Brown, R. (2008) 'Redefining the Edge', in N. AlSayyad (ed.

) Reinventing
Traditions for the Modern World – Traditional Dwellings and Settlements
Working Paper Series, Vol. 21, 1-24.
 REDEFINING THE EDGE
THE CHANGING SENSE OF EN IN JAPANESE ARCHITECTURE

En (edge) is a distinguishing feature of traditional Japanese architecture; simultaneously inside

and outside, the multi-layered external envelope performs a multiplicity of functions and
embodies indigenous aesthetic and experiential sensibilities. The traditional form of en has
however disappeared from contemporary Japanese architecture. This paper will frame en as a
physical element and the roles and values it carries, and examine contemporary Japanese
architecture’s move towards a more Westernised, conceptually-based, symbolic and introverted
language. It will then consider some wider questions this raises on Japanese life and tradition,
as well as the future of architecture in Japan.

‘Japan, China, India, and other developing countries have been trying to close up
what they see as a gap between themselves and Europe and lessening this
distance equates with success. But what happens after a hundred years of
pursuing this line? The whole world will be European! For me this would mark the
loss of diversity…’
Kisho Kurokawa1

INTRODUCTION

En – literally “edge” – is a formative construct in traditional Japanese architecture. It refers to the

multi-layered space found at the periphery of both domestic and non-domestic structures,

whether those of the most everyday farm or shop in town to a palace or a Buddhist temple. It is

an element which was developed and refined over centuries, as part of a relatively unchanging

vernacular and gives a distinctive quality to traditional architecture. Indeed, as Botond Bognar

argues, “among all the elements in the (traditional Japanese) building, (external) walls have the

most complex role, being directly responsible for the special quality of Japanese architectural

spaces.”2

Yet its distinctiveness is about more that visual appearance, as en plays a multiplicity of roles,

including environmentally and socially, reflecting what Gunter Nitschke has noted as one of the

characteristic features of traditional Japanese architecture: the multifunctional use of built

space.3 Perhaps more significantly however is how Japanese aesthetic values and spatial

awareness were emplaced in this space.

While once a central component of the vernacular, there is a suggestion that en has

disappeared from contemporary architecture. The landscape of Japanese cities today gives

testimony to this. Why has this changed? With the demise of the traditional sense of en, what

has happened to the meaning embedded in it? Do the values and beliefs underpinning its

original physical representation now linger on, cognitively and emotionally re-emplaced into new

spaces and forms? Or has the meaning of this condition disappeared simultaneously with the

original form? Does it signal the “end of tradition” in a land long associated with its history but

now cited as a society leading the way in establishing a new globalised world?4

These questions frame the intent of this paper while exploring developments in contemporary

architecture (and culture) in Japan. Referenced against a framework of vernacular architecture,

it will consider the role of tradition in current practice, and whether it represents a form of

cultural re-engagement or the generation of new traditions.

EN AND ITS MEANING IN TRADITIONAL ARCHITECTURE

In traditional Japanese architecture5 (Fig. 1 and 2) a massive roof extends outward beyond the

face of the building, framing a space underneath; at ground floor level this is further defined by

a wooden platform raised up from the ground to clearly define a veranda (engawa). Together

they form what Nitschke identifies as the noki-shita, literally the sphere under the eaves.6 Within

this interstitial space is the outer physical skin of the building, which is typically composed of

three separate though intrinsically related and moveable layers of varying permeability, framed

within / around a timber post and beam structure:

▪ shoji – sliding translucent rice paper screens as the innermost layer,

▪ amado – sliding solid wooden screens as the middle layer,

▪ sudare – sliding perforated timber screens or bamboo blinds rolled down from the eaves as

the external layer.

It can be argued that the structure of the en is a direct physical response to very practical

considerations of materials and technology, and terrain. The structural system of posts and

beams and non-load bearing screens is responsive to the resources of the surrounding

landscape and the technical knowledge which evolved in making these structures. Moreover,

this system is more earthquake-resistant than bearing wall structures such as masonry, and

when necessary can easily be rebuilt in case of damage from an earthquake or the often

resultant fires.

In a similar sense, the en also provides a clear physical response to the climate and the

simultaneous need for light, views and privacy, with each of the elements noted above having a

distinct pragmatic function. The roof, sudare and shoji filter the light thus reducing heat gain,

important in the very hot Japanese summers. The shoji and amado in particular control the

amount of air movement and provide protection against the cold, while the roof and amado

protect against precipitation. Equally the various layers of the en offer social control, with the

amado restricting views in from outside while allowing views out; the shoji provides further

privacy while still allowing light to enter, while the roof and various layers place the interior in

shadow thereby reducing the visibility of activities inside when seen from outside. When

manipulated together, the variable screens and over-hanging roof act in concert to establish a

sophisticated system of environmental and social control.

As an architectural construct, the articulation of en is however more than just a physical

response to pragmatic needs; indeed, it is a concretisation of aspects of Japanese attitudes

towards public and private life, their relationship to nature and their aesthetic and spatial

sensibilities. This understanding reflects Rapoport’s thesis that:

‘…house form is not simply the result of physical forces or any single causal
factor, but is the consequence of a whole range of socio-cultural factors seen in
their broadest terms. Form is in turn modified by climatic conditions…and by
methods of construction, materials available and the technology…We can say that
houses and settlements are the physical expression of the genre de vie.’7 That is,
house form is a response to the way of life of a people which ‘…includes all the
cultural, spiritual, material and social aspects which affect form.’8

Shikii wo matagu, meaning “crossing over the threshold”, is one way that the en acts to give

physical form to traditional Japanese behaviour and with it how they see the world. In the

traditional Japanese building entry involves a sequence of: approaching from outside; moving

into the en (either through a sliding screen into an antechamber (genkan) at ground level, or up

onto the engawa); turning around to face outwards and sitting down to remove one’s shoes;

and then standing back up and turning around to face inwards again (and possibly sliding back

more screens). Only at this point does one then cross over the threshold and enter in the home,

stepping up onto the raised inhabited ground floor. As Bognar notes, the house is “…entered

vertically not horizontally…to enter means to remove one’s shoes and step up.”9

In a physical sense this vertical and horizontal definition and shikii wo matagu help to separate

the outside, which is perceived as polluted with dirt and germs, from the inside which is clean.

To bring shoes soiled from outside into the interior of a home is taboo. Yet this space and

accompanying ritual also represent a transitional marker for how the Japanese relate to and

structure the world, notably in the distinction that is made between inside (uchi), i.e., traditionally

the family group (ie) that one belongs to, and outside (soto), i.e., the outside world or groups to

which one may belong. This structuring is further reinforced by the constructs of honne (one’s

private feelings, or private “face”) and tatemae (one’s public face). With each realm comes a

clear understanding of one’s responsibilities and codes of behaviour towards family and the
community.10 This comprehension is further reinforced through “…ritualised phrases of greeting

or parting…” which are used when entering or leaving the home.11

There are several key points regarding the relationship between the structure of the space, the

ritual and accompanying language, and the meaning that they together represent, that merit

further elaboration here. The first is that the meaning of the ritual is emplaced in the setting,12

and that through interacting with the environment, the participant conceptually re-schematises

the environment13 and further orients him / herself towards the experience beyond the ritual and

setting.14 Secondly, the practice of ritual is embedded in the body. Various actions produce a

ritualised body “…invested with a sense of the ritual”15 In shikii wo matagu, the range of

movements involved in entering the building explicitly engage the body, prompting the

participant to be more aware of their own body in the context of the setting. Thirdly, The

embedding of the body and place inform each other with what Bell cites as “critical circularity”;

the body’s actions and embodied meaning redefine space, while simultaneously through

generating this space the body’s movements are structured.16

These considerations speak of the importance of the body in traditional Japanese culture. In

contrast to Western philosophical tradition which privileges the mind and the intellect, Japanese

philosophy emphasised the body and feelings. Thus what was valued was immediate and

physical experience of space informed by the involvement of all the senses, and not reliance

solely on the visual or on a conceptual interpretation (i.e., abstraction) of it.17 This sensibility is

further evidenced in the construct of mono no aware (sensitivity to things), a direct engagement

with the world unmediated by language or other discourse and suggested as an essential trait of

Japanese culture.18
The prioritising of engagement with the physical world is echoed in how Japanese people have

traditionally related to the natural environment. Coming out of an agrarian past and the Shinto

tradition which arose out of this life is an affinity with and a reverence for nature.19 ‘There is no

dichotomy between man and nature; rather, they mutually imply each other. We are constituted

by nature as much as it is constituted by us.’20

The en condition in traditional architecture plays a substantial role in reinforcing a connection

between man and nature. (Fig. 3) Unlike in Western architecture where traditionally there has

been a singular external edge to clearly divide inside and outside – the multi-layered envelope

of the en dissipates the sense of boundary, allowing the exterior and interior to penetrate and

overlap.21 In this sense the en acts not only to separate but more significantly to connect;

perceptually and experientially it is both inside and outside simultaneously.22 Nitschke suggests

that the ambiguity of this space is reflective of the ambivalent sense of being traditionally felt by

the Japanese people, and of the interdependence of things.23

The ambiguity of en – a sense of both-and, of an in-between, is reflective of Japanese aesthetic

sensibilities and spatial awareness. As the architect Hiroshi Hara has noted, “Asian thinking has

always taken the ambiguity of life into account.”24 While this feeling extends across all aspects

of Japanese life, it is particularly present in traditional arts, notably in No theatre in which the

performance depends as much upon the pauses between sounds and movement as it does

upon the sounds and movements themselves.25 En is all evidenced in other arts such as

ikebana (flower arrangement); often misinterpreted from a Western bias as minimalist through

mistakenly focusing on the flower as ornament – in the Japanese tradition ikebana serves to

give depth to the shadows created between the flower and the wall or within the alcove where it

is sited. Important here is the sense of depth, and more notably the notion of in-between (ma).

Indeed, this understanding of in-between conveys the Japanese sense of space.

Though sometimes interpreted as void, as adopted by Japanese Buddhists to express notions

of emptiness, ma is more sophisticated than mere nothingness. Inherently ambiguous, it is

neither one thing nor another, but rather a ‘…dynamic balance between object and space,

action and inaction, sound and silence, movement and rest.’26 In contrast to Western

conceptions of space as objective, static and three dimensional,27 ma is more suggestive and

dynamic, existing both temporally as well as spatially. As Isozaki writes, ma is what happens in

the mind of the inhabitant as they experience a series of related events in space and time.28

Returning full circle, Bognar notes that the transitional space of the en approximates ‘…in

architecture the concept of ma.’29

TRANSITIONS IN CONTEMPORARY ARCHITECTURE

‘Three-dimensional existence is dissolving into abstract, image-like surfaces.’

Noriaki Okabe30

Given the signature role en has in vernacular architecture and concurrently in the traditional

Japanese world view, it is perplexing that as a spatial / experiential element it has disappeared

in contemporary Japanese architecture. Even a cursory examination suggests that much of

what has been built over the last 60 years in Japan has moved away from the traditional form

and space of en and the meaning and values it embodies. Once a permeable, multi-layered

ambiguous space, it has today devolved into a singular, hermetically-sealed and clearly defined

boundary.

Various pragmatic factors have been suggested as the forces behind its demise. Prompted by

structural considerations and modern buildings codes, reinforced concrete has replaced timber
as the primary construction material, being more resistant to earthquakes and damage from

fires. The ubiquitous air conditioning present and expected in modern day Japan, combined with

the development of new materials and manufacturing processes, notably of glazing / window

components, have supplanted the multi-layered screens once needed for environmental control.

The need for disabled access, a critical factor given Japan’s aging population, has prompted the

need for easily accessible, level access at the entry to buildings. Another factor cited is the

pressure to utilise every last square foot (or metre) of floor area in incredibly dense and highly

populated urban centres31, thus eliminating the seeming luxury of relatively deep and yet

underutilised spaces at the building envelope.

All of these factors certainly have played a part; yet again positing the thesis that building form

is a response to a people’s way of life, the disappearance of the traditional en is not simply

explained away by only such pragmatic considerations. Indeed what of the social and cultural

behaviours, beliefs and values emplaced in this form? To gain a better understanding of this, it

is necessary to briefly review something of the history of Japan since its opening up to the West

in 1853.32

The eminent Japanese architect Arata Isozaki has suggested that a primary factor in the

development of modern Japanese architecture is the relationship between ‘…the modern

(primarily foreign) and the traditional (primarily Japanese).’33 Various examinations of its

architecture since 1853 support this contention. Moreover, following the forced opening of

Japan’s ports to the West, Japan’s development has been marked by mediation between

external and social forces not only in architecture but in all areas of the arts and culture, as well

as in technology and social conditions.

When Japan first opened up the government quickly realised that they were behind the West

scientifically and technologically, and that they had to catch up; otherwise they ran the risk of

being colonised by the West, a fate that befell other Asian countries. This prompted a massive

engagement with Western ideas, known as bunmei kaika (adopt Western civilization and

enlightenment). In the following years Japan sent various scientists and professionals to the

West to learn, and imported Westerners to teach in Japan; in architecture this was reflected in

the importation of Western technology and techniques of building, reinforced by Japanese

architects who went to work with architects in the West, and Western architects invited to work

in Japan. It is important to note however that Japan didn’t just send people to West to study

science and technology – they also sent them to study Western philosophy and the arts.

The impact of this cannot be underestimated; as Parkes notes:

‘There is really no equivalent in the West to the shock caused by modernization in

Japan. A country with a two-thousand-year-old tradition cuts itself off from the rest
of the world for a period of a dozen generations, and then is suddenly forced into
the wholesale adoption of a totally alien set of values – a process that
necessitates in large part a radical break with indigenous traditions.’34

Over time it was inevitable that not only Western technology but also Western sensibilities

would make inroads. While there was a swing back to traditional values in the 1930s with the

rise of nationalism, attitudes quickly returned to engagement with the West, notably with

America, following World War II. This ambition to modernize was paralleled by a growing desire

for the lifestyle of the West, which represented being modern. Echoing Bauman, being local at a

time of modernization was a sign of backwardness and deprivation.35

In the 1950s and 1960s there was again a brief interlude of trying to reconcile traditional

Japanese and Western ideas, which is regarded as having reached its completion in

architecture by the 1960s. This synthesis was ultimately rejected however as architects clearly
moved away from any engagement with the past and traditional values, which were perceived

as regressive and still associated with the rightwing movements of the 1930s; in place of this

reconciliatory stance between tradition and modernism, new more discursive trends began to

emerge.36 Indeed, architects instead sought to move beyond any explicit sense of indigenous

identity and to position themselves in relation to the West; ‘…the issue is not the architectural

possibilities of ‘”unique Japanese-ness”, or even only of the peculiarly Japanese urban

environment…the real issue is whether or not works can stand up to global or universal

standards of evaluation… the emphasis being not on any ‘unique Japanese-ness’ but rather on

ideas that obtain universality.’37

One of the key trends echoing Western architectural theory that began to emerge following the

1960s and continuing to this day is an approach to architecture as a critical cultural practice; in

this sense the design of buildings becomes a means to critique contemporary urbanism and

cultural, social and technological conditions, and with it the underlying beliefs and values of

space, form and architecture.38 This approach has been reflected in not only the work itself, but

equally the rhetoric which surround the work as posited by both Western observers and the

Japanese architects behind it; e.g., Bognar’s synopsis of contemporary architects refers to their

pursuing ‘…a critical path of practice that destructures Form and Meaning in order to reinscribe

them in a way that frees us from the authority of literal facts while denying the idea of a

privileged mode of representation within a privileged aesthetic realm, under the rule of a

privileged ‘centre.’39

This trend parallels the predominance of Western philosophy generally in Japan today. As

Parkes notes, while the appropriation of Western philosophy has enriched Japanese culture, the

zeal with which it has been undertaken has all but precluded any on-going engagement with

indigenous traditions of Japanese thought. Indeed, he posits that most of the current population
are distanced from the underlying ideas and traditional practices of Buddhism, and are unaware

of their connections to the arts and other disciplines. As an example, he suggests that if one

wants to undertake an academic study of Buddhist philosophy today one has to go to a

department of religious studies, as most university philosophy departments are focused on

studies of European thought and Anglo-American (analytic) philosophy.40

The movement towards criticality and Western ideas in contemporary Japanese architecture

has fostered (as in the West) a greater emphasis upon conceptual and abstract thought, and

less accent upon the notions of feeling and the engagement of the body which underpinned

traditional architecture. As one observer noted in reference to a number of Japanese architects’

discussion of their own work, what comes across is that they conceive of their architecture as

exemplars of theory;41 equally the intentions in their work ‘…reflect many aspects of

contemporary Western philosophy, including post-structuralism, and deconstructionist

criticism.’42 Notably sparse in the architects’ rhetoric is a valuing of any traditional sense of a

phenomenological experience of space; if acknowledged at all it is only briefly as part of a new

sense of ‘body and mind dualism’43, though generally all traces of such experience have been

displaced by ‘…a complementary value: scintillating symbolic existence.’44

Symbolism, it is argued, has become the most significant current in Japan’s contemporary

architectural scene.45 The use of metaphor, communicated through an imagery of symbols and

signs, has become the basis upon which architects formulate design. As architect Toyo Ito has

noted , ‘Architecture can function in a similar way to an installation’ giving priority to the display

of instantaneously and visually-absorbed information…,’46 rather than a haptic experience of

space and time. (Fig. 4)

This emphasis on the symbolic extends to the relationship of the buildings to their surroundings.

Where buildings were once seen as an integral part of nature, relating to site and climatic

factors, and nature was seen as intrinsic to the building, nature in its traditional form of a

cultivated landscape is now no longer intrinsic to the building; indeed its inclusion has come to

be dismissed as being sentimental and gratuitous, and moreover reflective of a capitalist culture

which commodifies everything.47 Ironically, given Japan’s traditional identification with it, nature

has become yet another aspect of the context on which to make some form of critical

commentary.

In place of an intimate and interdependent relationship with nature vis-à-vis the ambiguous

character of the en, nature is re-presented as a modified and reductive entity, intended not as

something to be lived with but rather as an expression of resistance against present-day life.

The work and words of Tadao Ando, a contemporary Japanese architect who has made a

significant impact on both Japanese and Western architecture, is telling in this respect. (Fig 5)

As Ando writes: ‘Such things as light and wind only have meaning whey they are introduced

inside the house in a form cut off from the outside world.’48 Bognar further notes that in Ando’s

work:

‘…nature is signified as ‘void’ rather than represented by ‘naturalised’ images of

nature...’ , and through devices such as “framed sky”, ‘…shapeless, formless
manifestations of our natural world when directly exposed to the realm of
habitation are capable of continuously challenging our utilitarian and materialistic
aspirations.’49

The work of Itsuko Hasegawa is another manifestation of the reduction of nature’s place in

everyday life, though being more overtly metaphorical and symbolic. In her work the natural

world is represented by the shapes of mountains, clouds or trees, articulated in modern

materials such as perforated metal screens and aluminium structures, or buildings which evoke

over-sized pieces of fruit. Hasegawa writes, ‘I architecturalise images of nature because I want
to express a view of the contemporary world…I use architectural and technological details to

evoke nature…’50

In this sense, nature isn’t what it is, but rather what the architect conceptualises and literally re-

configures it to be as part of a critical cultural practice. It makes a stark contrast to traditional

architecture, in which nature was aesthetised to celebrate its qualities, not critique them. Even

where nature is not symbolised and signified, it is only the idea of nature, not an actual

connection with it; nature is reduced to an image as perceived from behind a sealed window.

The re-transformation of nature, and the intrinsic reduction of an actual physical interaction with

it, is mirrored in contemporary urban architecture by its relationship with the city. Today

buildings turn inward, sealing themselves off from their surroundings. Where traditional buildings

once had what Bognar calls a “soft architecture”51, composed of a skeletal framework and

layered permeable screens, they now have a more clearly defined and sealed boundary

intended to protect the inhabitants from what has been called the chaos of the urban landscape.

The Japanese city has become, in the eyes of most indigenous and foreign observers familiar

with it, an un-unified landscape, over-populated by self-referential and idiosyncratic buildings

which have no relation to each other and a plethora of signs, lighting, electronics and

infrastructure which overwhelms the inhabitant. (Fig. 6) It is a context in which seemingly

anything is possible and permitted. The generation of this landscape is attributable to the

incredibly rushed pace of development that sprung out of the Japanese economic miracle; as

capital poured into the country through a growing trade surplus much of it was redirected into

the built environment. The speed at which this development was driven was further exacerbated

by the limited amount of land available and the extensive scale – the “megapolitan project” – at
which architects, developers and the government operated in order to address pressing

needs.52

The resultant urban landscape produced in this climate was not the organic, intimate and

participatory condition of the historical European city, nor was it based on the model of the

rationally organised modernist city, bur rather was ‘…an increasingly irrational, often hostile,

environment…’ 53 As an opposition to (or as some would suggest a critique of) the chaos of city,

the buildings retreated and deliberately turned inward, hermetically sealing themselves off to

protect the inhabitants within.54 (Fig. 7) Frequently focused around an internal courtyard and

protected by an external boundary of impenetrable concrete or metal panels with only slits for

windows, their introverted nature limits engagement with the street outside. As with the

reductive re-conceptualisation of nature as an idea, interaction with the urban environment is

presented through symbols offered up to the streetscape, instead of a direct multi-sensual

experience of the environment.

Another response to this condition has been to reject any traditional sense of urbanism in which

buildings have a relationship to each other or are developed within a wider urban fabric.

Considerations of either continuity or of complimentary gestures utilizing scale, form or

materiality are rejected, as are working with any organising principles that might create a

recognizable sense of coherent texture; instead, each building becomes a reference unto itself.

Such an approach is however rationalised in the context of the Japanese city; in the face of the

chaotic contemporary urban condition, it is argued that ‘…there is no sense in trying to

harmonise with the Japanese city…’55 and that ‘…architects hardly need take account of

established structures’56, but rather that the only viable response is ‘…to add to the restless

image of the city.’57

The nature of the fragmented city, and the conceptualisation of design by architects within self-

defined limits of a single, isolated building towards what Yatsuka describes as a metaphorically

and metonymically transformed show piece58 (Fig. 8), corresponds to a current transition in

Japanese social values. In traditional society where the identity of the individual was

subordinate to the group (e.g., identification with one’s family group – the ie), there was an

emphasis on consideration of others as practised through reciprocity (i.e., do as you would be

done by) and hierarchy (i.e., recognising and respecting elders).59 Today however, it is

suggested that this sense of duty to others (giri-ninjo) is not as strong today as it once was.60 In

contrast to the sense of community founded in a past rural, agrarian society, in which all

traditionally worked in cooperation to harvest crops or take care of places of worship, most

Japanese now live in urban areas in which interaction with other people is based as much if not

more on the people you meet through work, or in bars, than it is on the immediate

neighbourhood in which one lives.61 In this context, and with the ever-increasing embrace of all

things Western, the primacy of the community has decreased while the construct of the

individual has gained importance; this is further evidenced in the embrace of the cult of celebrity

and an increased admiration and respect for those who do their own thing and don’t subordinate

themselves to the group. Mirroring society as a whole, contemporary architecture reflects the

emergence of the individual in Japan. A concern for the wider public, and indeed even of a

sense of social responsibility, seems as Yatsuka notes, to have faded away, with architects

making more personal work.62

On the whole then, en as a multi-layered, multi-functioning element with a multiplicity of

meanings has all but disappeared from the contemporary Japanese built landscape. Modern

versions of do exist; these are however too often merely pastiche re-creations of the original.

Very few contemporary architects engage with en in a meaningful way, trying to reinvigorate its

traditional pattern and sensibilities in the context of present day life.63 Where it does exist in
more contemporary architecture, it typically has been reduced to a metaphor, one example

being the work of Fumihiko Maki, in which the articulated skin of metal panels are meant to

evoke shoji. (Fig. 9) Indeed, any sense of edge has been reduced to a thin skin that is an object

in itself, in which the capabilities of Japanese technology and craftsmanship are celebrated, and

materiality (e.g., colour, texture) and geometric composition are fetishisms. Any evocation of a

true sense of connection with nature or of an in-between as spatial and temporal experience

has disappeared, supplanted by a growing emphasis on the abstract and symbolic.

SOME WIDER CONSIDERATIONS

It is taken as a given that all cultures are in a state of flux; they are not a bounded domain

having ‘…authentic and timeless traditions with internally consistent essences.’64 As Menon

further notes, ‘…all cultures are continually in a process of hybridity.’65 This process which has

arguably always existed has however significantly accelerated in our increasingly connected,

globalised world; the mass media, telecommunications and modern transport serve to circulate

ideas and goods, notably those Western, at a pace at which the local condition is not only

flooded but is overwhelmed. In this context, notions of belonging to a particular national culture,

especially for those in industrialised countries, are open to question; as Mathews posits, we live

in an age of a “global supermarket”, where we can pick and choose the aspects of our lives

which we would like. Personal identity may thus be tied less to a particular region or culture than

to those who share similar tastes, interests and beliefs. 66

Such considerations prompt the question of what it means to be Japanese today. Previous

discussion in this paper has highlighted how society in general, and architects in particular, are

looking outside Japan for ideas and measuring themselves against the West. Concurrent with

these mental excursions has been a displacement of traditional values and sensibilities.

Foremost amongst the latter is what has been identified as the most essential characteristics of
Japanese identity and its vernacular architecture, that is an interdependent relationship with

nature. As even Ando acknowledges:

‘After World War II, when Japan launched on a course of rapid economic growth,
the people’s value criteria changed…Such social alternations as concentration of
information and places of work in cities led to overpopulation…overly dense urban
and suburban populations made it impossible to preserve a feature that was
formerly most characteristic of Japanese residential architecture; intimate
connection with nature and openness to the natural world.’67

This shift in attitudes away from a sense of ‘…consciousness of a unity with nature…’68 can be

attributed to many causes: the dropping of the two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki;

the 1995 Hanshin-Awaji earthquake which devastated Kobe; the sense that the rural landscape

is disappearing under the seemingly relentless spread of Japan’s cities; as well as the influx of

Western ideas and ways of living. Also particularly notable is the environmental disaster of the

mercury-poisoning of the sea at Minamata caused by the dumping of untreated waste from

chemical plants, which it is argued, ‘…made people aware for the first time of the hitherto

unsuspected environmental construction that had accompanied the rapid economic growth of

the country.’69

Another primary contributor to the sense of disconnection the Japanese people have from

nature is that they have become an urban people, making a marked contrast with their rural,

agrarian past. In a critique of the assumption that Japanese culture today still retains a closer

relationship with nature distinct from that of the West, D. P. Martinez posits a number of

challenging arguments. Firstly, he points out that even in traditional culture nature was never

something experienced in its raw form, but rather that it was worked on to best express

aesthetic qualities. Thus, there was always a certain sense of disengagement with nature.

Secondly, he suggests that the urban dwellers’ experience of nature is limited to occasional

visits to “nature”, and that even in such instances nature is often reduced to the scenographic
image of a single cultivated tree, and that this is enough. Thirdly, he argues that the Japanese

urban dweller is now completely alienated from nature on any meaningful, everyday basis, and

that in this respect their experience of nature has more in common with city dwellers throughout

the industrialised world than in does with any inhabitants of any current day rural areas or

indeed with any mythologized past.70

Martinez’ arguments, in which nature is apparently conceived of in a very limited form as some

Arcadian landscape distinct from the city, are open to question. Recent reformulations of

landscape theory by landscape architects and urbanists have posited an understanding of the

environment in a more holistic sense; city and country are no longer conceptualised as distinct

entities, but rather as interdependent.71 There is however some veracity to his arguments; in the

context of this move from an agrarian past to a modern urban identity, suggestions that there is

a new type of nature become plausible. As Hasegawa proposes, ‘in cities in particular, we now

live in completely man-made environments, so we have to deal with that environment as a new

“nature.”’72 Un-stated but implicit in this proposition is a turning away from the “old nature.”

Concurrent with the dislocation of Japanese society from nature is a distancing from their

indigenous forms and practices. Traditional Japanese culture remains, but it is now something

that many Japanese see as being preserved primarily to show the tourists and foreigners, with

traditional festivals packaged as cultural events.73 Extending this further, Gordon Mathews cites

how ‘a number of anthropologists have commented about how traditional Japanese culture has

become exotic in Japan today.’74 The place of tradition in all this is thus open to question.

CONCLUSION AND QUESTIONS

In traditional Japanese architecture en is a loaded space, performing a complexity of various

pragmatic functions in a clear response to structural, environmental and social considerations.

Yet the en fulfils far more than only such prosaic concerns, and is emplaced with a multiplicity of

meanings. Operating within traditional Japanese culture at both a phenomenological and

ontological level, the traditional en enriches their experience of the world and structures how the

Japanese schematized the world and placed themselves within it.

An examination of discourse on the development of contemporary Japanese architecture

reveals a displacement of both the traditional formal qualities of the en, and the aesthetic values

and sensibilities it expressed. In a challenge to assertions that contemporary Japanese

architecture has moved on from paying homage to the heritage of its “unique Japaneseness”

and become more “sophisticated” and “mature”75, it might be countered that en was a highly

complex and sophisticated cultural-environmental-social- technical-spatial mechanism. Gone

today are the emphasis on the body and multi-sensory engagement – notably with nature – as

exemplified in the construct of mono no aware, a sense of both-and ambiguity that provided for

richness and depth (literally and figuratively) of spatial and temporal experience, and a valuing

of the interdependence of things; these have been supplanted by an emphasis on conceptual

abstraction and symbols based in a virtual, cognitive-centred realm of meaning and experience,

an either-or reductive approach in which visual prioritisation reduces experience to that which

you can see through the frame of a hermetically-sealed window, and a glorification of the self-

referential.

It would appear that the demise of the traditional sense of en has been accompanied by a

disappearance of the meaning embedded in it. The values and beliefs underpinning its original

physical representation no longer linger on, and have not been re-emplaced into new spaces

and forms. Indeed, there has been a wholesale questioning of the place of tradition in

contemporary Japan and a contingent adoption of modern (i.e., Western) ideas and sensibilities,
as evidenced in both social practices and discourse. Any reference to “edge” is today more

reflective of an attitude of avant-gardism that it is of any traditional formal, spatial condition.

It is perhaps all too easy then to lament the loss of the traditional sense of en, an element which

had such a formative role in the overall quality of indigenous Japanese architecture and life. As

Dixon notes:

‘For the Westerner visiting Japan in the 1950s the most profound lessons in
architecture lay, of course, in it is glorious architectural heritage…It is harder for
me to appreciate avant-garde work that rebels against these traditions – that is
based almost entirely in Western tradition…’76

Yet taking such a stance poses a challenge in the context of what contemporary life has

become in Japan; does such a critique amount to a form of neo-imperialism, an act of imposing

onto another culture’s present a quality from its past that has (mistakenly?) come to personify

that culture to the outside? As the Japanese architect Kazuyo Sejima relates, ‘I do not

specifically look at traditional architecture. It is probably in my blood somewhere, but I believe

that it is Westerners who analyze Japanese architecture in these terms more than we do.’77

Moreover, there is a long history of Westerners going to Japan and getting it wrong, the prime

example being the German architect Bruno Taut; while his writing did much to draw attention to

traditional Japanese architecture, he had a Western-biased, modern view of it, seeing its

buildings merely as ‘…logical constructions, achievements of a purist and functional-rationalist

attitude…’, and failing ‘…to recognise the ambiguity of spaces…’78

It is of course possible to counter that, in spite of the pluralistic culture that has evolved in

current-day Japan, a sense of national identity still exists. Traditional practices persist – e.g.,

genuine and active participation in community events and coming-of-age ceremonies for

children, or following everyday rituals such as shikii wo matagu – even if sometimes it requires
an outsider to remind the Japanese of the distinctiveness of these traditions. Alternatively, it

might be suggested that Japan continue to borrow from the West, and in so doing assert their

Japanese-ness through their choices in the global supermarket, a response Mathews suggests

is part of today’s younger generation’s forging of their sense of identity.79 The final answer on

this however will ultimately, and can only, come from the Japanese themselves.

NOTES AND REFERENCES

1
Kisho Kurokawa, cited in Christopher Knabe and Joerg Noennig, “Kisho Kurokawa”, in
Shaking the Foundations – Japanese Architects in Dialogue (Munich: Prestel, 1999) p. 20.
2
Botond Bognar, Contemporary Japanese Architecture – Its Development and Challenge (New
York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1985) p. 58. Words in parentheses added by author of this paper
for purposes of clarity.
3
Gunter Nitschke, “Architecture and Aesthetic of an Island People”, in Japan – Architecture,
Construction, Ambiances ed. Christian Schittich (Basel: Birkhauser, 2002) p. 17.
4
Joy Hendry, Understanding Japanese Society (London: Routledge Curzon 1995, 2nd edition).
5
This discussion of the physical characteristics of en and the pragmatic functions it fulfils draws
upon two key texts: Guenter Nitschke, “En – Transactional Space”, in From Shinto to Ando
(London: Academy Group, 1993) pp. 85 – 93; and Bognar (1985).
6
Nitschke 1993, p. 85.
7
Amos Rapoport, House Form and Culture. (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1969), p 47.
8
Ibid.
9
Bognar 1985, p. 60
10
Hendry.
11
Ibid, p. 48.
12
Satsuki Kawano, Ritual Practice in Modern Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press,
2005).
13
Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 109.
14
Kawano, p. 7.
15
Hendry, p. 98.
16
Bell, p. 99.
17
Graham Parkes, “Ways of Japanese Thinking”, in Japanese Aesthetics and Culture, ed.
Nancy Hume (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995) p. 79; and Bognar 1985, pp.
32 and 61.
18
R. Hooker, “Aware”, Japan Glossary [Online]:
http://www.wsu.edu:8080/~dee/GLOSSARY/AWARE.HTM (accessed 25 April, 2007).
19
This is not to be misunderstood as nature worship; rather, in Shinto tradition nature was
traditionally seen as a place where one would go to purify oneself. Tangentially, the strong
affinity that the Japanese have for nature is reflected in cultural attributes such as the ideogram
for “rest” in traditional script (Kanji), being composed of the character for “person” and “tree”.
20
Bognar 1985, p. 29
21
Ibid, p. 58
22
This sense of connection is not just limited to ‘nature’ in its commonly perceived form, nor to
rural settings or structures set within gardens. Nitschke notes that machiya (Japanese
townhouses) are equally open to the street, so that activity on the street becomes part of the life
inside the structure and vice versa. Nitschke 1993, pp. 85.
23
Ibid, p. 86.
24
Hiroshi Hara, cited in Philip Jodidio, “The Sun Also Rises – Japanese Architects in the 1990s”,
in Contemporary Japanese Architects Volume 2 (Koln: Taschen, 1997) p. 44.
25
Gunter Nitchske, “Ma – Place, Space, Void”, in From Shinto to Ando (London: Academy
Group, 1993) p. 56.
26
Ibid, p. 56 and 58.
27
Ibid, p. 52.
28
Arata Isozaki, Space-Time in Japan – “Ma” (New York: Cooper-Hewitt Museum, 1979) p. 13.
29
Bognar 1985, p. 58.
30
Noriaki Okabe, “Slow Transition”, trans. Andrew Barrie and Ayako Wakasugi, in JA Yearbook
2000, p 4.
31
Bognar 1985.
32
Unless otherwise specifically noted, the synopsis which follows draws upon the following
texts: Botond Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape”, in Japanese Architecture, ed.
Botond Bognar (London: Academy Group, 1988) pp. 15 – 25; Jodidio, pp. 6 – 64; Katsuhio
Kobayashi, “Currents in Contemporary Architecture”, in Contemporary Japanese Architecture,
ed. Dirk Meyhofer (Hamburg: Taschen) pp. 7 – 22; Gordon Mathews, Global Culture / Individual
Identity (London: Routledge, 2000) pp. 30 – 75; Parkes, pp. 77 – 108.
33
Arata Isozaki, foreword to Contemporary Japanese Architecture – Its Development and
Challenge, by Botond Bognar (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1985) p. 9.
34
Parkes, p. 98.
35
Zygmunt Bauman, Globalization: The Human Consequences, (Cambridge: Polity press,
1998) pp. 95; cited in Mathews, p. 179.
36
Isozaki, p. 11.
37
Koji Taki, ”Fragments and Noise – The Architectural ideas of Kazuo Shinohara and Toyo Ito”,
trans. Alfred Birnbaum, in Japanese Architecture, ed. Botond Bognar (London: Academy Group,
1988) p.32. Problematic in any discussion of Japanese-ness is the often asserted contention
that the Japanese assimilate things foreign and make them Japanese. Defining in the context of
this statement what is distinctly Japanese, foreign, or Japanese-or-foreign influenced presents a
challenge that is beyond the scope of this paper. Further problematizing the discussion is that
Taki’s comments must be considered in light of Nihonjinron – “discourse on Japaneseness”,
which as Mathews has observed remains an on-going inquiry in Japan. Mathews, p. 34 – 35.
38
Botond Bognar, “Urban Architecture in Japan”, in Japanese Architecture, ed. Botond Bognar
(London: Academy Group, 1988) p. 6.
39
Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape”, 1988, p.20.
40
Parkes, p. 97.
41
David Steward, foreword to Shaking the Foundations – Japanese Architects in Dialogue, by
Christopher Knabe and Joerg Noennig (Munich: Prestel, 1999) p. 7.
42
Botond Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape – the New Avant-garde of Urban
Architecture in Japan”, in The New Japanese Architecture (New York: Rizzoli, 1990) p. 21.
43
Toyo Ito, cited in Christopher Knabe and Joerg Noennig, “Toyo Ito”, in Shaking the
Foundations – Japanese Architects in Dialogue (Munich: Prestel, 1999) p. 97.
44
Kazuo Shinohara, cited in “Shinohara”, IAUS 17. (Rizzoli, New York, 1982) p. 115; cited in
Lynne Breslin, “From the Savage to the Nomad – Critical Interventions in Contemporary
Japanese Architecture”, in Japanese Architecture, ed. Botond Bognar (London: Academy
Group, 1988) p. 27.
45
Kobayashi, p. 17.
46
Toyo Ito, cited in Knabe and Noennig, p. 97.
47
Kenneth Frampton, “The Work of Tadao Ando”, in Tadao Ando, ed. Y. Futagawa (Tokyo: ADA
Edita, 1987) p. 20; cited in Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape”, 1988, p.20.
48
Tadao Ando, “From Self-Enclosed Modern Architecture towards Universality”, Japan
Architect, May 1982, p. 9; cited in Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape”, 1988,
p.20.
49
Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape”, 1988, p.20.
50
Itsuko Hasegawa, ‘”Thin Membraneous Boundaries”, Japan Architect, Nov / Dec, 1986, p. 54;
cited in Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape”, 1988) p.21.
51
Bognar, 1985, p. 58.
52
Bognar 1990, p. 12.
53
Hajime Yatsuka, “An Architecture Floating on the Sea of Signs – Three Generations of
Contemporary Architects”, in Japanese Architecture, ed. Botond Bognar (London: Academy
Group, 1988) p. 7.
54
Botond Bognar, “Archaeology of a Fragmented Landscape”, 1988, p.18; and Dirk Meyhofer,
“Currents in Contemporary Japanese Architecture’”, in Contemporary Japanese Architects, ed.
Dirk Meyhofer (Koln: Taschen, 1994) p. 37.
55
Kazuo Shinohara, cited in Taki, p.34.
56
Christian Schittich, “Japan – a Land of Contradictions?”, in Japan – Architecture,
Construction, Ambiances., ed. Christian Schittich (Basel: Birkhauser, 2002) p.10.
57
Bognar, 1990, p. 14.
58
Yatsuka, p. 7.
59
Hendry, p. 52 - 53.
60
Ibid, p. 240.
61
Ibid, pp. 65, 70.
62
Yatsuka, p. 7.
63
A notable exception is Kengo Kuma, who in some of his work has sought to explicitly use
traditional forms and materials, though producing them in combination with modern building
technology and manufacturing processes.
64
Sibel Bozdogan, “Architectural History in Professional Education: Reflections on Postcolonial
Challenges to the Modern Survey”, Journal of Architectural Education, 1999, May 52 / 4, pp.
210.
65
A. G. Krishna Menon, “Thinking Indian Architecture”, in The Discipline of Architecture, ed. A.
Piotrowski and J. Williams Robinson (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001) pp. 83
– 102.
66
Mathews.
67
Tadao Ando, cited in Kenneth Frampton, “Prospects for a Critical Regionalism”, Perspecta:
The Yale Architectural Journal, Volume20, 1983, p. 158.
68
Nitschke 2002, p.16.
69
Wilhelm Klauser, “Introduction – Rules and Identities” to Shaking the Foundations –
Japanese Architects in Dialogue, by Christopher Knabe and Joerg Noennig (Munich: Prestel,
1999) p.12. This man-made devastation of the environment is it would seem in direct contrast to
the Japanese people’s traditional sense of an affinity with nature; however, as D. P. Martinez
notes, ‘…throughout the industrialized world, profit-making and caring for the environment have
long been at odds…It should be no paradox, then, that having accepted the challenge to
industrialize during the Meiji Restoration, and having striven to succeed in a global business
world, Japanese industrialists have shown a similar callousness toward their environment.’
Moreover, ‘...the drive to modernize was a much more powerful discourse than that of any
dissenting voices. The promise of a better life for a large portion of the peasantry and town
dwellers could also not be ignored as being attractive, particularly in the aftermath of World War
II.’ D. P. Martinez, “On the “Nature” of Japanese Culture, or, Is There a Japanese Sense of
Nature?”, in A Companion to the Anthropology of Japan, ed. Jennifer Robertson (Malden:
Blackwell, 2005) pp. 194 – 195.
70
Martinez, pp. 185 – 200.
71
See for example: James Corner, ed., Recovering Landscape – Essays in Contemporary
Landscape Architecture. (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1999); Charles Waldheim,
ed., The Landscape Urbanism Reader. (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2006).
72
Itsuko Hasegawa, cited in Christopher Knabe and Joerg Noennig, “Itsuko Hasegawa”, in
Shaking the Foundations – Japanese Architects in Dialogue (Munich: Prestel, 1999) p. 74.
73
Mathews, p. 71; Scott Schnell, “The Rural Imaginary: Landscape, Village, Tradition”, in A
Companion to the Anthropology of Japan, ed. Jennifer Robertson (Malden: Blackwell, 2005) p
213
74
Mathews, p. 34.
75
Bognar 1990, p. 8; Jodidio, p. 42.
76
John Morris Dixon, “Introduction: Japanese Avant-garde Architects” to The New Japanese
Architecture, by Botond Bognar (New York: Rizzoli, 1990) p. 10.
77
Jodidio, p. 62.
78
Bognar, 1985, p. 82.
79
Mathews, p. 73.
ILLUSTRATIONS
(All photos by author unless otherwise noted).

Fig. 1: Traditional dwelling (machiya), Kyoto.

Fig. 2: Entsuji Temple, Kyoto.
Fig. 3: Entsuji Temple, Kyoto. (Photo by Toshiko Terazono)
Fig. 4: Tod Building, Tokyo, Toyo Ito and Associates, 2004.
Fig. 5: Awaji Yumebutai, Awaji Island, Tadao Ando & Associates, 2000.
Fig. 6: Tokyo street scene
Fig. 7: House in Tokyo/Osaka, architect and date unknown.
Fig. 8: Aoyama Technical College, Tokyo, Makoto Sei Watanabe, 1990.
Fig. 9: Spiral Building, Tokyo, Fumihiko Maki & Associates, 1985.