When I began writing The Friar: Pacioli’s Secret Charts, I had no idea how deeply the story would entwine with one of my favorite subjects: the origins of financial analysis. Ichimoku charts, those colorful tools traders use to predict market trends, seemed a natural fit for my narrative. But the more I researched their history, the more I began to suspect there was something missing—a mystery hiding in plain sight. What if the techniques behind Ichimoku charts weren’t just a 20th-century Japanese innovation but the culmination of centuries of human ingenuity, stretching back to the Renaissance?
This question became a driving force in my novel. Through historical exploration and speculative fiction, I wanted to uncover how tools like Ichimoku might be part of a much older story—one that connects the rice markets of Edo-period Osaka with the mathematical genius of a 15th-century friar.
Osaka and the Seeds of Technical Analysis
Let’s start with Osaka. In the Edo period (1603–1868), Japan closed itself off from the rest of the world in an act of radical isolation. While foreign trade was restricted, domestic commerce flourished, and Osaka became the epicenter of the nation’s economy. Its bustling rice markets gave birth to one of the world’s first futures systems. Merchants not only traded physical rice but used warehouse receipts as currency, creating an early form of financial contracts.
But what truly fascinated me was how these merchants tracked their transactions. They began to record price movements visually, noting patterns and trends over time. This wasn’t just bookkeeping—it was the birth of technical analysis. The methods they pioneered would later influence the candlestick charts we still use today.
The Ichimoku Connection: A Fictional Leap or Hidden Truth?
Ichimoku charts, as we know them, were formalized in the 1930s by a Japanese journalist named Goichi Hosoda. Yet, as I delved into the history of Edo-period Osaka, I couldn’t help but wonder: were these methods truly Hosoda’s invention, or did they emerge from something much older, something passed down through centuries of practice?
In The Friar, I took the liberty of imagining a more ancient origin for these techniques. My protagonist, Ken Rochat, stumbles upon strange graffiti in a Balinese cave that resembles Ichimoku charts. The shapes and patterns—clouds, lines, and shaded areas—are shockingly similar to the tools traders use today. This discovery sets off a chain of events that leads Ken to the lost manuscript of Luca Pacioli, the father of modern accounting.
Luca Pacioli: The Mathematical Thread
Pacioli’s manuscript is the linchpin of my story, and for good reason. This 15th-century Franciscan friar was no ordinary monk. He revolutionized accounting, wrote extensively on mathematics, and explored the golden ratio—a principle of proportion and balance found everywhere from nature to Renaissance art. It struck me that the same sense of harmony and precision could underpin financial analysis.
Could Pacioli’s ideas have influenced the rice traders of Edo-period Japan? Could his theories on geometry and proportion have inspired the techniques that later evolved into Ichimoku charts? While my novel doesn’t claim historical accuracy, it invites readers to consider how knowledge transcends cultures and eras, often in unexpected ways.
A Timeless Human Endeavor
What I love most about this subject is its universality. Whether it’s Pacioli crafting the foundations of modern finance, Osaka merchants tracking rice prices, or contemporary traders using Ichimoku charts, the underlying pursuit is the same: finding order in chaos. Humans have always sought patterns to predict the unpredictable. Finance, at its heart, is simply a more structured way of grappling with uncertainty.
In The Friar, I wanted to show how these threads—mathematics, markets, and human ingenuity—are interconnected. The tools we use today aren’t isolated inventions; they’re part of a legacy that stretches back centuries, built on the shoulders of countless innovators.
Ichimoku charts are more than just a technical tool—they’re a testament to our shared history. By imagining their connection to Pacioli and Osaka’s rice markets, I hoped to spark curiosity about the origins of the tools we take for granted. Perhaps, as traders, analysts, or curious readers, we’ll begin to see these methods not just as data points but as part of a much grander story—one that celebrates humanity’s relentless drive to understand and master the forces that shape our lives.
So, the next time you glance at an Ichimoku chart, consider this: are you merely reading a price trend, or are you tapping into centuries of human ingenuity, encoded in patterns that bridge continents and centuries? My guess is the answer lies somewhere in between.
(Ken Philips is the author of The Friar: Pacioli’s Secret Charts, a novel blending historical intrigue and modern financial drama.)
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