It is impossible to deny the that World War II changed the world. From Iwo Jima to Stalingrad, the men who fought on both sides shed blood for something they believed, for better or worse. Yet it is difficult to assign any amount of heroism to the acts that went unseen in the eyes of the post WWII world. There are elements of the war that seem to slip through the cracks of history books, moments that those who experienced them would rather forget. But in the interest of history, it is important that these stories be retold, paying to that elder notion of "those who forget history are doomed to repeat it."
Many of the crimes against humanity that were perpetrated through those dark days are still fresh in the conscience of the world, but one story that seems to never be told is that of a isolated location in Manchuria, disguised as a benign water purification facility, that led to the death of 500,000+ human beings: Unit 731.
According to Sheldon H. Harris' Factories of Death, Dr. Shiro Ishii (a physician with the Japanese Imperial Army) took control of a 150-building, six kilometer area outside the city of Harbin, Manchuria in order to conduct experiments on biological warfare. Japan had refused to sign the Geneva Convention's ban against germ warfare in the 1920s, giving Dr. Ishii free reign to try and perfect weapons and delivery systems for virulent plagues. In it's wake, Dr. Ishii allowed for nearly every conceivable manner of war crime to occur; vivisection of the camp's inmates were quite common, as well as experiments on the effects of hypothermia and amputation. In our more allegedly rational times, these sorts of experiments are grotesque and unnecessary.
But justice has, if nothing else, a perverse sense of humor. While most of the camps staff were put on trial and punished harshly, Dr. Ishii was granted immunity from the Tokyo Tribunal of 1948 in exchange for the information he gathered from his experiments. This is not surprising; despite the horrors of the "Final Solution" in Nazi-occupied Europe, scientific findings that came at the expense of the countless victims of the Holocaust has been gathered. It should also be noted for the record that Dr. Ishii would also go on to die in 1959 of throat cancer, after having served as a researcher of bioweapons in Maryland.
While it is human nature to attempt to find some sort of good in any dark time, this leaves us with a question: What is progress worth when measured against human life? Does the wrongful death of thousands of innocents become acceptable in the face of Scientific Knowledge, much of it invaluable for the lives it might save in the future? It is indeed difficult to look to the history of the world without finding a large amount of seemingly pointless destruction, and sadly science is not immune to this.
Author's Note: As a rule, I avoid any sort of serious ethical dilemmas here at The Obscuritan Journal. I don't feel that I have the sort of authority to dictate right or wrong in any sense; but it is impossible to write about such manners without these questions immediately coming to the fore-front of my work.
Further, in light of the gruesome subject matter, I have allowed for this work to be bereft of images out of respect to the victims of Unit 731 and out of respect for my more sensitive readers.
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Friday, January 21, 2011
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Curious Case of Dr. Miklos Nyiszli
Common wisdom states that individuals who are not mindful of the past will continue to repeat themselves. For this reason, Mankind has made an effort to record every bleak moment, hoping to stop the tides of atrocity long before they begin to swell.
It is small wonder that much of history is centered around war and tragedy. In a way, it is easier for people to measure the events of the world by the gruesome sign posts created by battlefields and metaphorical Hell-mouths left by man’s uglier side. Hotel Rwanda, a 2004 film by Terry George, exposed many people for the first time to the horrors of the animosity between the Hutu and Tutsi tribes of central Africa. The Khmer Rogue executed approximately 200,000 of it’s own people from 1975-1979, and would later be chronicled by director Roland Joffe in his 1984 film The Killing Fields. Bookstores and Cinemas are awash with media telling us of people and cultures enduring a “Dark Night of The Soul,” surrounded by horror that, if they hadn’t actually occurred, no one would believe possible.
Somewhat lost amongst the piles of literature, poetry, and cinema of War and subsequent violence is the story of Dr. Miklos Nyiszli. A Hungarian pathologist and medical practitioner, Dr. Nyiszli found himself in a position that few humans could ever endure, attempting to survive a one of the places where inhumanity went on full display, a name which will likely be acid-etched into the collective Shadow archetype of Humanity; the Nazi extermination camp, Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Dr. Nyiszli wrote his only book, Auschwitz: A Doctor’s Eyewitness Account, shortly after returning home to Hungary from the camps as a document for the rest of history to study. He attempts to tell the unadulterated and uncensored tale of The Third Reich’s systematic murder of any individual who did not fit into their worldview. Where as many accounts of the Nazi’s concentration camps comes from the lives of the prisoners who were starved and tortured, Dr. Nyiszli came from a position that has made his book as well as his memory (he passed away in May of 1956) both invaluable and reviled.
In the summer of 1944, The Nyiszli family arrived by train to the Auschwitz-Birkenau extermination camp in Poland, with a convoy of Jews from Eastern Europe. During the “selection” process," Dr. Nyiszli was separated from his wife and daughter after volunteering the information regarding his profession. Little did he know, he would end up serving as the primary physician and autopsy expert for one of the most infamous of the Nazi war criminals: Dr. Joseph Mengele So, from June of 1944 to January of 1945, Dr. Miklos Nyiszli served with the Sonderkommando (a group of Jewish prisoners, executed generally every four months, who worked the Crematoria and gas chambers in exchange for a slightly better lot in life) as well as serving as the physician to the SS, who were not only Auschwitz’s administrators, but also chief Executioners. Dr. Nyiszli would primarily, however, spent the majority of his time in the camp performing autopsies under the direction of Dr. Mengele, who was attempting to prove via pseudoscience, the “inferiority” of “non-Aryans.”
Auschwitz: A Doctor’s Eyewitness Account is a gut-churning tale with an unflinching narrative manner. While there are plenty of other stories regarding “The Final Solution” and the associated Nazi camps, Dr. Nyiszli’s book can be a cause for argument, and has remained such since it’s initial publication in 1947. At the same time, Auschwitz is also a valuable document, giving a unique insider’s view at the functioning and organization of a veritable genocide machine. Dr. Bruno Bettelheim, a psychologist who wrote the forward to the 1960’s paperback edition of Auschwitz (which has been included in most reprints since that time,) issued a scathing criticism of Dr. Nyiszli’s decision to assist as the chief pathologist at Auschwitz. Dr. Bettelheim also likened this to one of the most well-know stories of The Holocaust: The Diary of Anne Frank, arguing that the Franks, and by implication, Dr. Nyiszli and most other Jews, were led by the urge to attempt living life with “business as usual,” leading ultimately to the death of an entire family as well as approximately 6 million Jews and millions of other minority groups throughout Europe. This criticism, however, is light when considering the words of Michael Nevins, M.D., who wrote the essay Moral Dilemmas faced by Jewish Doctors during The Holocaust. Nevins flatly says “Dr. Nyiszli was a reprehensible individual who ingratiated himself with his masters in order to save his own skin.”
While it is difficult to understand how a seemingly rational person could take part in the activities of Auschwitz-Birkenau, leading millions to their deaths, does Dr. Miklos Nyiszli deserve the mountains of scorn that have been heaped upon him?
It is easy to find anyone who would take part in such atrocity as horrible or hate-worthy, but knowing that Dr. Nyiszli held no sympathy to The Third Reich turns the situation into a profound moral ambiguity. In Auschwitz, Dr. Nyiszli repeatedly points out that his concerns while in the camp were the safety of his wife and daughter, as well as trying to stay alive long enough to tell the public of the concentration camps. As well, the depth of violence being committed in the walls of Auschwitz-Birkenau was clearly a surprise to Dr. Nyiszli, and he repeatedly says that each new development he witnessed (I.e. the varying methods of execution and corpse disposal) disturbed him greatly.
Further, the argument that Dr. Nyiszli volunteered himself merely to preserve his own life is a somewhat problematic accusation. As a conscious human being, Dr. Nyiszli was determined to “save his own skin’ but could that same argument be thrown at the other members of the Sonderkommando? Without his instinct towards self-preservation (as well as his desire to save his family and preserve the tale of his hardship) the world would not have the intimate knowledge of “The Final Solution” that we do today.
Whether or not you agree with the choices made by Dr. Miklos Nyiszli from June of 1944 to January of 1945, this oft-forgotten story deserves to be retold, if not as a cautionary tale, but as a question of man’s instinct to survive versus the moral dilemmas that can face even the most common of people.
It is small wonder that much of history is centered around war and tragedy. In a way, it is easier for people to measure the events of the world by the gruesome sign posts created by battlefields and metaphorical Hell-mouths left by man’s uglier side. Hotel Rwanda, a 2004 film by Terry George, exposed many people for the first time to the horrors of the animosity between the Hutu and Tutsi tribes of central Africa. The Khmer Rogue executed approximately 200,000 of it’s own people from 1975-1979, and would later be chronicled by director Roland Joffe in his 1984 film The Killing Fields. Bookstores and Cinemas are awash with media telling us of people and cultures enduring a “Dark Night of The Soul,” surrounded by horror that, if they hadn’t actually occurred, no one would believe possible.
Somewhat lost amongst the piles of literature, poetry, and cinema of War and subsequent violence is the story of Dr. Miklos Nyiszli. A Hungarian pathologist and medical practitioner, Dr. Nyiszli found himself in a position that few humans could ever endure, attempting to survive a one of the places where inhumanity went on full display, a name which will likely be acid-etched into the collective Shadow archetype of Humanity; the Nazi extermination camp, Auschwitz-Birkenau.Dr. Nyiszli wrote his only book, Auschwitz: A Doctor’s Eyewitness Account, shortly after returning home to Hungary from the camps as a document for the rest of history to study. He attempts to tell the unadulterated and uncensored tale of The Third Reich’s systematic murder of any individual who did not fit into their worldview. Where as many accounts of the Nazi’s concentration camps comes from the lives of the prisoners who were starved and tortured, Dr. Nyiszli came from a position that has made his book as well as his memory (he passed away in May of 1956) both invaluable and reviled.
In the summer of 1944, The Nyiszli family arrived by train to the Auschwitz-Birkenau extermination camp in Poland, with a convoy of Jews from Eastern Europe. During the “selection” process," Dr. Nyiszli was separated from his wife and daughter after volunteering the information regarding his profession. Little did he know, he would end up serving as the primary physician and autopsy expert for one of the most infamous of the Nazi war criminals: Dr. Joseph Mengele So, from June of 1944 to January of 1945, Dr. Miklos Nyiszli served with the Sonderkommando (a group of Jewish prisoners, executed generally every four months, who worked the Crematoria and gas chambers in exchange for a slightly better lot in life) as well as serving as the physician to the SS, who were not only Auschwitz’s administrators, but also chief Executioners. Dr. Nyiszli would primarily, however, spent the majority of his time in the camp performing autopsies under the direction of Dr. Mengele, who was attempting to prove via pseudoscience, the “inferiority” of “non-Aryans.”Auschwitz: A Doctor’s Eyewitness Account is a gut-churning tale with an unflinching narrative manner. While there are plenty of other stories regarding “The Final Solution” and the associated Nazi camps, Dr. Nyiszli’s book can be a cause for argument, and has remained such since it’s initial publication in 1947. At the same time, Auschwitz is also a valuable document, giving a unique insider’s view at the functioning and organization of a veritable genocide machine. Dr. Bruno Bettelheim, a psychologist who wrote the forward to the 1960’s paperback edition of Auschwitz (which has been included in most reprints since that time,) issued a scathing criticism of Dr. Nyiszli’s decision to assist as the chief pathologist at Auschwitz. Dr. Bettelheim also likened this to one of the most well-know stories of The Holocaust: The Diary of Anne Frank, arguing that the Franks, and by implication, Dr. Nyiszli and most other Jews, were led by the urge to attempt living life with “business as usual,” leading ultimately to the death of an entire family as well as approximately 6 million Jews and millions of other minority groups throughout Europe. This criticism, however, is light when considering the words of Michael Nevins, M.D., who wrote the essay Moral Dilemmas faced by Jewish Doctors during The Holocaust. Nevins flatly says “Dr. Nyiszli was a reprehensible individual who ingratiated himself with his masters in order to save his own skin.”
While it is difficult to understand how a seemingly rational person could take part in the activities of Auschwitz-Birkenau, leading millions to their deaths, does Dr. Miklos Nyiszli deserve the mountains of scorn that have been heaped upon him?It is easy to find anyone who would take part in such atrocity as horrible or hate-worthy, but knowing that Dr. Nyiszli held no sympathy to The Third Reich turns the situation into a profound moral ambiguity. In Auschwitz, Dr. Nyiszli repeatedly points out that his concerns while in the camp were the safety of his wife and daughter, as well as trying to stay alive long enough to tell the public of the concentration camps. As well, the depth of violence being committed in the walls of Auschwitz-Birkenau was clearly a surprise to Dr. Nyiszli, and he repeatedly says that each new development he witnessed (I.e. the varying methods of execution and corpse disposal) disturbed him greatly.
Further, the argument that Dr. Nyiszli volunteered himself merely to preserve his own life is a somewhat problematic accusation. As a conscious human being, Dr. Nyiszli was determined to “save his own skin’ but could that same argument be thrown at the other members of the Sonderkommando? Without his instinct towards self-preservation (as well as his desire to save his family and preserve the tale of his hardship) the world would not have the intimate knowledge of “The Final Solution” that we do today.
Whether or not you agree with the choices made by Dr. Miklos Nyiszli from June of 1944 to January of 1945, this oft-forgotten story deserves to be retold, if not as a cautionary tale, but as a question of man’s instinct to survive versus the moral dilemmas that can face even the most common of people.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Last Act
Perhaps the only capability in human nature that is darker than murder is the ability to take one’s own life. Suicide is an inevitability of the human condition; it seems to exist in nearly every culture and is generally reviled. Most of the world’s major religions treat suicide as an affront to Divinity and the secular world tends to treat suicidal individuals as mentally unstable and in need of help, sometimes against the will of the individual in question.
But seemingly few cultures took suicide to the extreme of Feudal Japan. For many members of the ruling class, suicide was a gruesome and inevitable end.
The tradition of ritual suicide first appears to have started in 1192 A.D. during the Kamakura Bakufu (“Tent-Government,” or military rule.) This turbulent time period is known as much for the growth and spread of multiple schools of Japanese Buddhism as it is for the invasion of Japan by the Mongols under the leadership of Kublai Khan. In this state of immense violence, Samurai warriors would stop at nothing to guarantee that they would be captured. Suicide on the battlefield is not new, but in the highly militarized culture of 12th Century Japan and it’s warlords would leave a lasting imprint, seemingly strong enough to nearly enter the 20th century.
The act of ritual suicide is known in Japan as Seppuku, literally meaning “cutting the belly.” From a modern Western standpoint, it is difficult to conceive why anyone would want to take part in this so it helps to understand the world of Feudal Japan. Until the Meiji restoration of 1868, the Japanese world was divided by a rigid caste system. At the top of the social order was the Shogun or Daimyo. They take were the actual leaders of the country, with the Emperor of Japan existing primarily as the head of the indigenous religion of Shinto but few actual temporal authorities. Enforcing this system were the Samurai, who functioned not only as soldiers for the regional leaders, but as bureaucrats, educated-elite, and police. Beneath them existed the majority of people; primarily craftsmen and farmers.
For those individuals born into the Samurai caste, the notion of absolute loyalty to the State and it’s leaders was expected. While much has been written in the modern era regarding the philosophy and ethics of this warrior class (called Bushido) it is debatable as to how much it was actually adhered to, versus how much of it is more a concept dictated by World War II-era Imperial Japanese propaganda. What is not debatable, however, is that the expectations put upon the warrior class. The word Samurai roughly translates to “To Serve” or “Servant,” even if it means following the order of their superior to the death.
For the common-folk of Feudal Japan, a death sentence meant facing beheading or strangulation. For the Samurai class (or anyone else above them in caste system) the “method of dispatch” was formal, designed to give the Samurai a death was both certain and dignified.
Upon the declaration that a Samurai must commit Seppuku, the condemned would be required to prepare, quite literally for his death. The Samurai would don an entirely white outfit, traditionally worn for funerals. They would compose a short poem to metaphorically describe their death, drink a final cup of rice wine, and be led to the spot of their execution. (It should be noted that there was a similar tradition of Seppuku for the wives and female members of the Samurai class, but that it was not as common.) The traditions of Seppuku indicate that for the Samurai it was a honorable death. In his classic 1871 text, Tales of Old Japan, Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford wrote of a Samurai named Zenzaburo who had attacked visiting dignitaries from Europe. “After another profound obeisance, Taki Zenzaburo, in a voice which betrayed just so much emotion and hesitation as might be expected from a man who is making a painful confession, but with no sign of either in his face or manner, spoke as follows: ‘I, and I alone, unwarrantably gave the order to fire on the foreigners at Kobe. and again as they tried to escape. For this crime I disembowel myself, and I beg you who are present to do me the honor of witnessing the act.’ Bowing once more, the speaker allowed his upper garments to slip down to his girdle, and remained naked to the waist….he tucked his sleeves under his knees to prevent himself from falling backwards; for a noble Japanese gentleman should die falling forwards. Deliberately, with a steady hand, he took the dirk that lay before him; he looked at it wistfully, almost affectionately; for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts for the last time, and then stabbing himself deeply below the waist on the left-hand side, he drew the dirk slowly across to the right side, and, turning it in the wound, gave a slight cut upwards. During this sickeningly painful operation he never moved a muscle of his face….At that moment the kaishaku(the condemned Samurai's "second"), who, still crouching by his side, had been keenly watching his every movement, sprang to his feet, poised his sword for a second in the air; there was a flash, a heavy, ugly thud, a crashing fall; with one blow the head had been severed from the body. A dead silence followed, broken only by the hideous noise of the blood throbbing out of the inert heap before us, which but a moment before had been a brave and chivalrous man. It was horrible”
It should be mentioned that this form of ceremonial disembowelment was not reserved exclusively for capital punishment; disgrace or loss of “face” could be and often was sufficient cause. The culture of Japan, both ancient and modern, has always been deeply steeped in the notion of honor. To have one’s name or reputation severely besmirched not only damaged the person, but the person’s family and ancestors as well. It would be better, the logic of this “honorable suicide” dictates, for a person to willing cease to live than to continue to insult family and ancestry by being alive. As well, a very special form of Seppuku, called Junshi, became especially problematic. Upon the death of noble lord, the throng of Samurai that served as his retainers would commit this gruesome form of suicide en masse as a sign of loyalty to their leader. This practice became so common that the Tokugawa Shogunate issued a statement in the 1660’s banning the practice. According to the Buke Sho Hatto, published in 1663, "That the custom of following a master in death is wrong and unprofitable is a caution which has been at times given of old; but, owing to the fact that it has not actually been prohibited, the number of those who cut their belly to follow their lord on his decease has become very great. For the future, to those retainers who may be animated by such an idea, their respective lords should intimate, constantly and in very strong terms, their disapproval of the custom. If, notwithstanding this warning, any instance of the practice should occur, it will be deemed that the deceased lord was to blame for unreadiness. Henceforward, moreover, his son and successor will be held to be blameworthy for incompetence, as not having prevented the suicides."
Suicide in modern Japan is still a common occurrence. Legally speaking, there is no prohibition against the act though government organizations have made official statements attempting to dissuade suicidal individuals from the act. While ritual disembowelment is all but a thing of the past, it was estimated by the World Health Organization in 2009 that 32,845 people committed suicide, generally by means of hanging, poisoning, or jumping from buildings and other elevated surfaces. Though it is impossible to directly link the self-destructiveness of Japan’s Feudal past to modern behavior and psychology, it is certainly noteworthy to consider that the Japanese are historically rooted in this sort of activity. Time will be the judge of whether the modern world can erase this most ancient habit.
But seemingly few cultures took suicide to the extreme of Feudal Japan. For many members of the ruling class, suicide was a gruesome and inevitable end.
The tradition of ritual suicide first appears to have started in 1192 A.D. during the Kamakura Bakufu (“Tent-Government,” or military rule.) This turbulent time period is known as much for the growth and spread of multiple schools of Japanese Buddhism as it is for the invasion of Japan by the Mongols under the leadership of Kublai Khan. In this state of immense violence, Samurai warriors would stop at nothing to guarantee that they would be captured. Suicide on the battlefield is not new, but in the highly militarized culture of 12th Century Japan and it’s warlords would leave a lasting imprint, seemingly strong enough to nearly enter the 20th century.The act of ritual suicide is known in Japan as Seppuku, literally meaning “cutting the belly.” From a modern Western standpoint, it is difficult to conceive why anyone would want to take part in this so it helps to understand the world of Feudal Japan. Until the Meiji restoration of 1868, the Japanese world was divided by a rigid caste system. At the top of the social order was the Shogun or Daimyo. They take were the actual leaders of the country, with the Emperor of Japan existing primarily as the head of the indigenous religion of Shinto but few actual temporal authorities. Enforcing this system were the Samurai, who functioned not only as soldiers for the regional leaders, but as bureaucrats, educated-elite, and police. Beneath them existed the majority of people; primarily craftsmen and farmers.
For those individuals born into the Samurai caste, the notion of absolute loyalty to the State and it’s leaders was expected. While much has been written in the modern era regarding the philosophy and ethics of this warrior class (called Bushido) it is debatable as to how much it was actually adhered to, versus how much of it is more a concept dictated by World War II-era Imperial Japanese propaganda. What is not debatable, however, is that the expectations put upon the warrior class. The word Samurai roughly translates to “To Serve” or “Servant,” even if it means following the order of their superior to the death.
For the common-folk of Feudal Japan, a death sentence meant facing beheading or strangulation. For the Samurai class (or anyone else above them in caste system) the “method of dispatch” was formal, designed to give the Samurai a death was both certain and dignified.
Upon the declaration that a Samurai must commit Seppuku, the condemned would be required to prepare, quite literally for his death. The Samurai would don an entirely white outfit, traditionally worn for funerals. They would compose a short poem to metaphorically describe their death, drink a final cup of rice wine, and be led to the spot of their execution. (It should be noted that there was a similar tradition of Seppuku for the wives and female members of the Samurai class, but that it was not as common.) The traditions of Seppuku indicate that for the Samurai it was a honorable death. In his classic 1871 text, Tales of Old Japan, Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford wrote of a Samurai named Zenzaburo who had attacked visiting dignitaries from Europe. “After another profound obeisance, Taki Zenzaburo, in a voice which betrayed just so much emotion and hesitation as might be expected from a man who is making a painful confession, but with no sign of either in his face or manner, spoke as follows: ‘I, and I alone, unwarrantably gave the order to fire on the foreigners at Kobe. and again as they tried to escape. For this crime I disembowel myself, and I beg you who are present to do me the honor of witnessing the act.’ Bowing once more, the speaker allowed his upper garments to slip down to his girdle, and remained naked to the waist….he tucked his sleeves under his knees to prevent himself from falling backwards; for a noble Japanese gentleman should die falling forwards. Deliberately, with a steady hand, he took the dirk that lay before him; he looked at it wistfully, almost affectionately; for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts for the last time, and then stabbing himself deeply below the waist on the left-hand side, he drew the dirk slowly across to the right side, and, turning it in the wound, gave a slight cut upwards. During this sickeningly painful operation he never moved a muscle of his face….At that moment the kaishaku(the condemned Samurai's "second"), who, still crouching by his side, had been keenly watching his every movement, sprang to his feet, poised his sword for a second in the air; there was a flash, a heavy, ugly thud, a crashing fall; with one blow the head had been severed from the body. A dead silence followed, broken only by the hideous noise of the blood throbbing out of the inert heap before us, which but a moment before had been a brave and chivalrous man. It was horrible”It should be mentioned that this form of ceremonial disembowelment was not reserved exclusively for capital punishment; disgrace or loss of “face” could be and often was sufficient cause. The culture of Japan, both ancient and modern, has always been deeply steeped in the notion of honor. To have one’s name or reputation severely besmirched not only damaged the person, but the person’s family and ancestors as well. It would be better, the logic of this “honorable suicide” dictates, for a person to willing cease to live than to continue to insult family and ancestry by being alive. As well, a very special form of Seppuku, called Junshi, became especially problematic. Upon the death of noble lord, the throng of Samurai that served as his retainers would commit this gruesome form of suicide en masse as a sign of loyalty to their leader. This practice became so common that the Tokugawa Shogunate issued a statement in the 1660’s banning the practice. According to the Buke Sho Hatto, published in 1663, "That the custom of following a master in death is wrong and unprofitable is a caution which has been at times given of old; but, owing to the fact that it has not actually been prohibited, the number of those who cut their belly to follow their lord on his decease has become very great. For the future, to those retainers who may be animated by such an idea, their respective lords should intimate, constantly and in very strong terms, their disapproval of the custom. If, notwithstanding this warning, any instance of the practice should occur, it will be deemed that the deceased lord was to blame for unreadiness. Henceforward, moreover, his son and successor will be held to be blameworthy for incompetence, as not having prevented the suicides."
Suicide in modern Japan is still a common occurrence. Legally speaking, there is no prohibition against the act though government organizations have made official statements attempting to dissuade suicidal individuals from the act. While ritual disembowelment is all but a thing of the past, it was estimated by the World Health Organization in 2009 that 32,845 people committed suicide, generally by means of hanging, poisoning, or jumping from buildings and other elevated surfaces. Though it is impossible to directly link the self-destructiveness of Japan’s Feudal past to modern behavior and psychology, it is certainly noteworthy to consider that the Japanese are historically rooted in this sort of activity. Time will be the judge of whether the modern world can erase this most ancient habit.
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