The Gist of Japan: The Islands, Their People, and Missions

by R. B. Peery

Before the introduction of Chinese ethics there was no such thing as a moral code. The original native religion, Shinto, taught no doctrines of morality, as we understand them. According to it, to obey implicitly the mikado was the whole duty of man. As for the rest, if a Japanese obeyed the natural impulses of his own heart he would be sure to do right. Modern Shinto writers, in all seriousness, account for this absence of a moral code by stating that originally Japanese nature was pure, clean, and sinless, possessing no tendency to evil or wrong. Barbarians, like the Chinese and Americans, being by nature immoral, were forced to invent a moral code to control their actions; but in Japan this was not necessary, as every Japanese acted aright if he only consulted his own heart. They explain the need for the present moral laws—a need which they acknowledge—by the fact of association with outside nations. Immorality and dissoluteness were introduced by the Chinese and Western peoples, to counteract the evil influence of which they now have the shameful spectacle of a moral law even among the children of the "heaven-descended mikado." So much for the teaching of Shinto in regard to morality. It would be exasperating were it not ludicrous.

Confucius is the master of Japanese morality. His teachings were introduced into Japan early in the Christian era, but they became predominant only in the time of Iyeyasu, in the seventeenth century. This great statesman, warrior, and patron of learning caused the Chinese classics to be printed in Japan for the first time; and from that day to this the morality of Japan has been dominated by Confucian ideas.

In order to understand Japanese morality, it is necessary for us to shift our moral base and try to look at the subject through Japanese eyes. The average native of the West thinks of "morality" as something belonging to the individual. Even in religion his first thought is to save his own soul. The value of the soul, its immortality, its immediate relation to the infinite and eternal Father—these have been emphasized ever since the first establishment of the church. In consequence, there is a duty which man owes to himself. He may not disregard it even at the command of father or king. Within the soul is the holiest of all, for there is heard in conscience the voice of God himself. No external authority may be supreme, and at no external voice may one violate his own convictions of truth.

This thought exalts the individual, and, therefore, sins which degrade our own personality become most repulsive. Thus, among high-minded men truth is almost first among the virtues, and an accusation of falsehood the most hateful of insults. For truth seems peculiarly personal and spiritual, as if belonging to the very sanctuary of one's nature. And in like manner, among women, in popular esteem chastity is of the essence of morality, as its violation seems to contaminate and debase her holiest self.

Now the Confucian ethics rest upon a quite different principle, and in this are at one with the ancient teaching of the Greeks and Romans. The supreme duty is not to the self, but to the organization of which one is but a part—that is, to the family or to the state. The great Chinese moralists were statesmen, and their chief concern was, not the salvation of the individual, but the peace and prosperity of the state. In their view, the family was the unit, and the state a greater family. So the conflict of duties, in their questions of casuistry, is never between individual and social duties, but between duties owed to family and to state. Loyalty to the state and obedience to parents must be supreme; but China and Japan differ as to the value of these two.

According to original Confucianism, the first duty of men is obedience to parents; the second, loyalty to rulers; but in Japan the order of these duties has been changed, the second being given first place.

The people have learned well this teaching of Confucius. Japan was prepared soil for its sowing. The native religion taught that the emperor was a direct descendant of heaven, who ruled by divine right; the provincial lords were his ministers, and hence loyalty was a plain duty. The Confucian teaching only strengthened, deepened, and gave form and outline to a sentiment already existing. This principle of loyalty thus became the foundation stone of Japanese ethics, and one's duty to one's lord paramount to all other duties.

In the olden times the people did not look beyond their own feudal lords and clans to the emperor and the nation. They were to be faithful unto death to these, but no further. Now that loyalty once shown to the local princes and clans finds its apotheosis in the emperor and the empire.

A man's duty to his friends, to his wife and children, and even to his parents, is counted as nothing in comparison with his duty to rulers and country. There are many instances in Japanese history of men who, having slain their own parents, children, wives, for the sake of their prince, were praised. At the time of the recent tidal wave in northern Japan, when the waters were rushing furiously into one home, a husband and father turned a deaf ear to the cries of his drowning wife and children, permitting them to perish that he might save the emperor's picture; and he was applauded for the act. A fire recently demolished the beautiful new buildings of the middle school in Saga. The library, laboratories, and scientific apparatus were mostly destroyed, and many of the students lost their clothing and books. The loss in buildings alone was some $20,000. Yet the thing the loss of which they lamented most deeply was a photograph of the emperor which could easily be replaced for a few yen.

A characteristic story, showing the devotion with which the old samurai carried out this principle of loyalty, is the tale of the forty-seven ronins. It is rather long to insert here, but as it illustrates so well the power of this principle, I will relate it.