Repair or Restore the Kintai Bridge, the Disappeared Fire of Miyajima, and the Arch of A-bombed Trees — Three Variations on the Philosophy of “Fixing the Broken”

When faced with something broken, people first think about restoring it to its original state. But what does “original” mean — is it the material, the shape, or perhaps the very time that resided within it?

In the area stretching from western Hiroshima Prefecture to eastern Yamaguchi Prefecture, three different approaches to “repair” are currently underway. The debate over the reconstruction of the Kintai Bridge in Iwakuni, the rebuilding of the Reika-do on Miyajima, and the creation of an arch from A-bombed trees in Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park all confront the question of how to handle what is broken, yet each offers a distinctly different answer. What emerges from examining these three cases together is the underlying design philosophy of “who is comforted” and “what is preserved” in the act of restoration.

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I. Kintai Bridge — Is “Reconstruction” Repair or Restoration?

The Kintai Bridge in Iwakuni City is a five-arch wooden bridge built in 1673 (the first year of the Enpo era) by Yoshikawa Hiroyoshi. It has spanned the Nishiki River for about 350 years, undergoing repeated loss and reconstruction. The most recent reconstruction took place from 2001 to 2004, with a total project cost of approximately 2.6 billion yen, an unprecedented scale for a wooden bridge.

Currently, Iwakuni City is aiming for UNESCO World Heritage registration and is reassessing the “nature of reconstruction” through a committee involving experts. The focal point of this discussion is whether the periodic reconstructions are considered “repair” or “restoration.”

This distinction is not merely a matter of semantics. In the evaluation criteria for World Heritage sites, “authenticity” is a core concept. For stone structures, the preservation of original materials often serves as a basis for authenticity. However, in wooden structures, the lifespan of the materials is typically shorter than that of the structure itself. As seen in the Shikinen Sengu of Ise Jingu, the idea that “the act of continuous rebuilding itself is the essence of tradition” runs deep in Japan’s wooden culture.

In the case of the Kintai Bridge, the types of wood and construction methods used have subtly changed with each reconstruction. The 2001 reconstruction referenced Edo-period drawings and Meiji-period measurements, while incorporating modern structural reinforcements. In other words, a “completely identical structure” can never be created again. Nevertheless, the continuous act of assembling wood, allowing it to warp, and creating an arc over the river — this “transmission of technique” is what Iwakuni City argues constitutes the authenticity of the Kintai Bridge.

Whether it is labeled “repair” or “restoration” alters the evaluative framework in the World Heritage review. If it is considered repair, the bridge can assert its continuity as a “living cultural asset.” If it is deemed restoration, it must operate under the premise that “the original has been lost.” The choice of words defines the very significance of the structure’s existence. This raises fundamental questions about how the mechanisms of cultural heritage administration translate the activities on the ground.

It is noteworthy that this debate is inseparable from the local economy. The annual number of tourists visiting the Kintai Bridge is about 3 million. The costs of reconstruction are supported not only by national and prefectural subsidies but also by the bridge toll (310 yen for adults) and surrounding tourism revenue. If the designation of “repair” becomes established, the justification for public support for periodic reconstructions will become clearer, leading to stabilized funding sources. In other words, this debate is also about the mechanisms that support the people crossing the bridge.

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II. Miyajima Reika-do — How to Relight the Disappeared Fire

The Reika-do, located near the summit of Mt. Misen on Itsukushima, has been the site that has preserved the “eternal flame” said to have been lit by Kobo Daishi Kukai during his training. It is also known as one of the embers of the “Flame of Peace” in Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial Park, positioning it at the intersection of religion and peace memory.

Severely damaged by a typhoon in 2005, the building has continued to deteriorate even after subsequent repairs. The question raised here is not just whether to restore the building to its original shape. When the “eternal flame” was extinguished, is the flame that is relit “the same fire” — a more fundamental inquiry.

Physically speaking, if the fuel changes, it is a different fire. However, as long as people believe it is “the same fire” and continue to visit in faith, the continuity of the flame is socially secured. What is intriguing about the discussion surrounding the Reika-do’s reconstruction is that the “function as a place to protect the flame” takes precedence over the accuracy of architectural restoration.

Local stakeholders are calling for a design that encompasses not just a mere reproduction of the exterior but also improvements to the visitor flow and fire safety. The estimated reconstruction cost is in the hundreds of millions of yen, and discussions are underway regarding securing funding through the island entry tax (visitor tax, 100 yen per person, introduced in October 2023). With an estimated annual visitor count of about 3 million, it is projected that the entry tax alone could generate approximately 300 million yen per year.

What emerges here is the distinction between “returning to the original” and “inheriting the function.” While the Kintai Bridge finds authenticity in the “continuity of technique,” the Reika-do places authenticity in the “continuity of faith.” When fixing something broken, the design philosophy changes entirely depending on what is regarded as the “essence.”

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III. The Arch of A-bombed Trees — Breaking What Did Not Break

In Hiroshima City, about 160 trees that survived the bombing within approximately 2 kilometers of the epicenter are registered. These A-bombed trees are aging, and the risks of falling or dying are increasing year by year. Using the wood from these trees that have been inevitably cut down to create new structures forms the backbone of the “Re:Arch Hiroshima” project.

It is noteworthy that this project is neither “repair” nor “restoration.” The A-bombed trees were not broken; rather, they survived intact. They sprouted in the scorched earth and have lived for nearly 80 years. The act of cutting down these trees and reassembling them into a different form possesses a vector opposite to that of “fixing.”

Yet, this project connects to the theme of “fixing the broken” because what is being repaired is not the trees but the “circuit of memory.” If the A-bombed trees simply stand, many passersby may not notice their history. By assembling the cut wood into an arch with human hands and involving citizens in the process, the physical experiences of “touching,” “holding,” and “assembling” become mediums of memory.

The architects leading the project describe participants’ reactions when they touch the wood: “Some people count the rings and trace their fingers around the area of 1945.” Within that movement of the fingers resides something that cannot be conveyed through data or timelines. By deliberately dismantling what did not break and reconstituting it into another form, new pathways for the transmission of memory are laid down. This is neither repair nor restoration; it is a third way of “fixing.”

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What the Three Variations Illuminate

The Kintai Bridge conveys the bridge through “transmitting technique.” The Reika-do continues to light the flame by “inheriting faith.” The arch of A-bombed trees connects the past and present by “allowing memory to be touched.”

What is common among these three cases is the recognition that “returning to the original form” is not necessarily the best approach. Another point is that in every case, the design of the mechanisms supporting the act of fixing is as important as the cultural heritage itself. Bridge tolls, entry taxes, and citizen-participatory workshops. The design of funding sources and human involvement provides substantive answers to the question of “what is preserved.”

In the world of cultural heritage administration, the question of “whether it is authentic” is often raised. However, what is happening on the ground is a bit more complex and a bit warmer. The tactile sensation of assembling wood, the flicker of the flame that continues to burn, the fingertips tracing the growth rings — perhaps “authenticity” is something that arises each time between the person fixing and the object being fixed.

When faced with something broken, people choose not to “return to the original” but to “pass it on to the next generation.” Within that choice lies the quiet inscription of local thought.