fanning it into flame. Almost every town street, and house, throughout
the Empire, was brilliantly decked with lanterns and flags, not on a
single occasion only, but continuously. Each reported victory, however
small, sent a thrill of delight throughout the nation. Month after
month this was kept up. In traveling through the land one would not
have fancied that war was in progress, but rather, that a
long-continued festival was being observed.
An incident connected with sending troops to Korea made a deep
impression on the nation. The Okayama Orphan Asylum under the
efficient management of its founder, Mr. Ishii, had organized the
older boys into a band, securing for them various kinds of musical
instruments. These they learned to use with much success. When the
troops were on the point of leaving, Mr. Ishii went with his band to
the port of Hiroshima, erected a booth, prepared places for heating
water, and as often as the regiments passed by, his little orphans
sallied forth with their teapots of hot tea for the refreshment of the
soldiers. Each regiment was also properly saluted, and if opportunity
offered, the little fellows played the national anthem, "Kimi-ga yo,"
which has been thus translated: "May Our Gracious Sovereign reign a
thousand years, reign till the little stone grow into a mighty rock,
thick velveted with ancient moss." And finally the orphans would raise
their shrill voices with the rhythmical national shout, "Tei-koku
Ban-zai, Tei-koku Ban-zai"; "Imperial-land, a myriad years,
Imperial-land, a myriad years." This thoughtful farewell was
maintained for the four or five days during which the troops were
embarking for the seat of war, well knowing that some would never
return, and that their children would be left fatherless even as were
these who saluted them. So deep was the impression made upon the
soldiers that many of them wept and many a bronzed face bowed in
loving recognition of the patriotism of these Christian boys. It is
said that the commander-in-chief of the forces himself gave the little
fellows the highest military salute in returning theirs.
Throughout the history of Japan, the aim of every rebellious clan or
general was first to get possession of the Emperor. Having done this,
the possession of the Imperial authority was unquestioned. Whoever was
opposed to the Emperor was technically called "Cho-teki," the enemy of
the throne, a crime as heinous as treason in the West. The existence
of this sentiment throughout the Empire is an interesting fact. For,
at the very same time, there was the most intense loyalty to the local
lord or "daimyo." This is a fine instance of a certain characteristic
of the Japanese of which I must speak more fully in another
connection, but which, for convenience, I term "nominality." It
accepts and, apparently at least, is satisfied with a nominal state of
affairs, which may be quite different from the real. The theoretical
aspect of a question is accepted without reference to the actual
facts. The real power may be in the hands of the general or of the
daimyo, but if authority nominally proceeds from the throne, the
theoretical demands are satisfied. The Japanese themselves describe
this state as "yumei-mujitsu." In a sense, throughout the centuries
there has been a genuine loyalty to the throne, but it has been of the
"yumei-mujitsu" type, apparently satisfied with the name only. In
recent times, however, there has been growing dissatisfaction with
this state of affairs. Some decades before Admiral Perry appeared
there were patriots secretly working against the Tokugawa Shogunate.
Called in Japanese "Kinnoka," they may be properly termed in English
"Imperialists." Their aim was to overthrow the Shogunate and restore
full and direct authority to the Emperor. Not a few lost their lives
because of their views, but these are now honored by the nation as
patriots.
There is a tendency among scholars to-day to magnify the patriotism
and loyalty of preceding ages, also to emphasize the dignity and
Imperial authority of the Emperor. The patriotic spirit is now so
strong that it blinds their eyes to many of the salient facts of
their history. Their patriotism is more truly a passion than an idea.
It is an emotion rather than a conception. It demands certain methods
of treatment for their ancient history that Western scholarship cannot
accept. It forbids any really critical research into the history of
the past, since it might cast doubt on the divine descent of the
Imperial line. It sums itself up in passionate admiration, not to say
adoration, of the Emperor. In him all virtues and wisdom abound. No
fault or lack in character can be attributed to him. I question if any
rulers have ever been more truly apotheosized by any nation than the
Emperors of Japan. The essence of patriotism to-day is devotion to the
person of the Emperor. It seems impossible for the people to
distinguish between the country and its ruler. He is the fountain of
authority. Lower ranks gain their right and their power from him
alone. Power belongs to the people only because, and in proportion as,
he has conferred it upon them. Even the Constitution has its authority
only because he has so determined. Should he at any time see fit to
change or withdraw it, it is exceedingly doubtful whether one word of
criticism or complaint would be publicly uttered, and as for forcible
opposition, of such a thing no one would dream.
Japanese patriotism has had some unique and interesting features. In
some marked respects it is different from that of lands in which
democratic thought has held sway. For 1500 years, under the military
social order, loyalty has consisted of personal attachment to the
lord. It has ever striven to idealize that lord. The "yumei-mujitsu"
characteristic has helped much in this idealizing process, by bridging
the chasm between the prosaic fact and the ideal. Now that the old
form of feudalism has been abruptly abolished, with its local lords
and loyalty, the old sentiment of loyalty naturally fixes itself on
the Emperor. Patriotism has perhaps gained intensity in proportion as
it has become focalized. The Emperor is reported to be a man of
commanding ability and good sense. It is at least true that he has
shown wisdom in selecting his councilors. There is general agreement
that he is not a mere puppet in the hands of his advisers, but that he
exercises a real and direct influence on the government of the day.
During the late war with China it was currently reported that from
early morning until late at night, week after week and month after
month, he worked upon the various matters of business that demanded
his attention. No important move or decision was made without his
careful consideration and final approval. These and other noble
qualities of the present Emperor have, without doubt, done much toward
transferring the loyalty of the people from the local daimyo to the
national throne.
An event in the political world has recently occurred which
illustrates pointedly the statements just made in regard to the
enthusiastic loyalty of the people toward the Emperor. In spite of the
fact that the national finances are in a distressing state of
confusion, and notwithstanding the struggle which has been going on
between successive cabinets and political parties, the former
insisting on, and the latter refusing, any increase in the land tax,
no sooner was it suggested by a small political party, to make a
thank-offering to the Emperor of 20,000,000 yen out of the final
payment of the war indemnity lately received, than the proposal was
taken up with zeal by both of the great and utterly hostile political
parties, and immediately by both houses of the Diet. The two reasons
assigned were, "First, that the victory over China would never have
been won, nor the indemnity obtained, had not the Emperor been the
victorious, sagacious Sovereign that he is, and that, therefore, it is
only right that a portion of the indemnity should be offered to him;
secondly, that His Majesty is in need of money, the allowance granted
by the state for the maintenance of the Imperial Household being
insufficient, in view of the greatly enhanced prices of commodities
and the large donations constantly made by His Majesty for charitable
purposes."[Q] This act of the Diet appeals to the sentiment of the
people as the prosaic, business-like method of the Occident would not
do. The significance of the appropriation made by the Diet will be
better realized if it is borne in mind that the post-bellum programme
for naval and military expansion which was adopted in view of the
large indemnity (being, by the way, 50,000,000 yen), already calls for
an expenditure in excess of the indemnity. Either the grand programme
must be reduced, or new funds be raised, yet the leading political
parties have been absolutely opposed to any substantial increase of
the land tax, which seems to be the only available source of increase
even to meet the current expenses of the government, to say nothing of
the post-bellum programme. So has a burst of sentiment buried all
prudential considerations. This is a species of loyalty that
Westerners find hard to appreciate. To them it would seem that the
first manifestation of loyalty would be to provide the Emperor's
Cabinet and executive officers with the necessary funds for current
expenses; that the second would be to give the Emperor an allowance
sufficient to meet his actual needs, and the third,--if the funds held
out,--to make him a magnificent gift. This sentimental method of
loyalty to the Emperor, however, is matched by many details of common
life. A sentimental parting gift or speech will often be counted as
more friendly than thoroughly business-like relations. The prosaic
Occidental discounts all sentiment that has not first satisfied the
demands of business and justice. Such a standard, however, seems to be
repugnant to the average Japanese mind.
The theory that all authority resides in the Emperor is also enforced
by recent history. For the constitution was not wrung from an
unwilling ruler by an ambitious people, but was conferred by the
Emperor of his own free will, under the advice of his enlightened and
progressive councilors.
As an illustration of some of the preceding statements let me quote
from a recent article by Mr. Yamaguchi, Professor of History in the
Peeresses' School and Lecturer in the Imperial Military College. After
speaking of the abolition of feudalism and the establishment of a
constitutional monarchy, he goes on to say: "But we must not suppose
that the sovereign power of the state has been transferred to the
Imperial Diet. On the contrary, it is still in the hands of the
Emperor as before.... The functions of the government are retained in
the Emperor's own hands, who merely delegates them to the Diet, the
Government (Cabinet), and the Judiciary, to exercise the same in his
name. The present form of government is the result of the history of a
country which has enjoyed an existence of many centuries. Each country
has its own peculiar characteristics which differentiate it from
others. Japan, too, has her history, different from that of other
countries. Therefore we ought not to draw comparisons between Japan
and other countries, as if the same principles applied to all
indiscriminately. The Empire of Japan has a history of 3000 [!] years,
which fact distinctly marks out our nationality as unique. The
monarch, in the eyes of the people, is not merely on a par with an
aristocratic oligarchy which rules over the inferior masses, or a few
nobles who equally divide the sovereignty among themselves. According
to our ideas, the monarch reigns over and governs the country in his
own right, and not by virtue of rights conferred by the
constitution.... Our Emperor possesses real sovereignty and also
exercises it. He is quite different from other rulers who possess but
a partial sovereignty.... He has inherited the rights of sovereignty
from his ancestors. Thus it is quite legitimate to think that the
rights of sovereignty exist in the Emperor himself.... The Empire of
Japan shall be reigned over and governed by a line of Emperors
unbroken for ages eternal. (Constitution, Art. LXXIII.) ... The
sovereign power of the state cannot be dissociated from the Imperial
Throne. It lasts forever, along with the Imperial line of succession,
unbroken for ages eternal. If the Imperial house cease to exist, the
Empire falls."
In a land where adopted sons are practically equivalent to lineal
descendants (another instance of the "yumei-mujitsu" type of thought),
and where marriage is essentially polygamous, and where the
"yumei-mujitsu" spirit has allowed the sovereignty to be usurped in
fact, though it may not be in name, it is not at all wonderful that
the nation can boast of a longer line of Emperors than any other land.
But when monogamy becomes the rule in Japan, as it doubtless will some
day, and if lineal descent should be considered essential to
inheritance, as in the Occident, it is not at all likely that the
Imperial line will maintain itself unbroken from father to son
indefinitely. Although the present Emperor has at least five
concubines besides his wife, the Empress, and has had, prior to 1896,
no less than thirteen children by them, only two of these are still
living, both of them the offspring of his concubines; one of these is
a son born in 1879, proclaimed the heir in 1887, elected Crown Prince
in 1889, and married in 1900; he is said to be in delicate health; the
second child is a daughter born in 1890. Since 1896 several children
have been born to the Emperor and two or three have died, so that at
present writing there are but four living children. These are all
offspring of concubines.[R]
In speaking, however, of the Japanese apotheosis of their Emperor, we
must not forget how the "divine right of kings" has been a popular
doctrine, even in enlightened England, until the eighteenth century,
and is not wholly unknown in other lands at the present day. Only in
recent times has the real source of sovereignty been discovered by
historical and political students. That the Japanese are not able to
pass at one leap from the old to the new conception in regard to this
fundamental element of national authority is not at all strange. Past
history, together with that which is recent, furnishes a satisfactory
explanation for the peculiar nature of Japanese patriotism. This is
clearly due to the nature of the social order.
A further fact in this connection is that, in a very real sense, the
existence of Japan as a unified nation has depended on apotheosis. It
is the method that all ancient nations have adopted at one stage of
their social development for expressing their sense of national unity
and the authority of national law. In that stage of social development
when the common individual counts for nothing, the only possible
conception of the authority of law is that it proceeds from a superior
being--the highest ruler. And in order to secure the full advantage of
authority, the supreme ruler must be raised to the highest possible
pinnacle, must be apotheosized. That national laws should be the
product of the unvalued units which compose the nation was unthinkable
in an age when the worth of the individual was utterly unrecognized.
The apotheosis of the Emperor was neither an unintelligible nor an
unreasonable practice. But now that an individualistic, democratic
organization of society has been introduced resting on a principle
diametrically opposed to that of apotheosis, a struggle of most
profound importance has been inaugurated. Does moral or even national
authority really reside in the Emperor? The school-teachers are
finding great difficulty in teaching morality as based exclusively on
the Imperial Edict. The politicians of Japan are not content with
leaving all political and state authority to the Emperor. Not long ago
(June, 1898), for the first time in Japan, a Cabinet acknowledging
responsibility to a political party took the place of one
acknowledging responsibility only, to the Emperor. For this end the
politicians have been working since the first meeting of the national
Diet. Which principle is to succeed, apotheosis and absolute Imperial
sovereignty, or individualism with democratic sovereignty? The two
cannot permanently live together. The struggle is sure to be intense,
for the question of authority, both political and moral, is inevitably
involved.
The parallel between Japanese and Roman apotheosis is interesting. I
can present it no better than by quoting from that valuable
contribution to social and moral problems, "The Genesis of the Social
Conscience," by Prof. H.S. Nash: "Yet Rome with all her greatness
could not outgrow the tribal principle.... We find something that
reveals a fundamental fault in the whole system. It is the apotheosis
of the Emperors. The process of apotheosis was something far deeper
than servility in the subject conspiring with vanity in the ruler. It
was a necessity of the state. There was no means of insuring the
existence of the state except religion. In the worship of the Cæsars
the Empire reverenced its own law. There was no other way in which
pagan Rome could guarantee the gains she had made for civilization.
Yet the very thing that was necessary to her was in logic her
undoing.... The worship of the Emperor undid the definition of
equality the logic of the Empire demanded. Again apotheosis violated
the divine unity of humanity upon which alone the Empire could
securely build."[S]
That the final issue of Japan's experience will be like that of Rome I
do not believe. For her environment is totally different. But the same
struggle of the two conflicting principles is already on. Few, even
among the educated classes, realize its nature or profundity. The
thinkers who adhere to the principle of apotheosis do so admittedly
because they see no other way in which to secure authority for law,
whether political or moral. Here we see the importance of those
conceptions of God, of law, of man, which Christianity alone can give.
From patriotism we naturally pass to the consideration of courage.
Nothing was more prized and praised in Old Japan. In those days it was
the deliberate effort of parents and educators to develop courage in
children. Many were their devices for training the young in bravery.
Not content with mere precept, they were sent alone on dark stormy
nights to cemeteries, to houses reputed to be haunted, to dangerous
mountain peaks, and to execution grounds. Many deeds were required of
the young whose sole aim was the development of courage and daring.
The worst name you could give to a samurai was "koshinuke" (coward).
Many a feud leading to a fatal end has resulted from the mere use of
this most hated of all opprobrious epithets. The history of Japan is
full of heroic deeds. I well remember a conversation with a son of the
old samurai type, who told me, with the blood tingling in his veins,
of bloody deeds of old and the courage they demanded. He remarked
incidentally that, until one had slain his first foe, he was ever
inclined to tremble. But once the deed had been done, and his sword
had tasted the life blood of a man, fear was no more. He also told me
how for the sake of becoming inured to ghastly sights under
nerve-testing circumstances, the sons of samurai were sent at night to
the execution grounds, there, by faint moonlight to see, stuck on
poles, the heads of men who had been recently beheaded.
The Japanese emotion of courage is in some respects peculiar. At least
it appears to differ from that of the Anglo-Saxon. A Japanese seems to
lose all self-control when the supreme moment comes; he throws himself
into the fray with a frenzied passion and a fearless madness allied to
insanity. Such is the impression I have gathered from the descriptions
I have heard and the pictures I have seen. Even the pictures of the
late war with China give evidence of this.
But their courage is not limited to fearlessness in the face of death;
it extends to complete indifference to pain. The honorable method by
which a samurai who had transgressed some law or failed in some point
of etiquette, might leave this world is well known to all, the
"seppuku," the elegant name for the vulgar term "hara-kiri" or
"belly-cutting." To one who is sensitive to tales of blood,
unexpurgated Japanese history must be a dreadful thing. The vastness
of the multitudes who died by their own hands would be incredible,
were there not ample evidence of the most convincing nature. It may be
said with truth that suicide became apotheosized, a condition that I
suppose cannot be said to have prevailed in any other land.
In thus describing the Japanese sentiment in regard to "seppuku,"
there is, however, some danger of misrepresenting it. "Seppuku" itself
was not honored, for in the vast majority of cases those who performed
it were guilty of some crime or breach of etiquette. And not
infrequently those who were condemned to commit "seppuku" were
deficient in physical courage; in such cases, some friend took hold of
the victim's hand and forced him to cut himself. Such cowards were
always despised. To be condemned to commit "seppuku" was a disgrace,
but it was much less of a disgrace than to be beheaded as a common
man, for it permitted the samurai to show of what stuff he was made.
It should be stated further that in the case of "seppuku," as soon as
the act of cutting the abdomen had been completed, always by a single
rapid stroke, someone from behind would, with a single blow, behead
the victim. The physical agony of "seppuku" was, therefore, very
brief, lasting but a few seconds.
I can do no better than quote in this connection a paragraph from the
"Religions of Japan" by W.E. Griffis:
"From the prehistoric days when the custom of 'Junshi,' or dying
with the master, required the interment of living retainers with
their dead lord, down through all the ages to the Revolution of
1868, when at Sendai and Aidzu scores of men and boys opened their
bowels, and mothers slew their infant sons and cut their own
throats, there has been flowing a river of suicides' blood having
its springs in devotion of retainers to masters, and of soldiers to
a lost cause.... Not only a thousand, but thousands of thousands of
soldiers hated their parents, wife, child, friend, in order to be
disciples to the supreme loyalty. They sealed their creed by
emptying their own veins.... The common Japanese novels read like
records of slaughter-houses. No Molech or Shivas won more victims
to his shrine than has this idea of Japanese loyalty, which is so
beautiful in theory but so hideous in practice ... Could the
statistics of the suicides during this long period be collected,
their publication would excite in Christendom the utmost
incredulity."[T]
I well remember the pride, which almost amounted to glee, with which a
young blood gave me the account of a mere boy, perhaps ten or twelve
years old, who cut his bowels in such a way that the deed was not
quite complete, and then tying his "obi" or girdle over it, walked
into the presence of his mother, explained the circumstances which
made it a point of honor that he should commit "seppuku," and
forthwith untied his "obi" and died in her presence.
These are the ideals of courage and loyalty that have been held up
before Japanese youth for centuries. Little comment is needful. From
the evolutionary standpoint, it is relatively easy to understand the
rise of these ideas and practices. It is clear that they depend
entirely on the social order. With the coming in of the Western social
order, feudal lords and local loyalty and the carrying of swords were
abolished. Are the Japanese any less courageous now than they were
thirty years ago? The social order has changed and the ways of showing
courage have likewise changed. That is all that need be said.