IF JAPANESE BUDDHIST TEMPLE BELLS COULD TALK

If you’ve visited Buddhist temples in Japan, chances are you passed through their entry gates and continued straight to their venerable main halls. Perhaps you admired the architecture, gazed upon painted screens and Buddhist sculptures, or strolled through landscaped gardens. But did you notice Japanese Buddhist temple bells, generally located off to the side and hanging inside covered bell towers open to the elements? Even more telling, did you take a picture of them?

Count me guilty. After searching through what seemed like thousands of photos I’ve taken of temples throughout the country, I could find only three images of Japanese Buddhist temple bells. It turns out that bronze bells are often overlooked, yet they’re a vitally important feature of Japanese temples.

“I love the bells because they have a presence at a temple, but most of the time people walk by and don’t notice,” says Sherry Fowler, Professor of Japanese art history at the University of Kansas.

She says Japanese bells also aren’t the usual focus for studies in art. “They don’t fit well into art history. They’re metalwork, they’re big, and they’re religious.”

Buddhist bells, dragons, and water

Recognizing the dearth of information about Japanese Buddhist temple bells, Fowler wrote “Buddhist Bells and Dragons: Under and Over Water, In and Out of Japan,” published by University of Hawai’i Press in 2025. Her scholarly work explores the relationship between dragons, bells, and water in Japanese culture, drawing upon stories and legends of specific bells through history.   

But the most astonishing thing I learned from her book was that not only are Japanese Buddhist temple bells often overlooked, but they also came close to vanishing altogether.

In the 1940s, to support its Asia-Pacific war efforts, Japan ordered the collection of all “nonessential” metalwork. By the end of World War II, 90% of Japan’s bells were gone, either melted down for their metal or destroyed by bombings. Some of those that survived were carted off to the United States as war booty.

Producing Japanese Buddhist temple bells 101

Buddhist bells, called bonshō, are made of bronze, which contains up to 85% copper, 12% to 15% tin, and a few other materials like zinc. One of the most fascinating things I learned from Fowler’s book is that because bells were expensive to make, temples might ask for donations. People, therefore, gave personal items such as mirrors, jewelry, or war medals to be added to the formation of the bell. It’s hard to imagine a more intimate connection, knowing a bell contained something from me or an ancestor.

Bells are made from molten metal, poured into a mold. Because of the highly flammable process, bells were traditionally cast in pits dug into the earth.  

“After a bell is made, it has to cure, or set, for about two years outside, because bells are left outside,” says Fowler. “It’s very tricky, and the bell may not work. It may not make the right sound. It might have a design flaw.”

Because casting affects the bell’s sound, many bells don’t pass muster. In Fowler’s book, I learned that the success rate for bell casting throughout history is said to be only 50%. In other words, half of them must be recast.

Just one Hz off

That was certainly the case in 1975, when the Iwasawa Bell Company tried to replicate Japan’s oldest bell, cast more than 1,300 years ago and considered to possess the perfect bell tone. The first attempt produced a replica with a 130 Hz frequency (a unit of measurement, specifically cycles per second), which was deemed insufficient. The second casting produced a bell that differed by a single Hz. With a frequency of 129 Hz, it was judged acceptable (nothing, I suppose, could be better than the best). You can read about the painstaking recreation of the 7th-century Myōshinji Temple bell here.

The soundscape of Buddhist bells

The sound of church bells, while glorious, is completely different from the sonorous tone of Buddhist bells. Whereas church bells are rung with an inside clapper, a bonshō is struck on the outside, most commonly with a wooden beam that is suspended with ropes and swung to strike the bell, like in this Getty Museum Collection photo taken in 1864 (Digital image courtesy of Getty’s Open Content Program).

In olden times, bells were sounded to announce the time and for Buddhist rituals. Pilgrims might ring bells as part of their spiritual journey. The biggest role temple bells play today is on New Year’s Eve, when they’re struck 108 times to expiate Buddhism’s 108 sins, or human imperfections, and to usher in the new year.

Parts of the bell

Because virtually every object and cultural endeavor in traditional Japan is categorized and named, from items used in the tea ceremony to the process of creating lacquered boxes, it should come as no surprise that all parts of Japanese Buddhist temple bells have their names.

One of the most distinguishing markings on a Japanese bell is its strike plate (tsukiza), which indicates the best place to strike the bell with the suspended beam (called a striker, or shumoku). The strike plate is usually in the form of an eight-pedaled lotus flower,  with a duplicate lotus on the opposite side.

Other decorations include protruding knobs, or bosses (chi), divided into four sections of organized rows often totaling 108 bosses, the number of times a bell is rung on New Year’s Eve. There might also be designs of dragons, celestial beings, or Kannon, the Bodhisattva of Mercy, revered for her compassion and commitment to relieve suffering.

One of the coolest parts of a Japanese Buddhist temple bell, in my opinion, is the loop on top, from which the bell is suspended. This suspension loop is called ryūzu, or “dragon heads.” That’s because the loop usually consists of two dragon heads, sharing one neck at the top and forming a loop with two dragon heads that attach to the bell’s canopy. What could be a more powerful link between bells and dragons than that?

Most importantly, many bells also carry inscriptions that tell their history, including dates of casting, names of patrons and artisans, and locations over the centuries. This is especially important because after bells were cast, molds were destroyed, and there were no written manuals. Much of what we know about historic bells, therefore, comes from the bells themselves.

The oldest Buddhist temple bells in Japan

The earliest bronze bells in China, according to Fowler’s book, were made around 2,000-1600 BCE. The oldest Chinese temple bell, dating from 575 and now at the Nara National Museum, is a a significant reminder that when Buddhism entered Japan via China and Korea in the 6^th century, it flourished after Nara became the Japanese capital in 710, spreading to the rest of Japan.

The earliest-dated Japanese temple bell was cast in 698 and is now at Myōshinji Temple in Kyoto (mentioned above). Fowler says this is one of her favorite recommendations for seeing an historic bell. Like many ancient bells in Japan, it is now indoors to protect it from harsh weather.

“You can go into the main hall,” she says. “There’s a painting of a dragon on the ceiling. The bell is in a corner, and you can press a button to hear a recording of it. So go see it!”

If Japanese Buddhist temple bells could talk

Legends and stories about temple bells abound, especially those in which bells were immersed in water to encourage the Dragon King to unleash rain. A bell from Enshōji in the Yokosuka area offers a true-life example. It was deliberately submerged in the sea in 1330 as an offering to the Dragon King. It remained there for nearly 500 years before being discovered by chance.

I also like Fowler’s example of the Dharani Bell, dating from around the 16^th century and now at Kenninji Temple in Kyoto, worth visiting also for its dry landscape garden. The bell became famous after it appeared in a 1799 illustrated guide of Kyoto’s gardens, which depicts several strong men hauling the large bell out of Kyoto’s Kamo River. After being translated into English, a guidebook published in 1895 also tells the story. Today, unfortunately, the bell hangs in a closed bell tower, east of the main hall, with no sign to commemorate its history 

From Ryukyu to the US Naval Academy and back

If only the Gokokuji Bell could talk, what a story it would tell. Cast in Japan in 1456, the Gokokuji Bell was ceremoniously presented to the powerful kingdom of Ryukyu, an archipelago with dynasties, castles, culture, and languages for 500 years before being annexed to Japan in 1879 (now called Okinawa). After Commodore Matthew C. Perry’s second historic trip, in 1854, to open trade between Japan and the West, he made a stop in Ryukyu, where he insisted on being given a big bronze bell as part of the negotiations.

Bells meet their demise in World War II

When Japan needed metal for its war campaign, anything containing bronze, iron, copper, or other materials was taken to scrapyards for melting down and recycling. Playground equipment, postal boxes, manhole covers, iron fences, household pots and pans, radiators, and more were given over to the military.

Bronze bells, too, were an easy target. An estimated 45,000 bells, about 60 percent dating from 1615 to 1868 and 40% made afterwards, were contributed to the war effort (exempt were about 500 bells created before 1815 and famous bells, like those related to the Imperial family). For many Buddhists, who held bells in high esteem for their importance in temple life and their ability to relieve suffering, not to mention families who had contributed personal items for their creation, parting with bells was an emotional affair. Many temples held memorial services before bells were carted off to become munitions.

Although 90% of Japan’s bronze bells were melted down or destroyed by the end of World War II, Fowler relates that an estimated 3,000 bells made after 1615 survived, including some 2,000 that remained in scrapyards. That proved irresistible to the victors.

Japanese bells carted off to the United States

An unknown number of bells discovered in scrapyards or the ruins of Okinawa after the war were shipped off to the United States as war trophies by members of the U.S. military, sometimes on US warships granted permission to carry the special cargo. Fowler reports that since the 1950s, 14 have been repatriated from the US back to Japan, including those that had ended up in Iowa, Kansas, California, and Virginia. Sometimes gift bells from Japan were sent to replace them, like the one now outside the capital in Des Moines, Iowa.

Other bells, like those in Boston and Atlanta, were sanctioned by their original Japanese owners to remain as monuments to international friendship. An unlikely spot for an unreturned bell is Buena Vista Winery in Sonoma, brought from Japan after the war by the winery’s owner.

Fowler also mentions newer peace bells in the United States, such as the one hanging at United Nations headquarters in New York City, made in 1953 by the 14th-generation head of a foundry in Japan.

In Oak Ridge, Tennessee, the International Friendship Bell was cast in Kyoto in 1993 as a symbol of peace and unity between the United States and Japan. Oak Ridge was one of three secret sites where the world’s first atomic bombs were developed. The other two were in Hanford, Washington, and Los Alamos, New Mexico. The three sites now comprise the Manhattan Project National Historical Park.

My new appreciation for Japanese Buddhist temple bells

After reading Sherry Fowler’s book and writing this article, I doubt I’ll ever visit a temple without looking to see whether it has a Buddhist bronze bell. It may not have an explanation in English, but I’ll know it has a story to tell, even if only the difficulty surrounding its birth. Maybe it’s ancient. Maybe it was cast after 1615 and yet survived World War II. At the very least, I’m going to notice its lotus striking plate, its knobs, and its markings, especially that dragon loop on top.

But most of all, I’m going to yearn to hear it.

For what it’s like to stay in a Buddhist temple, read about my experiences at Shinshoji Temple in Hiroshima Prefecture.