The Making of Modern Japan / An Account of the Progress of Japan from Pre-feudal Days to Constitutional Government & the Position of a Great Power, With Chapters on Religion, the Complex Family System, Education, &c.

by John Harington Gubbins

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.