I don’t think I’ll ever look at a cat the same way again.

The post Cats—From Battlefield Timekeepers to Unexpected Shinto Deities first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

After surviving centuries of persecution, the Hidden Christians are quietly disappearing

Traveling around Japan, I’ve come upon some unusual statues, testaments to the years Christianity was deemed a crime punishable by death. From the Maria Jizo of Narai in Nagano, to the Maria Kannon’s of Nagasaki, Christians made do with what they could contrive to keep their faith fresh.

A Little History of Christianity in Japan

Christianity reached Japan in 1549, when the Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier stepped ashore on southern Kyushu. The religion spread rapidly through Kyushu, accelerated by the conversion of daimyō such as Ōtomo Sōrin of Bungo (present-day Ōita), Ōmura Sumitada of the Ōmura domain, and Arima Harunobu of the Shimabara domain (both part of present-day Nagasaki). Their embrace of Christianity gave the religion a measure of protection and prestige, but their zealousness and eagerness to please the missionaries resulted in the destruction of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines in their domains, as well as the forced conversion of their subjects. 

Nevertheless, sincere Christian communities sprang up throughout Kyushu, centered in Nagasaki. Under Jesuit influence, the port developed into both a haven for believers and a thriving hub of Portuguese trade.

The Jesuits were followed by Spanish Franciscans, Dominicans, and Augustinians, whose missionary work further expanded the Christian community. By the end of the 16th century, an estimated 300,000 Japanese had converted to Christianity, out of a nationwide population of roughly 15-22 million.

This period of tolerance did not last. In 1587, Toyotomi Hideyoshi issued the Bateren Edict ordering missionaries to leave Japan, although it was only loosely enforced. A decade later, the crucifixion of 26 Christians in Nagasaki set a grim precedent.
The Tokugawa shogunate banned Christianity outright in 1614, and by the 1620s most missionaries had been expelled, and believers faced torture, execution, or pressure to renounce their faith.

The 1637–1638 Shimabara Rebellion of mostly Christian peasants, desperate from heavy taxation and famine, culminated in the expulsion of the Portuguese, as well as the 1641 confinement of the Dutch to Dejima, severing any possible Christian ties to the outside world. Christianity became punishable by death, with believers either killed or driven underground. Many became Kakure Kirishitan, Hidden Christians.

Life in Hiding (1640s–1850s)

The Hidden Christians developed ingenious ways to preserve their religion. Statues of the Virgin Mary were disguised as Kannon, the Buddhist bodhisattva of mercy, and crosses and rosaries were hidden inside Buddhist icons.

Central to the continuation of their faith were prayers called orasho, in a mix of Latin and 16th-century Portuguese and Japanese, chanted in rhythms resembling Buddhist sutras. Passed down from generation to generation, reciting the orasho eventually became more of a ritual in itself rather than fully understood words.

Remote islands such as Goto and Ikitsuki became Christian refuges. There, believers organized into kumi, groups of ten to twenty families that doubled as fishing cooperatives and covert congregations. They disguised baptisms as blessings for new boats and orasho as chants for good fortune at sea. Crosses were hidden in nets and gear, and stones arranged into a cross on ancestors’ graves offered a secret moment of prayer before being scattered.

With few priests, lay leaders arose. The mizukata performed baptisms, and the chōkata kept the calendar of holy days to continue the community’s liturgical traditions. The most important of these traditions was Otaiya, a type of Christmas mass held on December 23. The bread and wine of the Eucharist were replaced with rice, dried fish, and sake. The officiant placed a bit of the sanctified fish and rice on his upturned palms before eating, reflecting the Catholic sacrament.

Yet even with such careful adaptations and secrecy, persecution never ceased. Under the Tokugawa-mandated terauke seido system, every household was required to register with a Buddhist temple, and annual fumie tests forced suspected Christians to trample images of Christ or the Virgin Mary. Refusal meant torture and execution.

Still, hidden enclaves endured. By the 1790s, the rugged coastline of Sotome and the isolated Goto Islands are said to have sheltered as many as 3,000 Hidden Christians, who lived as farmers and fishermen while gathering in caves or homes to pray.

Rediscovery in the Meiji Era (1868-1912)

In 1863, French priest Bernard Petitjean of the Paris Foreign Missions Society arrived in Nagasaki and oversaw the construction of Oura Cathedral, which was completed the following year for foreign residents.

On March 17, 1865, Petitjean was astonished when 15 timid visitors from nearby Urakami quietly entered his church. They asked to see the statue of the Virgin Mary and to be assured of his ties to the Pope, explaining that they had preserved the sacraments and liturgy in secret for 250 years. Petitjean’s report to Rome stunned the Christian world, and Pope Pius IX hailed the moment as the “Miracle of the Orient.”

This “Discovery of the Hidden Christians” encouraged secret believers in Nagasaki, Sotome, and the Goto Islands to reveal themselves, though some paid a heavy price. On Hisaka Island, newly emboldened Christians openly declared their faith, only to face arrest in what became known as the Goto Kuzure, the Goto Collapse. About 200 Christians were imprisoned in a 20-square-meter cell (215 square feet), where 43 of the weakest, mostly children and the elderly, perished. When Father Petitjean learned of their confinement, he publicized their plight, which led to international calls for Japan to end the persecution.

Legacy of Resilience

Freedom for Christians came in 1873, when the Meiji government, under foreign pressure, lifted the ban on Christianity. Roughly 30,000 Hidden Christians emerged, many rejoining the Catholic Church. Others, particularly in the Goto Islands and on Ikitsuki, chose to continue the syncretic traditions of their ancestors. These communities hold the few Hidden Christians who survive today.

Through their generations, the prayers and rituals of the Hidden Christians evolved into customs unlike any other Christians in the world. No longer Japanese, Portuguese, or Latin, their prayers have been passed down written in the phonetic syllabary of katakana, their meaning all but lost. Even so, the faith carried on through the heartfelt sincerity of the believers.

The Hidden Christians’ survival across two and a half centuries of persecution, from Nagasaki’s hillsides to Goto’s remote caves, is nothing short of extraordinary. Yet in recent decades, as younger generations leave rural villages for the cities, few remain to carry on the traditions. The faith that once survived in secrecy under harsh persecution is now quietly disappearing.

Those Hidden Christians who rejoined the Catholics went on to build churches, such as Sakitsu Church in Amakusa in 1888, and Egami Church in Goto in 1918. In 2018, these and other related locations were recognized collectively as UNESCO World Heritage: Hidden Christian Sites in the Nagasaki Region.

The post Japan’s Hidden Christians first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The ultimate in sacrifice for others

For centuries, some individuals in Japan willingly underwent the grueling process of sokushinbutsu, 即身仏, self-mummification. This extreme ritual was believed to lead to enlightenment and would transform the practitioner into a Living Buddha. The characters of sokushinbutsu—即 “at once,” 身 “this body,” and 仏 “Buddha”—reveal its meaning. These transcendent beings are revered for their ultimate sacrifice, having dedicated themselves to alleviating the suffering of others caused by illness, epidemics, and famines. 

Self-mummification dates back to ancient China and was later brought to Japan, where it evolved under the influence of Kūkai (774–835), the founder of Shingon Buddhism. Kūkai’s esoteric teaching emphasized that through rigorous spiritual practice, one could attain Buddhahood in their present existence — a concept known as sokushin jōbutsu. 

According to tradition, Kūkai himself achieved this state over 1,200 years ago. Today, he remains in eternal meditation within his mausoleum at Okunoin—an expansive, ancient cemetery within the Kōyasan temple complex in Wakayama Prefecture. To this day, monks continue to offer him meals each morning and night.

Dewa Sanzan

I was given the rare opportunity of visiting one of these living Buddhas in the mountains of the Dewa Sanzan, which consists of the sacred peaks of Mount Haguro, Mount Gassan, and Mount Yudono in northern Yamagata Prefecture. The Dewa Sanzan is home to the most known sokushinbutsu, with six of Japan’s 18 known mummies, although both these numbers are disputed.

I use the term “known” because, at the start of the Meiji era (1868–1912), self-mummification was outlawed, and the locations of those who had recently undergone the process were lost. Many more sokushinbutsu may remain hidden in remote mountain regions, still waiting to be exhumed. In fact, several previously unknown mummies were discovered by chance in 1959.

But sokushinbutsu are not the only mummies in Japan. Four generations of the Northern Fujiwara family were embalmed, mummified, and interred beneath the altars of the golden Konjikidō at Chūsonji temple in Iwate Prefecture. Well, only the head of the youngest.

How to become a living Buddha

Achieving self-mummification required adhering to a strict diet, sometimes for as long as ten years, to prevent decomposition after eventual death by starvation. The practitioner undertook mokujiki shugyō, “tree eating,” to reduce body tissue as much as possible. Practitioners abstained from eating gokoku-dachi, the five staple grains—rice, barley, soybeans, foxtail millet, and proso millet. Instead, they consumed the products of the forest, such as nuts, berries, pine needles, bark, resin, and the cores of bamboo leaves. As the months passed, the amount eaten was reduced.

The idea was to eliminate all fat and any substances that could contribute to bodily decay after death. The long, slow process of deliberate desiccation began with the body burning fat, which reduced subcutaneous fat and moisture levels—primary causes of decay. The practitioner would remain still, allowing the body to consume muscle as an alternate source of glucose.

To help the body become less prone to decomposition, some practitioners are thought to have consumed pine-needle tea or urushi, the sap of the lacquer tree. Pine-needle tea is believed to destroy gut bacteria, preventing them from consuming the body post-mortem. Similarly, drinking urushi may have served as a form of internal preservation, helping to deter decay.

This torturous lifestyle continued for 3,000 days—days filled with the chanting of sutras. When his body had withered to little more than skin and bones, the practitioner moved to an underground chamber, about three meters deep, where he was essentially buried alive. A bamboo tube inserted through the ceiling provided oxygen. 

In the complete darkness of this nyūjō-zuka, chamber of enlightenment, he sat meditating, fasting, and chanting sutras while ringing a bell. When the bell ceased to ring, it signaled he had entered metsushinjō — the extinction of the mind and attainment of stillness. His chamber was then sealed for three years.

This ritual was beyond harsh, and it was hardly foolproof. Many who attempted the process failed, dying before they achieved their goal. Or perhaps their bodies decayed even after enduring the severe 3,000-day regimen.

Shonin Honmyōkai

The sokushinbutsu that I encountered was at the Honmyōji temple in Tsuruoka, Yamagata. His name is Shonin Honmyōkai, and he entered nyūjō in 1683.

In his youth, he was a samurai named Togashi Yoshibei, who served the Shonai clan. When he was 39, his lord became deathly ill. Yoshibei and other vassals went to sacred Mount Yudono to pray for his healing. His lord was, indeed, healed.

But, instead of returning to the service of his lord, as was expected, Yoshibei stayed on Mount Yudono to continue his Buddhist prayers. Enraged by what he saw as desertion, his lord punished him by canceling his marriage and withholding his salary. Undeterred, Yoshibei entered Chūrenji Temple as a disciple and took the name Honmyōkai to mark the beginning of his new life of asceticism. The “kai” in his name is the kanji kai 海, taken in honor of Kūkai.

Moved by the hardships and recurring famines endured by the villagers living near the temple, he resolved to become a Buddha who could intercede on their behalf. He yearned to help ease their suffering and save them from their difficult lives. With this goal in mind, he began his nine-year process of self-mummification.

Honmyōkai endured a life of extreme asceticism. He slept outside, experienced countless insect bites, and ate and slept little. From a spot overlooking settlements and fields, he ceaselessly prayed for the local people’s prosperity and chanted sutras. As the years passed, his body gradually shrank and lost strength.

When sufficiently weak, he did what he could to help prepare the chamber where he would be entombed. In the darkness of this underground crypt, he continued to pray and chant. Finally, his bell ceased to ring, and those keeping vigil knew that he had entered nyūjyō—the state of eternal meditation transcending ordinary consciousness, as Kūkai had done before him.

His tomb was sealed. 

A Living Buddha

Three years later, Honmyōkai’s tomb was opened to see if he had succeeded with mummification and had thus attained a high spiritual state. His body was completely preserved. He had become a Living Buddha and could intercede for those in need. Since then, he has been enshrined at Honmyōji temple as a Buddha. He is still worshipped today.

Every twelve years, his garments are changed in a solemn and private ritual. His old robes are cut, and small pieces are enclosed in cloth packets sold as omamori, charms believed to bring blessings and protection to those who carry them. 

As the priest of Honmyōji reminded me, the blessings and conveniences we enjoy today are thanks to the sacrifices and efforts of those who came before us — Honmyōkai and countless others. This humbling realization behooves us to follow in their footsteps, ensuring future generations inherit a world enriched by our efforts, kindness, and commitment to the greater good of humanity.

The post Sokushinbutsu—The Fascinating Practice of Self-Mummification to Attain Buddhahood first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.