their days, and many popular heroes of national epics thus gave up their
lives. In every Japanese drama there is at least one hero who dies on
the stage in this manner, amid the thundering applause of an
appreciative audience. If not a punishment, the motive for committing
suicide is almost always an exaggerated conception, not of despair, but
of offended dignity or vanity. And like every action of this enigmatical
people, hara-kiri and supuku became in time a ceremony, in which every
detail of the proceedings was carefully formulated. The victim, dressed
in white, and with unmoved countenance, had to perform the operation
with a sharp-edged sword. This formality gone through in the supreme
manner in which Bushido prescribed it, and the personal vanity being
apparently satisfied, the victim seemed not to feel the bodily
suffering, and faced his death with calmness. To realize the pagan
standpoint of hara-kiri I will quote the following lines of the Japanese
author.
"I do not wish to be understood as asserting religious or even moral
justification of suicide, but the high estimate placed upon honour was
ample excuse with many for taking one's own life. Death involving a
question of honour was accepted in Bushido as a key to the solution of
many complex problems, so that to an ambitious Samurai a natural
departure from life seemed a rather tame affair and a consummation not
devoutly to be wished. I dare say that many Westerners will admit the
fascination of, if not a positive admiration for, the sublime composure
with which Cato, Brutus, Petronius, and a host of other ancient
worthies, terminated their own earthly existence. Is it too bold to hint
that the death of the first of the philosophers was partly suicidal?
When we are told so minutely by his pupils how their master willingly
submitted to the mandate of the state--which he knew was morally
mistaken--in spite of the possibilities of escape, and how he took up
the cup of hemlock in his own hand, even offering libation from its
deadly contents, do we not discern in his whole proceeding and demeanour
an act of self-immolation? No physical compulsion here, as in ordinary
cases of execution. True the verdict of the judges was compulsory; it
said, 'Thou shalt die, and that by thine own hand.' If suicide meant no
more than dying by one's own hand, Socrates was a clear case of suicide.
But nobody would charge him with a crime; Plato, who was averse to it,
would not call his master a suicide. Now, my readers will understand
that hara-kiri, or seppuku, was not a mere suicidal process. It was an
institution, legal and ceremonial. An invention of the Middle Ages, it
was a process by which warriors could expiate their crimes, apologize
for errors, escape from disgrace, redeem their friends, or prove their
sincerity. When enforced as a legal punishment it was practised with due
ceremony. It was a refinement of self-destruction, and none could
perform it without the utmost coolness of temper and composure of
demeanour, and for these reasons it was particularly befitting the
profession of bushi."
_Kataki-ushi_, or vengeance, is another strong feature of national
feeling. Contrary to the Christian doctrine of forgiveness, the Japan of
olden days endeavoured to exalt the original instinct of human nature,
"an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," into a decree. And how deep
this notion has rooted itself into the hearts of the people is best
illustrated by the story of the forty-seven Ronins, which everybody in
Japan knows by heart, and which is the favourite nursery tale of each
Nippon child.
Simple as the story is, it is very characteristic. A nobleman is
betrayed by his adversary and put to death. Forty-seven of his followers
become bandits and swear to revenge their lord. After many vicissitudes
the object of their revenge falls into their hands and they kill him.
When brought to justice all the forty-seven commit hara-kiri.
Their graves remain to this day in the grove of Siba, and it is one of
the first places visited by country people who come to Tokio. Devout
hands keep the modest little tombstones supplied with wreaths of fresh
flowers. And thus the forty-seven Ronins have become the most popular
heroes of the nation, because their offence and expiation interpret one
of the most salient features characteristic of the race, which, judged
from a national standard, shines in a different light as we can see from
the following passage:--
"We have thus seen the Bushido institution of suicide; we will now see
whether its sister institution of revenge has its mitigating features. I
hope I can dispose of the question in a few words, since a similar
institution--or call it custom, as you will--prevailed among all
peoples, and has not yet become entirely obsolete, as attested by the
continuance of duelling and lynching. Among a savage tribe which has no
marriage, adultery is not a sin, so in a period which has no criminal
court murder is not a crime, and only the vigilant vengeance of the
victim's people preserves social order. 'What is the most beautiful
thing on earth?' said Osiris to Horus. The reply was, 'To avenge a
parent's wrongs.' To which a Japanese would have added 'and a nearer's.'
In revenge there is something which satisfies one's sense of justice.
The avenger reasons: 'My good father did not deserve death--he who
killed him did great evil. My father, if he were alive, would not
tolerate a deed like this. Heaven itself hates wrong-doing. It is the
will of my father, it is the will of heaven, that the evil-doer should
cease from his work. He must perish by my hand, because he shed my
father's blood; I who am his flesh and blood must shed the murderer's.
The same heaven shall not shelter him and me.' The logic is simple and
childish, but it shows an innate sense of exact balance and equal
justice. Our sense of revenge is as exact as our mathematical faculty,
and until both terms of the equation are satisfied we cannot get over
the sense of something undone. Both of these institutions of suicide and
revenge lost their _raison d'etre_ at the promulgation of the criminal
code. The sense of justice satisfied, there is no need of Kataki-uchi.
As to Hara-kiri, though it, too, has no existence _de jure_, we still
hear of it from time to time, and shall continue to hear I am afraid, as
long as the past is remembered."
In spite of his valour, his passion for war, his thirst for revenge, the
Samurai always preserved in his demeanour the utmost calm. Bushido
ordained that a knight was never to show either joy or anger. And while
remarking that the foreigner in Japan is struck by the often exaggerated
politeness of the people, I should have added that he is certainly no
less impressed by the inexpressiveness of their faces. Whether sad or
joyful, they always wear the same conventional smile, which is sometimes
cold as ice, sometimes nervous, or in cases of strong emotion passes
into subdued laughter; but traces of really deep emotion are never
visible.
What a Baldasare Castiglione or a Lord Chesterfield attempted to
exemplify in the West, was bred in the blood of these people as the
highest form of good manners. I have seen weddings and witnessed funeral
processions where the family on either occasion wore exactly the same
expression. In emotions of any kind that conventional smile alone
betrays their feelings.
That same smile is on every countenance at great national festivals.
With that smile wives took leave of their husbands, children of their
fathers, mothers of their sons, when the troops started for the
battle-field. The outward form and expression of it remains the same
always. The face, or rather the mask that is worn on the stage of life,
as in the theatre of ancient Greece, never changes. No matter if the
piece enacted change in its course to be a comedy, tragedy, or a drama.
So it was ordained by the code of Bushido, which, very likely because it
was an unwritten law, came to be all the more binding.
Bushido thus had its own ethical laws, its own religious tenets. As the
knight of the Middle Ages created his own rules of life for use within
his own turreted stronghold--a code which scarcely held good beyond the
trenches of the castle, but which at the same time he magnified into a
divine law, a "Gottesurtheil"--so also the Samurai created his own
dogmas.
The basis of his creed is Buddhism mixed with the doctrines of Confucius
and Shintoism, the primitive faith of the nation. Originally this was
nature worship and the cult of the sun, but subsequently it came to be
extended to the person of the Mikado. The Samurai thus elevated his
emperor into a deity, or rather an idol, and the emperor, gradually more
and more isolated from his people, passed his days within the walls of
his palace in a series of ritualistic ceremonies, while the burden of
the government was laid upon the Shogun, who acted at the same time as
Regent and Generalissimo. Loyalty and devotion to their ruler were
exalted into a cult. The person of the Mikado was sacred and inviolable.
Land and people were, so to speak, his personal property, to do with as
he liked. His smallest wish was a command, the blind fulfilment of which
was incumbent upon every citizen of the state. The first petition in the
prayers of the Samurai was always for his emperor, and the second for
his country. And if with us the first gift a child receives is a little
cross, in token of his Christian calling, so the Japanese mother of old
would place a miniature sword by the side of her babe, to show that his
purpose in life was to defend his emperor, his country, and his honour.
At the age of five the soldier's boy would receive as a toy a small real
sword, and at fifteen the Samurai was of age, and from that time he wore
a sharp-bladed weapon.
The sword represented with them more than a weapon of defence. It was a
precious and symbolic possession. The manner in which it should be worn
was carefully prescribed, and whenever the warrior sat down to his meal
or to rest, his weapon was placed on a tray by his side, and woe to the
person who touched it with his foot! Such an offence could be wiped out
only in blood.
As a mark of the highest reverence, the Samurai raised his sword to his
brow, and this act, too, was made almost into a solemn rite. Cutlers and
sword-makers occupied a privileged position among the tradespeople, and
in welding the blade, every stroke of the hammer was accompanied by the
repetition of appropriate sayings and heroic devices. And when the sword
was finished, inlaid with gold and silver, in Damascene fashion, sharp
as an arrow, and flexible as a Toledo stiletto, it was, of its kind, a
masterpiece. We may safely assert that neither in painting nor in
sculpture, nor in any branch of industrial art, has Japan ever reached
such a high standard of perfection as in the manufacture of bronzes and
armour.
The most treasured possession of the Samurai, his pride and his glory,
was his sword. And now, since these weapons have been replaced by Krupp
guns and Maxim bayonets, every Japanese gentleman preserves the sword of
his ancestors as a token of former greatness.
For times are changed. During the last forty years the feudal system of
Japan has grown into a representative government, and the old
conservative manner of thought and conventions have had to give way to
progressive ideas. In outward form the European system is generally
adopted, although intrinsically many things remain eminently national;
for whether the external form be American or English, the underlying
principle remains national.
The Japanese are still as determined as of old; their valour is
unchanged; their loyalty undimmed. The grandson of the Samurai of
antiquity still boasts many of the proclivities of his ancestors, and
above all, the moral law of Bushido is still in his blood. The masses
still think as their predecessors thought. It is only in dress and
armament that they have changed: their feelings have remained as of old,
and the same may be said of most of the national institutions, from the
organization of the family to the constitution of the state. What has
changed is the form and the colour; but the work of internal
transformation is left for future generations to accomplish.
In order rightly to apprehend the present situation of Japan, to explain
the admirable military discipline of the soldiers, to understand why in
their blind devotion to their country they think nothing of sacrificing
thousands of lives, it is necessary to make ourselves acquainted with
the inner workings of the feudal system, the moral basis of their
actions, the principles of Bushido and Samuraism. For it is only by a
full knowledge of all these influences, and the conditions of the past,
that we can arrive at a true understanding of its present strength.
The life and the death of the forty-seven Ronins may account for the
fixed determination wherewith the troops met their death before the
walls of Port Arthur. Nippon's sons are in the first instance warriors.
They have fought for centuries; they have fought for the honour of their
country, they have shed their blood for the glory of the Mikado, and
with the same stoic determination they now fight to glorify their land.
To form a better idea of the Japanese army we must indeed bear in mind
the peculiar features embodied in the principle of Bushido and the
Samurais code. Even the true character of the Japanese youths studying
in Western lands and wearing European clothing, can only be adequately
understood by those who have been to a certain extent acquainted with
their fathers. And the same applies to the whole of modern progressive,
fighting Japan; its administration, its state organization, its
politics, its military ambition, its social agitations, its industrial
developments, and the entire transformation of its labour.
Just as we can only understand the existing condition of the land and of
the people, by studying its evolution in the past, so with regard to its
future development it is only from psychological features that we can
draw definite conclusions. During my stay in Japan I was particularly
interested in collecting data from the personal experiences of those
Europeans who had resided there for many years. Besides the members of
the various European legations it was chiefly the commercial class and
the merchants who furnished me with many valuable details. Daily
intercourse with the different grades of Japanese society has shown me
the life of the people from many varied points of view. Particularly
interesting to me were the experiences of the European teachers attached
to the numerous civil and military schools. They were all unanimous in
praise of their pupils, for their industry and perseverance.
Like most Asiatics, the Japanese are fond of study and of books in
general, and even the school-children seem to do their lessons with
pleasure. They are quick and sharp, ambitious and untiring in their
zeal. The national inclination of the Japanese tends towards technical
science. Everything practical appeals to them, and even philosophical
problems are looked at from a utilitarian point of view.
The course of Modern Philosophy at the University of Tokio gave me some
striking illustrations of the manner in which the Japanese look upon the
great thinkers of the West. Upon this point I have dwelt more at large
in another work of mine, and I will therefore only mention here, that as
in science material rather than the moral questions appeal to them, so
in the case of philosophy it is the manner in which Western thought
bears upon the imagination which takes hold of them, more than the way
in which the conclusions are deduced by strictly logical processes.
But the inner life, the soul of the nation, is unquestionably best known
to the missionaries who have laboured among them for generations. Since
the time of St. Francis Xavier, who landed in Japan as early as the
sixteenth century and founded the first churches and schools, there
has, with longer or shorter intervals, been a supply of priests and
teachers from Europe.
In the course of the seventeenth century, long accounts from Japan came
to the Holy See, giving graphic descriptions of the condition of the
land. In these are detailed the first missionary attempts, which met
with such unexpected success, and these reports present a very vivid
picture of the days when people accepted Christianity by hundreds and
thousands, and nearly the whole of Southern Japan became Christianized.
Later followed the long period of religious persecution, of suffering
and torture. Yet in spite of so much cruel bloodshed, in spite of the
numerous hecatombs of martyrs, there are still some direct descendants
of the first Christian families.
Since the middle of the nineteenth century Christianity has received a
fresh impetus, and at present Japan is divided into four dioceses, at
the head of which is the Archbishop of Tokio. Scattered throughout the
land are many missionary establishments and Christian communities. In
the larger towns many primary and middle schools are established, and
educational institutions for girls exist in large numbers too. The
orphanages are most successful, and the leper establishments--where
those living dead are cared for by the nuns at the sacrifice of their
own lives--cannot fail to excite universal admiration.
Although at present the public spirit of Japan does not show much
enthusiasm concerning religious questions, Christianity is at any rate
free from persecution. The Japanese of the present day is more or less
indifferent to matters of religion. He seeks satisfaction in earthly
goods. The old Buddhistic faith has lost much of its influence, and the
adherents of the doctrine of Confucius are rapidly decreasing in number.
With the introduction of the new constitution, the Government has
resuscitated the ancient Shintoism and made it the religion of the
state. The sovereign, the Mikado, himself professes this faith.
Shintoism, or nature-worship, now chiefly serves as one of the great
vehicles of patriotic force. Its ceremonies are most primitive,
consisting mainly of short prayers of a sentence or two, and of bowing
of the head and the clasping of hands. Their chapels are also of the
simplest. They are plain, four-walled wooden structures without
ornaments or pictures or decorations of any kind. The only conspicuous
object in them is the symbol of their deity, a smoothly polished metal
disc, representing the sun.
But this religion, which was universally re-proclaimed from one day to
another by imperial command, does not appear to satisfy the masses--at
any rate not the devout among them--who prefer to seek peace and
consolation in constant prayer and supplication, and therefore continue
to visit the Buddhist temples and convents. The cultured and more
advanced classes are more and more interested in learning the tenets of
the Christian faith; yet, although it is doubtful whether Christianity
will ever make much progress in Japan, it is certain that Western
civilization, being based on Christianity, is very deficient without its
moral support. The leading circles in Japan are conscious of this fact,
and realize more and more that a purely material life, and the lack of
all spiritual comfort, can never give lasting satisfaction.
Should the day arrive when the people will abandon their ancient
beliefs, without having had the opportunity of becoming familiar with a
higher creed, a sad deterioration must be the inevitable result. And the
nation may be exposed to a similar danger should the old moral basis of
their existence be shaken by the too sudden introduction of new
conditions, and before the growing generation has had time to reach a
standard of spiritual development corresponding to it. Thus far the
rapid progress of Japan has been confined chiefly to material efforts;
there has not been leisure to give sufficient care to the spiritual and
moral needs of the people. The first aim and object of the young
Japanese is to become rich, great, and mighty. Blindly they follow the
example of the commercial Powers of Western Europe. With marvellous
rapidity they have assimilated all that was external, all that was
palpable. The Japanese fleet in the harbour of Nagasaki is a marvel of
efficiency, while Kobe and Yokohama, as commercial towns, compare
favourably with some of the largest trade centres of the United States
and Britain. Osaka and Tokio, encouraging factories of every kind, have
secured to Japan the market of the East, and life in the principal
cities is in almost every respect a faithful copy of European
institutions. But whether the people are essentially happier, with this
external veneer, and the strong strain and high pressure it involves, is
quite another thing, and a question of great importance to all who have
the welfare of the nation seriously at heart. A too rapid transformation
of existing conditions might very easily lead to an economic crisis,
symptoms of which are already beginning to manifest themselves.
Greater still would be the danger of a moral crisis, and equally
unavoidable, so long as the people conform only outwardly to the
exigencies of the newly acquired culture, without realizing its moral
value, and whilst ignoring its spiritual aims.
II
CHINA
China is in almost every respect diametrically opposed to Japan. In the
first place, the two empires are entirely different in their
geographical features and geological formation. In China towering
mountain crags and vast, immeasurable plains alternate with one another.
Some of those plains are dreary, desolate, barren wastes, while in other
parts the ground is closely cultivated, yet wholly inadequate to feed
China's millions. The canals which traverse the land in all directions
are like so many huge rivers, and the streams sometimes widen into
regular lakes, the borders of which cannot be descried by the naked eye.
[Illustration: ON THE YANG-TZE-KIANG AFTER A WATER-COLOUR DRAWING BY THE
AUTHOR "And the streams sometimes widen into regular lakes, the borders
of which cannot be descried by the naked eye" To face page 340]
Everything is large, gigantic, in this yellow empire, and even in those
parts where the country offers neither geographical advantages nor
natural charms, we are impressed by its vastness, its immensity, as all
that is truly great is imposing.
Japan, with its groves of evergreen, its flowering meadows, its smiling,
graceful scenery, delights the beholder; but China, with its wide
expanses, its enormous tracts of land and its virgin forests, captivates
us by its sombre magnitude.
And if the difference between the external conditions of the two yellow
empires is great, still greater is the distinction between the peoples
which inhabit these neighbouring states.