Changes and Reforms—Relations with China and Korea—Rupture in
Ministry—Secession of Tosa and Hizen Leaders—Progress of
Reforms—Annexation of Loochoo—Discontent of Former Military Class.
The changes introduced after the Restoration group themselves broadly
into two kinds—those borrowed from abroad, and those due to the
inspiration of the reformers themselves. The reforms affecting the land,
which we have already considered, fall essentially into the latter
category. Though some colouring of Western ideas may be apparent in the
stress laid on uniformity of tenure and taxation, and in some other
respects, the land reform, viewed as a whole, was the logical outcome of
the abolition of feudalism. It was thus from the first a matter into
which domestic considerations alone entered, one that was free,
therefore, from any marked foreign influences.
Of a different kind, and bearing the manifest impress of importation
from the West, were the introduction of conscription on European—mainly
German—lines; the creation of a postal system, and the opening of a
mint; the construction of the first railways, telegraphs and dockyards;
the suppression of anti-Christian edicts, and the cessation of religious
persecution; the adoption of the Gregorian Calendar; the formation of a
Board for the development of Yezo; the establishment of treaty relations
with China in accordance with Western usages; the creation of the Tōkiō
University; and the removal of the prohibition regarding the use, in
speech or writing, of the Mikado’s name. All these changes occurred in
rapid succession in the short space of five years.
With regard to the change, or reform, last mentioned—the removal of the
interdict regarding the use of the Emperor’s name—to foreigners the
permission seems as strange as the prohibition. It sounds like an echo
from remote ages. But it is difficult to exaggerate the gulf which had
hitherto separated the Throne from the people. Only in an ironical sense
could the phrase “the fierce light that beats upon a throne” have been
applied to a Japanese monarch. Both the throne and its occupant were
veiled in mysterious shadow, and to the respect due to royalty was added
the veneration paid to a God. In the case of the Mikado, his name never
appeared in writing until 1868, when the Message dated the 3rd February
of that year, announcing to foreign Governments his assumption of
“supreme authority,” in consequence of the Shōgun’s voluntary
resignation of “the governing power,” was delivered to the foreign
representatives. This Message bore the signature “Mutsuhito,” which
purported to be the sign-manual of the Sovereign. The change introduced
was, however, of no practical importance, for no one wished to make use
of the permission vouchsafed. It is interesting only from the fact of
its being a significant departure from traditional custom, and also
because it illustrates the spirit in which all reform was conceived.
The establishment in 1871 of a new Board, or minor department, for the
development of the then northernmost island of Yezo, thenceforth to be
known as the _Hokkaidō_, or Northern Sea Circuit—one of the many
geographical areas distinguished by this name into which Japan is
divided—calls for notice chiefly from the fact that it was one of the
few instances of reforms which were unsuccessful. For the enterprise in
question the services of American experts were engaged. The project, on
which in all some £10,000,000 are stated to have been spent, languished
from the outset, though some benefit was ultimately derived from the
horse-breeding industry which was then created; and ten years later the
Board was dissolved. It was in connection with the abandonment of this
undertaking, the direction of which was entrusted to General Kuroda, a
leading Satsuma clansman, that Marquis (then Mr.) Ōkuma left the
Ministry, which he did not rejoin until seven years later.
Various reasons were assigned for this failure, charges of official
corruption being freely made. As to one contributory cause there can be
little doubt—the distaste, or, it may be, the constitutional unfitness,
of the Japanese people for what may be called the pioneer work of
colonization. Those who differ from this view may point to the success
achieved by Japan elsewhere, in Formosa, for instance, which she
received as part of the fruits of her victory over China in the war of
1894–95. The conditions in that case, however, were exceptionally
favourable. The secret of her success there lay in the great natural
riches of the island, due to virtues of climate and soil, in a plentiful
supply of cheap labour, and in the still, industry and organizing talent
which distinguish the Japanese people. Formosa produces nearly the whole
of the world’s supply of camphor, of which Japan has made a State
monopoly. Among other notable products are cane sugar, now also a State
monopoly, tea and rice. The development of these staple products is a
tribute to the thoroughness of Japanese administrative methods. But the
Japanese were never pioneers there; nor did they create the industries
they developed. These owe their inception to the Chinese population,
originally settlers from the mainland, which was disputing the hill
country with the aborigines when the Japanese arrived. Ten years after
the Japanese occupation of the island the Japanese inhabitants,
including many officials, numbered only 40,000, as compared with some
100,000 aborigines, with whom an intermittent warfare is still being
carried on, and about 3,000,000 Chinese. These figures speak for
themselves.
The less favourable conditions of climate and soil under which similar
operations have been conducted in the northernmost Japanese islands have
led to very different results. Of recent years, owing to the
exploitation of coal mines and the general growth of shipping and
commerce, there has been a marked advance in the development of Yezo. As
compared, however, with the great strides made by Japan in other
directions, the record of what has been accomplished there in the half
century which has elapsed since the Restoration is disappointing. Viewed
in conjunction with other facts, it justifies the inference that while
the industry and enterprise of the Japanese people ensure remarkable
results in favourable conditions, where no pioneer work is demanded,—as
in Formosa, Hawaii, and the Pacific coasts of Canada and America—neither
by physique nor by temperament are they fitted to cope under adverse
circumstances with the strenuous toil and severe hardships of pioneer
colonization. And this conclusion is supported by what we know of the
Japanese occupation of Manchurian territory. The point is of importance
as bearing on the question of finding an outlet for the surplus
population of Japan, a subject which is frequently discussed in the
Japanese Press, and which will be referred to again in a later chapter.
If the importance of a subject in public affairs were measured merely by
the amount of attention and labour bestowed upon it, religion would
occupy an inconspicuous place in the list of reforms of the Meiji era.
Only to a limited extent, and then only as identified in a general way
with progressive ideas of Western origin, can the measures taken in
regard to religion be regarded as coming under the head of reforms
borrowed from abroad. Apart from slight changes in the details of
ceremonial observances at religious festivals, adopted later on, and
designed to bring such popular celebrations more into keeping with
Western notions of propriety and decorum, religious reform had from the
first a merely negative character. It did not extend beyond the
withdrawal of the anti-Christian measures that were a survival of the
Christian persecutions of the seventeenth century. It is generally
admitted that the anti-Christian feeling which then arose, and the cruel
penal laws it inspired, were due to political more than to religious
causes. In the toleration extended to Christianity, which found
expression in the withdrawal of anti-Christian edicts, we again see the
operation of political rather than religious motives. Political
expediency, not religious animosity, was thus associated with the
beginning and end of the anti-Christian movement. This is in accordance
with all that we know of the Japanese character. All accounts of Japan,
whether written by Japanese or foreigners, testify to the absence of
anything approaching to religious fanaticism.
As for the other measures affecting religion taken by the new
Government, they were not even progressive in intention, for they were
avowedly a return to what had existed centuries before. They were,
however, in accordance with the principles professed by the Imperialists
at the time of the Restoration; and this was the reason for their
adoption. It will be more convenient to consider these changes under the
head of Religion, which will be treated in subsequent chapters.
On the return of the Iwakura Mission from abroad in 1873 its members
became aware of the serious crisis in domestic affairs which had
occurred in their absence. A difference of opinion had arisen on the
subject of Korea. Since the ultimate failure of the Japanese invasion of
that country, towards the close of the sixteenth century, which was due
to the intervention of China at a moment when Japan had exhausted
herself in the long struggle, the relations between the two countries
had been restricted to the conduct of a trifling trade, and to formal
missions of courtesy sent to announce the accession of a new Sovereign,
or to offer congratulations on the occasion. This trade was carried on
by the Japanese at the port of Pusan, on the southern coast of Korea
opposite the Japanese island of Tsushima. Here there was a small
commercial establishment doing business with the Koreans much in the
same way as the Dutch had previously traded with the Japanese through
their factory at Déshima (Nagasaki). There was a further resemblance
between the former Dutch position in Japan and that of the Japanese in
Korea in the fact that through ill-will, or lack of enterprise on the
part of the Koreans, the trading operations of the Japanese merchants
had become gradually more and more restricted. At the time in question
the attitude of the Koreans towards the residents in the tiny settlement
was the reverse of friendly, and the Japanese authorities had withdrawn
from Pusan all but subordinate officials. According to Japanese
accounts, the Koreans appear to have continued to send periodical
missions of courtesy during the whole period of Tokugawa rule. But when
the Restoration took place they refused to send the customary envoy to
Tōkiō, and also declined to receive the envoy despatched by the new
Japanese Government. Their refusal to have any further intercourse with
Japan was based on the ground that by adopting a new and progressive
policy she had shown herself to be in league with Western barbarians,
thus abandoning the traditions of the Far East to which China and Korea
remained faithful. This affront to Japanese dignity caused great
resentment throughout the country. It came at a moment when there was
already a good deal of friction and smouldering ill-feeling amongst the
leading members of the Government, and the Cabinet, if we may so regard
the inner political group which controlled affairs, became at once
divided into two parties. One of these, led by the elder Saigō,
Soyéshima, Itō Shimpei, Itagaki and Gotō, urged the immediate despatch
of a strong remonstrance. Of this Saigō was anxious to be the bearer, a
course which, as everyone who knew the then temper of the nation, and
the character of the suggested envoy, was aware, must, if followed, lead
to war. The other party, consisting of Chōshiū and other clansmen
centred round the Prime Minister, though little disposed to condone any
deliberate discourtesy on the part of a neighbouring State which had
played so prominent a part in Japanese history, felt that the moment was
inopportune for war. They also probably distrusted—and not without
reason—the motives which actuated the advocates of an aggressive policy.
The matter was referred to Iwakura and his colleagues in the mission.
Their influence turned the scale in favour of a peaceful solution of the
difficulty, with the result that the leaders of the war party resigned
their positions in the Government, their example being followed by many
subordinate office-holders. Saigō and one or two others retired to their
native provinces, the rest remaining in the Capital. This took place in
October, 1873.
The rupture in the Ministry—the first to occur since the formation of
the new Government five years before—had ostensibly arisen over the
Korean question. But in reality there were other issues at stake. This
much is clear from the Memorial presented to the Government in January
of the following year by four of the retiring statesmen, Soyéshima, Itō
Shimpei, Itagaki and Gotō, together with five other officials of lesser
note, whose names do not concern us. Neither in the Memorial itself, nor
in the joint letter in which it was enclosed, is there a word about
Korea. The Memorialists complain in their letter of the delay of the
Government in taking steps for the establishment of representative
institutions. One of the objects of the Iwakura Mission was, it is
pointed out, to gain information for this purpose. Since its return,
however, the promised measures had not been introduced. The continued
withholding from the people of opportunities for public discussion had
created a dangerous situation, calculated to lead to grave trouble in
the country.
It will be seen from this letter that the grievance of the Ministers who
resigned—with the exception of the elder Saigō—related to the question
not of war with Korea, but of the establishment of some form of
representative institutions, as foreshadowed in the Imperial Oath. Their
quarrel with the Government was based on the view that the latter had
broken its promise to take steps in the desired direction.
The Memorial was a repetition of this charge in very prolix form. It
dwelt on the right of the people to a share in the direction of public
affairs, and on the urgency of establishing representative institutions.
The absence of Saigō’s signature both from the letter and Memorial is
not surprising. He had no sympathy with popular reforms of Western
origin. His association in the act of resignation with men whose
political views were so different from his own, and with whom he could
have little in common except dissatisfaction with the conduct of public
affairs, simply indicates the existence of a general spirit of unrest.
The answer of the Government to the memorialists was not unfavourable.
They were told that the principle of an assembly to be chosen by the
people was an excellent one. The question of the establishment of local
assemblies must, however, take precedence, and this matter was already
occupying the Government’s attention.
When discussing in a previous chapter the effects of the abolition of
feudalism it was pointed out what great hardship this measure inflicted
on the military class. That the _ex-samurai_, or _shizoku_, to give them
their new name, should as a class be dissatisfied with the sudden change
in their fortunes was not surprising. It would have been strange if they
had not resented the loss of their many privileges: the superior social
status they enjoyed, their permanent incomes hereditary in the family; a
house and garden free of rent; exemption from all taxation; and the
advantage, appreciated by so poor a class, of being able to travel at
cheaper rates than other people. In the course of the inevitable
reaction which followed on the accomplishment of the common object which
had united the Western clans, and which, it should not be forgotten, was
the work of the military class, there was ample occasion for the
_shizoku_ to realize all that they had lost by the disappearance of
feudalism. The haste, too, with which the new Government had embarked in
their course of reform, copied from abroad, gave umbrage to the
conservatives in that class who still outnumbered those who were in
favour of progress. Nor was the engagement of foreigners, whose services
were indispensable in the execution of these reforms, less unwelcome.
The foreign experts needed were drawn from various countries. The
assistance of France was invoked for the army, and for legal reforms;
that of Germany for the army and for medical science; that of Great
Britain for the navy, for railway construction, telegraphs and
lighthouses, as well as for technical instruction in engineering;
Americans were called in to help in the matter of education and in
agriculture; while experts from Italy and Holland acted as advisers on
questions concerning silk culture and embankments.
Speaking of the craze for imitating the West which prevailed at this
period, the _History of Japan_, compiled under official direction for
the Chicago Exposition of 1893, says: “During the early years of the
Meiji era any knowledge, however slight, of Western science was regarded
as a qualification for official employment. Students who had shown
themselves intelligent were sent to Europe and America to inspect and
report on the conditions existing there, and, as each of these
travellers found something new to endorse and import, the mania for
Occidental innovations constantly increased. To preserve or revere old
customs and fashions was regarded with contempt, and so far did the
fancy run that some gravely entertained the project of abolishing the
Japanese language, and substituting English for it.”
Captain Brinkley, a friendly critic, in his _History of Japan_ confirms
this statement. “In short,” he says, “the Japanese undertook in the most
lighthearted manner possible to dress themselves in clothes such as they
had never worn before, and which had been made to fit other people. The
spectacle looked strange enough to justify the apprehensions of foreign
critics who asked whether it was possible that so many novelties should
be successfully assimilated, or that a nation should adapt itself to
systems planned by a motley band of aliens who knew nothing of its
characters or customs.”
Nevertheless, in many respects the inner life of the people remained
unaffected by the Western innovations so eagerly adopted. The nation was
not called upon to make such sweeping sacrifices as appearances
suggested. But the dissatisfied conservative of the former military
class who watched the rapid progress of reform in the hands of
enthusiastic reformers was not likely to make any fine discriminations;
nor was it surprising if the zeal he witnessed, and perhaps also the
employment of unwelcome foreigners at what to him seemed extravagant
salaries, served to increase his dissatisfaction with the new order of
things.
In January, 1874, a few days after the presentation of the Memorial
above mentioned, the smouldering discontent burst into flame. Itō
Shimpei, one of the memorialists, who had retired to Saga, the chief
town in his native province of Hizen, collected there a considerable
body of disaffected _shizoku_ and made a successful raid on the
prefectural offices. The Government quickly despatched troops against
the rebels. Driven out of the town, they fled to Satsuma, hoping to
receive assistance from Saigō. No aid, however, was forthcoming from
this quarter, and Itō and the other insurgent leaders were arrested and
executed.
The Hizen insurrection, and the existence of much discontent throughout
the country, which showed itself, among other incidents, in the
attempted assassination of Iwakura, suggested the advisability of
finding some outlet for the mischievous energies of the disbanded
_samurai_, and of diverting their attention from home politics. At this
moment there arose an unlooked-for difficulty in connection with
Loochoo, which furnished the desired opportunity.
Loochoo will be remembered as the place which Perry made his base of
operations before negotiating the Treaty of 1853. The principality—for
in those days there was a prince to whom his own subjects, the Chinese,
and even the Japanese, gave the title of King—consisted of the large
island of Okinawa and nine outlying groups which are situated some two
hundred miles south of Japan, according to the latter’s geographical
limits at that time. By a curious “Box and Cox” sort of arrangement,
which lent itself to the relations then existing between Loochoo and her
more powerful neighbours, and seems to have had the tacit sanction of
each suzerain, the principality regarded itself as a dependency of both
China and Japan, paying tribute to each as its “parents,” in the
phraseology of the day. The payment of tribute to China dated from the
fourteenth century; that to Japan from the beginning of the seventeenth,
when the islands were conquered by the Satsuma clan. In the winter of
1872–3 some Loochooans who were shipwrecked on the coast of Formosa
(then a part of China) had met with ill-treatment at the hands of
savages in that island. When news of the outrage reached Japan, which
was not for some months, the Japanese Government made representations at
Peking. As the Chinese authorities refused to accept responsibility for
the acts of the savages, an expedition was fitted out in Japan in May,
1894, with the object of exacting reparation from the offending tribe.
General Saigō Tsugumichi, the younger brother of the ex-Councillor of
State, from whom he was distinguished by his progressive views, was
placed in command of the Japanese forces, which consisted of some three
thousand men. China retaliated by sending troops of her own to Formosa,
and for a time there was every prospect of a collision. The difficulty
was eventually settled through the intervention of the British Minister
at Peking. The Chinese Government agreed to pay an indemnity, and the
expedition returned to Japan after an absence of six months.
The dispute with China over Loochoo was thus settled for the time being,
but a few years later, in 1879, when Japan formally annexed the islands
and the King was removed to Tōkiō, the Chinese Government impugned her
action on the ground that Loochoo was a tributary state owing allegiance
to China. The incident became the subject of lengthy discussion between
Peking and Tōkiō, in the course of which the advice of General Grant,
ex-President of the United States, who was then visiting Japan, is said
to have been sought by Japanese Ministers; but in the end the matter was
allowed to drop without any definite understanding being arrived at.
The difficulty with Korea, which had been the ostensible cause of the
first rupture in the new Government, was also settled by a show of force
without recourse to actual hostilities. In the summer of 1875 a Japanese
surveying vessel was fired at whilst surveying the river leading to the
Korean capital. General (later Count) Kuroda and Mr. (afterwards
Marquis) Inouyé, who was a native of Chōshiū, were sent with ships of
war to demand satisfaction. The Korean Government offered apologies, and
the envoys concluded a Treaty which opened two Korean ports to Japanese
trade.
An incident in Japan’s foreign relations occurring about this time,
which calls for passing notice, is the arrangement made with Russia in
regard to Saghalien. In the Treaty of 1858 between Russia and Japan the
island was declared to be a joint possession of the two Powers. The
Tokugawa Government subsequently proposed the 50th parallel of north
latitude as the boundary between the two countries, but no final
decision was arrived at. After the Restoration the Japanese Government
reopened negotiations on the subject through the medium of the United
States, proposing the same boundary. The Russian Government, however,
would not accept this solution of the difficulty. Eventually the two
Powers concluded an agreement at the Russian capital by which Russia
gave the Kurile islands, to which her claim was doubtful, to Japan in
exchange for Saghalien.
Neither the Formosan expedition, nor the resolute measures taken in
regard to Korea, had any salutary effect upon the general discontent
amongst the _shizoku_, the pacific settlement of both matters having
frustrated any hopes which might have been formed of military employment
in a foreign campaign. The settlement of the Korean question was
denounced as a weak surrender, and the Ministry were condemned for
making a Treaty on a footing of equality with a country which
acknowledged the suzerainty of China, thus compromising the dignity of
Japan. Nor, in spite of the appointment of prominent Satsuma men to the
chief command of each expedition, and the inclusion of the Satsuma noble
Shimadzu in the Government in the high position of _Sadaijin_, or second
Minister of State, was there any improvement in the attitude of the
clan.
In the course of 1876 there were two other risings, both promptly
suppressed, in Chōshiū and Higo, and by this time the state of affairs
in Satsuma caused great anxiety to the Government. The tone of
semi-independence assumed, as has already been pointed out, by that clan
during the Tokugawa rule was maintained after the Restoration. In other
provinces the work of administrative unification had progressed quickly
and smoothly, local officials being now frequently chosen from other
parts of the country. But in Satsuma there was a refusal to accept any
official who was not a native of the province. Some comfort there might
be for the Government in the fact that the clan had abstained from
making common cause with the rebellious clansmen in other provinces, and
that the relations between the two chief leaders, Shimadzu and the elder
Saigō, continued to be strained. But these considerations were
outweighed by others.
Of all the measures introduced, or contemplated, by the new Government,
those to which the strongest objection was felt by the _shizoku_
everywhere were the establishment of conscription, the compulsory
commutation of pensions, and the prohibition of the practice of wearing
swords. The last of these measures came into force in January, 1877.
That conscription should be viewed with disfavour by the former military
class was only natural, if only for the reason that its adoption by
opening a military career to all classes of the nation offended ancient
prejudices, besides being a death-blow to any hope entertained by
reactionary clansmen of reviving feudalism. The commutation of pensions
had, as we have seen, been arranged in 1871, when feudalism was
abolished. But the system then introduced was voluntary. Now it was made
compulsory. Occurring when it did, it provoked resentment. The wearing
of swords had also at the same date been made optional. The prohibition
now enforced mattered little to the _shizoku_ of the towns, many of whom
had welcomed the opportunity of relinquishing a custom not without
inconvenience to town-dwellers, and offering no longer any advantage.
But to those in the provinces, with whose traditions and habits the
wearing of swords was intimately associated, the change was most
distasteful. It was, moreover, precisely in Satsuma and one or two
neighbouring clans that the option of not wearing swords had been
availed of least. To the Satsuma malcontents, whose military
preparations included sword exercise, it might well appear that the
prohibition was aimed specially at them.