Makers of Japan

by J. Morris

The Emperor of Japan has no family name, for, apart from the theory of his semi-divine descent, his house dates back to a period in the world’s history when the dwellers on this globe were fewer in number, and surnames had not been brought into use in the Orient. Thus it has a claim to respect in virtue of the unparalleled duration of the dynasty such as is possessed by no other reigning family in the world. His subjects are justly proud of the fact, and likewise of the circumstance that he rules over a people who have remained unconquered through the ages, in assured tenure of the land bequeathed to them by their ancestors.

The profound respect, verging upon adoration, paid in Japan to the occupant of the Throne is ascribable to an absolute conviction, pervading the minds of all classes of his Majesty’s subjects, that their ruler is a monarch who personally studies the welfare, the happiness, and real comfort, of his people. The feeling that the sovereign takes an almost paternal interest in the well-being of those whom he governs is so universal in Japan as practically to constitute a feature of Japanese national life. It is shared by all, rich and poor, young and old, the noble and the lowly. In theory the throne is above criticism. In the present era it is so in practice. In the long history of the Land of the Rising Sun, there have been instances in which the sovereigns have conspicuously fallen short of the standard of perfection, but in Japanese eyes the failure to attain the ideal has been due not to the errors of the individual so much as to his environment. There seems to be no room in the Japanese mind for the conception of a ruler who has not the amelioration of the lot of his loyal subjects always at heart, and if they were to be confronted with direct proof to the contrary they would cling to the belief that their sovereign must have been the victim of circumstances. The people’s attachment to the throne never wanes, or can wane, but if it happens that he who occupies that exalted position is a sovereign for whom they are able to develop an intense affection, owing to his personal characteristics, so much closer must the bonds be drawn, so immeasurably in advance of all previous experience will be the enthusiasm evinced for his cause by those who may be privileged to serve him afloat or ashore.

The present Emperor has on more than one occasion, indeed, expressed the wish that his subjects would cease to attribute to his family a supernatural origin, and although it was inevitable that at the period of his accession he should be regarded as Pope as well as Emperor, in virtue of the connection that had from time immemorial existed between the throne and the Shinto faith, insomuch that Shintoism was to all intents and purposes the State religion of Japan, he took the earliest possible opportunity of investing his cousin, then the Uyeno-no-miya, or High Priest of Uyeno temples, with the spiritual functions appertaining to the Sovereign’s office, and announcing his own intention of ruling Japan purely as a secular monarch. Under the title of Kita Shirakawa-no-miya this prince two years later left the temples and entered the newly raised army, with the rank of major. General Kita Shirakawa-no-miya died some years ago, but his brother Higashi Fushimi-no-miya, who likewise was a Shinto priest at the outset of his career, was entrusted with the imperial brocade banner and ordered to chastise the rebels in the war of the Restoration in 1868, and he subsequently distinguished himself as a military officer in many hard-fought fields. He some years ago visited London as the representative of the Ten-shi and was present at St Paul’s on the day that Queen Victoria gave thanks for the recovery from a severe illness of the Prince of Wales, our present King Edward VII. With the resignation by the prince Kita Shirakawa-no-miya of his priestly office the direct relationship of the imperial family to Shintoism ceased, though by the deification of former rulers of the country, and the retention for untold years of the position of head of the church by the reigning sovereign, the union had seemed to be indissoluble. Shinto is now only a cult, but it embodies the principle on which the moral teaching of the Japanese substantially is based, and it still has for its chief function the performance of rites in memory of the imperial ancestors. Shintoism has neither creed nor dogma,—it inculcates patriotism and loyalty. It enjoins upon all the virtue of courage, the cultivation of the strictest sense of honour, and the universal practice of courtesy and consideration. The essence of Shinto (lit.: “the way of the gods”) is the spirit of filial piety, and, to quote the late Lafcadio Hearn, it implies the “zest of duty, the readiness to surrender life for a principle. It is religion, but religion transmuted into ethical instinct. It is the whole emotional life of the race,—the Soul of Japan.” In its best and purest form, according to the highest authorities, it consisted of ancestor-worship combined with reverence for the forces of nature. There was the natural respect for the memory of ancestors, national or individual, added to the awe inspired by the phenomena of nature, in the tempest and the earthquake, the lightning’s flash and the thunder’s crash. The beneficent influence of the summer sun on the ripening corn led those who lived by agriculture to value the blessing as the gift of a goddess, and they revered her as “Ama-no-terasu,” the splendour of the skies, and regarded her as the special ancestress of their adored ruler. Thus, as one authority has remarked, to those Japanese whose first idea of duty is loyalty to the Emperor,—and this means the nation at large,—Shinto becomes a system of patriotism exalted to the rank of a religion. The common people still regard it in that light, and continue to worship and pray at its temples, though officially it was secularised six years ago and placed under the control of a Bureau of Shrines, as distinct from the Bureau of Religions, which takes cognisance of matters affecting the Buddhist and Christian faiths. In 1899 the officials of the Isé shrines, which are the oldest in the Empire, and in which are preserved the three sacred emblems of the monarchy,—the mirror, sword, and jewel of antiquity,—symbolical of regal power, and looked upon as coeval with the dynasty itself,—took measures to define their position as heads of a secular organisation. They then described Shintoism as “a mechanism for keeping generations in touch with generations, and preserving the continuity of the nation’s veneration for its ancestors.” But throughout the length and breadth of the land the sight of a Shinto shrine will continue to prompt the passer-by to pause for a moment in his journey, to fold his hands in silent prayer, to cast a coin into the capacious moneybox, and to bow the head in submission to a higher will, no matter whether the rites of Shinto worship be for the future viewed in the light of a religion or only as a cult.

THE GEKU SHRINE AT ISÉ

Marco Polo’s references to “Jipangu,” as we have seen, were not based on his personal observations but on information derived from the Chinese, and though he travelled widely in China, accompanied by his brother, he never set foot on Japanese soil. That an island empire existed to the east of them, however, had been known to the Chinese for centuries, and Kublai Khan had unsuccessfully sought to bring it into subjection only a short time prior to the Polos’ arrival at his Court in 1275. It is probable that Christopher Columbus, when setting sail from Palos in 1492, hoped to reach “Jipangu,” of which he had doubtless heard through the publicity given to Marco Polo’s travels, by sailing westward, and it is possible that Columbus imagined that he had found his way to some part of an Eastern continent when he discovered America. The first traveller to actually land in Japan was Fernao Mendes Pinto, in 1542, seven years before the Jesuit Missionary Francisco Xavier arrived there. Pinto was favourably received in Bungo, a province of Kiushiu, the large island in the south-west of Japan, and arrangements were made for a vessel to visit Bungo with foreign produce, every other year. Pinto belonged to Coimbra, in Portugal, and thus it is to that power that is due the honour of its subjects having been the first to visit Japanese shores. Pinto’s ship was the only survivor of three which started from Lisbon on a voyage of adventure, and it was from her crew that the Japanese first acquired a knowledge of the use of firearms. The Bungo province gives its name to the narrow channel that here divides the islands of Kiushiu and Shikoku, which is exceptionally rich in historical associations, for if tradition be in this instance correct it was in one of its many little bays that the vessel conveying the ancestor of the Ten-shi, the first Emperor Jimmu Tenno, dropped anchor over 2500 years ago. Where Jimmu Tenno came from remains an absolute mystery, but it seems to be fairly established that he brought with him a mighty host, armed for conquest, and that he had early encounters with the tribes then inhabiting the south and west of Hondo, the main island. One of these was the Yamato tribe, which probably at that remote period dwelt in what is now Iwami, and its occupancy of the coast facing the peninsula of Korea, might be taken to imply that its people originally crossed the water from that kingdom, though it would not of necessity follow that the men of Yamato were identical in race with the dwellers in Korea at the present day. Fighting his way along the borders of the Inland Sea, the invading chieftain Jimmu Tenno ultimately reached the neighbourhood of what is now Kioto, and set up his capital in that region. It is not improbable that he brought with him many members of the Yamato tribe that he had subjugated, and this may account for the presence to this day in that part of Japan of numberless families possessing the characteristics in a marked degree of what is termed the Yamato race,—in other words, the elongated features and intellectual aspect as distinguished from the round chubby countenances of the majority of the men and women of the hei-min, or common stock, which forms so large a percentage of the entire population. The Yamato people may have emigrated in the first place from Manchuria, passing through Korea on their way to Japan, and though it may be condemned as fanciful the idea is perhaps not altogether groundless that in seeking to recover Manchuria in recent years from the grip of the Muscovite the Japanese may in reality have been striving, though few were aware of it, to deliver their own ancestral home from the presence of the Western intruder.

Jimmu Tenno began to reign as Emperor of Japan in 667 B.C., being then, it is supposed, about thirty-five years of age. Ancient Japanese tradition no doubt assigned to him a supernatural origin, and it is not difficult to trace in the unexpected advent on Japanese soil of the conqueror and his knights the germ of such a belief, supported as it probably was by martial prowess to a degree with which the then peaceful inhabitants of the Japanese chain of islands were totally unfamiliar. The peoples of the adjoining mainland of Asia—that is to say, the Chinese and the Manchus, as well as the Koreans—were appreciably in advance, it is to be presumed, in the arts of war, of any of the islanders of that age, and the invaders, as Jimmu Tenno and his men must have been, of Southern Japan, seven centuries before the Christian era, may have been regarded, and not altogether unnaturally, as beings descended from another planet. The Emperor Jimmu’s mother was a daughter, we are told, of the Sun-Goddess and the Sea-God (the Japanese Neptune) and in this myth may be traced a notable parallel to that concerning Romulus, the founder and first King of Rome, whose father was reputed to have been Mars, the god of war. Romulus founded Rome just eighty-six years before Jimmu became the founder of the dynasty of Japanese emperors, but there the parallel ends, for while Rome became a republic in less than 250 years, and underwent endless vicissitudes, a direct descendant of Jimmu occupies the imperial throne of Japan to-day.

In the older histories of Japan one may read how the Isles of Sunrise came into existence, and the legend is pretty enough to merit recognition in lands other than that to which it especially applies. When all was chaos on this globe, very far back in its nebulous stage of existence,—when the purer elements were ascending to form its skies, and the impure were gathering to form its earth,—the god Izanagi, with his august spouse the goddess Izanami beside him, was standing on the ethereal arch that spans the higher heavens, bearing in his hand the jewel-spear. Suddenly he thrust the weapon downward and with it probed the watery expanse beneath. As he drew it forth from Ocean, drops of foam and brine fell from its point, and in congealing formed an island. That island is called “Foam-land” (Awaji), in the centre of what is now Japan, and it bars the passage from the eastward to the picturesque “Inland Sea.” In it Izanagi and Izanami took up their abode, and gradually formed the other islands of the group. The Sun-goddess and the Sea-god were their children, and Ama-no-terasu, the “Splendour of the Skies,” was their grand-daughter, and became the parent of Jimmu Tenno, the first Emperor of Japan.

In the month of July 1853, there appeared to the astonished gaze of the inhabitants of the little fishing village of Uraga, situated on the Pacific coast within ten miles of the entrance to the Gulf of Tokio, a squadron of “black ships,” as the children termed the war vessels, the like of which they had never before seen or even heard of, and not long afterwards a boat was rowed ashore and a party of officers landed. For 230 years there had been no communication with strangers, the edicts of the Shogun Iyeyasu and his successors in the office having expressly prohibited all intercourse, for reasons which need not be given here, and the open defiance of the law of the land implied by the visit of the Americans filled the villagers with consternation. It was discovered that the unwelcome guests had brought a letter for the reigning monarch of Japan, and this the head man of the place agreed to forward to the proper officials. Commodore Perry happened to reach Japan at a time when the feudal lords of the various provinces had become jealous of the long-continued supremacy of the Tokugawa line of Shoguns, deputies of the crown who had for two and a half centuries practically ruled the country, in the name of the monarchs who had remained in seclusion at the palace of Kioto while their lieutenants governed the land from Yedo. The movement in favour of the re-establishment of the direct rule of the Emperor, in place of the semi-regal authority which had been exercised by the descendants of Iyeyasu, the first Shogun of the Tokugawa line, had begun to take definite shape some years previously, as we shall discover when we consider the history of Fujita, Sakuma, and Yoshida,—patriots who flourished earlier in the nineteenth century,—and the advent of the American visitors served but to accentuate the difficulties of the situation for the Yedo potentate, who was placed on the horns of a dilemma. If he yielded to the demands of the Americans that the nation which had so long been hidden from the rest of the world should emerge from its retirement and admit foreigners within its gates, he would incur the wrath of the ultra-Conservative party among the nobility of his own land. If he refused to comply with the American President Fillmore’s amiable suggestions, Japan might yet share the fate of China, and a forcible invasion of his Imperial master’s dominions, which would be equally disastrous to himself as being responsible for the exclusion of the “barbarians,” was almost certain to occur. The Shogun took the advice of those who advocated the making of treaties with men whom they were not then strong enough in Japan to effectually exclude, and the thin end of the wedge was inserted by the conclusion of the compact,—at first nothing more than a promise of friendship,—between Japan and the United States of America.

Under the provisions of the American treaty then negotiated by Perry, the United States acquired the right of establishing a legation at Shimoda. This is a small town at the tip of the Idzu promontory, which extends in a southern direction from the province of Sagami, and it is sixty-five miles as the crow flies south-west of Yokohama. Over a building which had previously been a Buddhist temple the Stars and Stripes were hoisted at Shimoda in September 1856, and America’s accredited envoy, Mr Townsend Harris, resided there for many months, being the first of the diplomatic representatives of foreign powers to dwell in the newly awakened Land of Sunrise, and the first to arrange a treaty of commerce. Under the arrangement made with Commodore Perry there were to be two seaports opened to the reception of American vessels, where they might obtain coal, provisions, wood, and water. One of these ports was Shimoda, the other was Hakodate, in the northern island of Yeso. The treaty provided for hospitable behaviour towards shipwrecked crews,—a matter in which, had the instincts of the Japanese nation at large been appreciated as they are to-day it would perhaps have been deemed superfluous to make any stipulations—and it also included certain regulations for conducting trade and for the residence of consuls or agents, at the places named. The stay of the American agent at Shimoda was not of long duration, for on the opening of the capital, as a place wherein the representatives of other powers could most fittingly dwell, Mr Harris removed to that city. But it should not be lost sight of that Shimoda was for a time the official headquarters of the American Legation in Japan, and a place where the population was more or less accustomed to see foreigners long before the rest of the country,—save the trading ports of Yokohama, Kobé, Nagasaki, and three other places on the coast opened later—was available to strangers. The British treaty, made the same year by Admiral Stirling, was on similar lines. It was not until the Earl of Elgin concluded the treaty of 1858 that powers were obtained for the residence of the foreign ministers in Yedo, though it had been agreed that a third port,—that of Nagasaki,—should be opened to trade. The Elgin treaty in addition provided for the establishment of open ports at Kanagawa, Niigata, and Hiogo. But Kanagawa being a town situated on the highroad along which in those days it was usual for the feudal lords and their immense retinues to travel, and the feeling in many quarters being decidedly inimical to foreigners, it was deemed inexpedient to make it a focus of animosity due to the strangers’ settlement therein for purposes of trade whilst it might remain the recognised resting-place for imperial and other processions making the journey to and from Kioto and Yedo. Accordingly it was agreed that the little fishing village of Yokohama, lit.: “the beach across the way,” on the other side of the bay of Kanagawa, which is itself a mere indentation of the coastline of the Gulf of Tokio, should become the actual place of residence of the foreign community. From this small beginning in 1859 the port speedily grew to be the centre of a vast and profitable trade, and its population now numbers 194,000, of whom 2100 are foreigners exclusive of Chinese. It is claimed for Kobé, a port in the channel separating Shikoku from Hondo, that it has eclipsed the older port of Yokohama in respect of its commerce, and it is in some things better situated for trade, particularly with the tea-producing districts. Kobé was originally a village adjoining Hiogo, which was the port that it was settled by treaty should be thrown open, and as a matter of fact it is divided from Hiogo only by a creek, a few feet wide. The port is now officially styled Kobé-Hiogo, and to all intents and purposes the two places are one.