The Imperial Japanese Navy

by Fred T. Jane

To understand a Japanese naval officer at all, we must fully realise that he has been brought up with the things mentioned above as his religion—indeed, it is the only religion he knows. Whether a professed atheist, or a Christian, or a Buddhist, the only semblance of reality in his creed is this religion of “Sea-Power,” and the worship of its visible embodiment. Such god as he has is the navy to which he belongs.

We are more or less given to understand nowadays that Japan has adopted Christianity. A Japanese told me that, to a certain extent, they have. “Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s,” struck him as an excellent text for the common people—Cæsar being translated Emperor of Japan. He preferred Christianity too, he said, “because it was more modern and general.” Had the leading Powers been Mahomedan, I have no doubt that official Japan would revere Mecca. It was, I think, this same officer who told me that some friends of his who had become Christians were anxious that he should do the same. He agreed, therefore, to go and be baptised on a certain date if it were fine. The day was wet, so he did not go. Some other friends were anxious that he should embrace Buddhism. “As their temple was much nearer, I went there,” he said; “so I am a Buddhist. But, of course, I do not believe in any religion really.”

A Christian Jap, on the other hand, once asked me whether Santa Klaus was one of our gods—the combination of monotheism and pantheism of the Doctrine of the Trinity being altogether outside their philosophy.

Actually the Japanese are members of that “Agnostic Creed” which some of our greater materialists have preached, plagiarising both Christianity and Buddhism. “Do unto others as you would that they should do unto you.” And in a great measure they live up to it. Where they seem not to, the difference between ideals of the Orient and the West explains the omission. Our particular type of hypocrite is not known in Japan. But, as I have said before, the only “Power” that they recognise and worship is their fleet. To grasp the true inwardness of this is not over and above easy to our mental processes, but it is the keynote.

One might imagine that a far-seeing administrative brain had evolved this most utilitarian religion, but I have never detected evidences of purpose. The seed was planted by our “old-school” naval officers; it fell on fruitful soil, and grew of its own accord into a weapon of almost indescribable potency. It is not on the lines of fanaticism exactly—the case of the Mahomedan is not altogether analogous. Rather, it is on all fours with Calvinism.

“If people don’t like being killed, why do they fight?” a Japanese officer remarked when discussing war. Individually and physically, a Japanese officer is not at all brave, if we define “bravery” in our sense of the word, but he will fight harder and die harder than any Westerner. To him a wound taken in action is on a par with a toothache or more serious ailment in ordinary everyday life; death in battle he views as we view ordinary death in our beds. The risk of death in action is an idea that moves him about as much as an actuary’s table affects us. Unlike the Mahomedan warrior, death in battle entails no Paradise with beautiful Houris as a reward; nor does dulce et decorum est pro patria mori seem to weigh much. Death is an incident, nothing more. “If people do not like being killed, why do they fight?” is the beginning and end of their ideas on the subject.

In every navy there are men who work at their profession and men who do not. The Japanese Navy is no exception to the rule, but the proportion of those who are casual is very small.

“Working at their profession” has, however, a very liberal meaning in the Japanese Navy. It means the absolute ignoring of everything else. I once inquired of a Japanese naval officer over here what the Japanese military attaché was called. “I cannot tell you,” was the answer, “because I work at my profession.”

And, judging by his expression, my friend was proud of this little bit of evidence that he wasted no time on extraneous matters. This, too, was in England. His ship was then in an elementary stage at Elswick; he was at Portsmouth on leave.

The “working at his profession” in this particular case, of an officer with his ship a mere skeleton on the building slip, consisted in spending the day poring over naval books. I generally found him deep in Mahan, with halma-pieces on sheets of paper to work out the tactics.