Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  For this reason, from this time forward, basing ourselves on the teachings of our ancestors, we should teach benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and filial piety, and our moral teachings should be based chiefly on Confucius. People should revere sincerity and good conduct and study the different disciplines in accordance with their particular talents. As they continue their progress, morality and technical skills, both essential and auxiliary, will all be present, and the teachings of the Great Mean and righteousness will fill the land. Then, in its spirit of independence, our country shall not be ashamed before any nation in the universe.18

  In his second essay, Motoda touched on his experiences while traveling with the emperor:

  Last autumn when I examined schools in the various prefectures and observed the pupils’ scholarly attainments, the instruction offered to children of farmers and merchants consisted entirely of high-flown empty theories. In extreme cases the pupils were able to speak Western languages well but were incapable of translating the foreign words into Japanese. When these children graduate some day and return home, it will be difficult for them to apply themselves once more to their basic occupations. The high-flown empty theories they have learned will be of no use to them either if they wish to become officials. In addition, I heard everywhere that quite a few of them are so pleased with themselves, they make fun of their elders and obstruct the provincial officials.19

  Motoda urged the establishment of courses in agriculture and business instead of highbrow knowledge, so that graduates would return to their basic occupations and prosper. The emperor summoned Itō Hirobumi and, telling him of his desire to improve education and correct morals, asked Itō for his views.

  Itō’s memorial to the throne, after an opening paragraph indicting the collapse of morals that marked the times, declared that in order to remedy the situation it must be treated as a disease and that in order to cure a disease it was necessary to find out what had caused it. He traced the origins of the present undesirable situation in education to the changes brought about by the Restoration. The end of the closed country era and the feudal system meant that the samurai class was no longer bound by traditional discipline and constraints. This liberation, though desirable, entailed the loss of the good qualities in the old system. Deprived of their former means of support, samurai had become involved in partisan politics and infected by radical ideas emanating from Europe.

  The deterioration of morals could not be attributed solely to the failure of the new education introduced since the Restoration. But even if the effects of education were not immediate, it was the best cure for the prevailing situation. If the government took the lead in promoting education and remedying the inadequacies of the present system, it was reasonable to hope that Japan would achieve a “civilized” state. Itō expressed opposition to any attempt to create a national religion that would combine old and new in consultation with the classics, as this would require the appearance of a sage, and in any case, it was not for the government to control.

  Itō favored technical education as the way to wean young samurai from the Confucian partiality for empty political arguments which in turn had led to their susceptibility to radical ideas from the West. Practical learning, rather than political discussions, should be the core of education. He concluded by recommending that only outstanding students be allowed to study law and politics.20

  The emperor showed Itō’s memorial to Motoda, who recognized it was a serious attempt to amplify the emperor’s views on education and to make up for oversights. However, he continued, the views expressed in the memorial suggested that Itō did not perfectly understand the emperor’s wishes. Motoda asked to be authorized to prepare a reply, and when he did, it was to reject Itō’s views completely. He insisted that the Four Books and Five Classics of Confucianism must be the core of education, followed by works of national learning that treated ethics and, only at the end, Western books. Itō had said that one should not expect immediate results from education, but Motoda asked what would happen in the future if the foundations were not laid today. Itō had urged that no national religion be established, at least at this time, but Motoda demanded when a more appropriate time would be. Even European countries had national religions. Since ancient times, Japan’s advances had been achieved by revering the heavenly ancestors and adopting Confucianism. “The national religion of today is none other than a return to the past.”21

  Motoda was pleased, however, that a minister of education had been appointed. The position, long vacant, had recently been assigned to the councillor Terashima Munenori in addition to his regular duties. He hoped that the emperor would communicate to Terashima his wishes on education. The emperor sent for Terashima the next day and gave him Motoda’s two essays, Itō’s memorial, and the draft bill on education passed by the Genrō-in.22

  The new educational bill was in forty-seven articles. It prescribed opening schools at every level from elementary to university. Government elementary schools were to be established in every village and town except where satisfactory private schools already existed. In those places that lacked the means to establish schools, touring professors would be provided. A child’s education would last for eight years, from the sixth to the fourteenth year. Parents or guardians would be responsible for sending the children to school. Although loopholes in the act permitted parents to get around this obligation, it came close to mandating compulsory education for all Japanese children, a sign of the importance attached to education by the government, despite its chronic lack of funds.

  The educational system that emerged from the revisions to the 1872 school system was not a success. The new system that had been laboriously constructed during the past seven years was thrown into confusion, and there was a marked decline in educational standards. The liberalization intended to free education of the straitjacket of bureaucratic administration resulted in a laissez-faire policy that did not appeal to members of the government or the emperor. Accordingly, Tanaka Fujimaro was replaced as minister of education, and his successor, Kōno Togama, who had accompanied the emperor on visits to schools in the countryside, was dismayed by what he observed. He therefore decided to reform the education law by strengthening the central and regional officers’ authority.23 In December 1880 the Genrō-in approved a modified educational law providing that morals (shūshin) would rank at the top of all subjects taught.24

  From about this time, Meiji seemed to assume a noticeably more conservative outlook. Motoda’s influence is apparent in the emperor’s insistence on Confucian values in education. Of course, each generation tends to contrast the feckless youth of its own time with the uncomplicated but sincere young people of the past. But the shift in educational policy suggests that even though the government was dedicated to progress and the propagation of practical learning, it was not content merely with lamenting the loss of old-fashioned morality but was ready to compel the young to submit to tradition. As Asukai Masamichi wrote, “The route to the Rescript on Education of 1890 had been opened.”25

  Portrait of Emperor Meiji. This photograph, the earliest taken of Meiji, shows him in traditional robes and headgear. Courtesy the Yokohama Archives of History

  Portrait of Emperor Kōmei. This official portrait reveals nothing of Kōmei’s personality. Courtesy the Collection of Sennyū-ji

  Portrait of Emperor Kōmei. The intense expression on Kōmei’s face contrasts with his placid appearance in the earlier portrait.

  Portrait of Empress Haruko, posthumously known as Shōken. Unlike the emperor, the empress did not object to having her photograph taken. Courtesy Charles Schwartz, Ltd.

  Official portrait of Emperor Meiji. This photograph was taken specifically in order to exchange it with photographs of foreign monarchs sent to the emperor. Meiji’s hair has been cut, and the beginnings of a mustache and beard are evident. Meiji continued to wear this old-fashioned uniform long after it had disappeared from Europe. Courtesy Charles Schwartz, Ltd.

  The ad
visability of an invasion of Korea (seikan) being disputed by members of the cabinet. Print by Hashimoto Chikanobu (1877). The figure to the upper left is probably Meiji. Others portrayed in this print include Saigō Takamori, Iwakura Tomomi, Sanjō Sanetomi, Itagaki Taisuke, Etō Shimpei, and Ōkubo Toshimitsu. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  Portrait of Saigō Takamori. Print by Suzuki Toshimoto (1877). Saigō’s mustache and beard, not found in most portraits of him, probably represent the artist’s guesswork. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  The opposing army leaders during the Satsuma Rebellion. Print by Takeuchi Eikyū (1877).The government forces (in Western-style uniforms) and the Satsuma officers (in various costumes) flank Shimazu Hisamitsu. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  The seppuku (ritual disembowelment) of Saigō Takamori.Print by Taiso Yoshitoshi (1877). Saigō in fact died at Shiroyama, not on the sea, but the artist had a lively imagination. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  Rokumeikan, the building that symbolized Japanese efforts to achieve modernization. Photograph courtesy Dallas Finn

  The visit to Japan of General and Mrs. Ulysses S. Grant, depicted in insets to the upper right and left, celebrated by geisha dancing in kimonos that pay tribute to the Stars and Stripes. Courtesy the Mary and Jackson Burke Collection

  Issuance of the constitution in the state chamber of the new palace, March 14, 1889. Print by Adachi Ginkō. Courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Lincoln Kirstein, 1959

  Empress Haruko teaching girls at the Peeresses’ School to sing the song she composed. Print by Toyohara Kunichika (1887). The empress wore Western dress from this time on. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  The arrival of Czarevitch Nicholas at Shimbashi Station, where he is met by Emperor Meiji. Print by Kunimasa V (1891). This is a wholly imagined scene, since the future Nicholas II never visited Tokyo. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  The monarchs who ruled Japan, Korea, and China with their chief advisers. Print by Shunsai Toshimasa (1894). Meiji is in the center; King Kojong, to the right; and Kuang-hsü, “the king of China,” to the left. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  The visit of Empress Haruko to the hospital in Hiroshima where men wounded in the Sino-Japanese War are being treated. Print by Kobayashi Kiyochika (1895). The bandaged patient at the left crouches in awe, and a nurse nearby kneels. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  Negotiations in Shimonoseki to end the Sino-Japanese War. Print by Kobayashi Kiyochika (1895). To the right, the Japanese delegation is headed by Itō Hirobumi. To the left, the Chinese delegation is led by Li Hung-chang.Two foreign advisers of the Chinese are also present. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  The Japanese army advancing near Weihaiwei. Print by Kobayashi Kiyochika(1895). More Japanese soldiers died from the bitterly cold winter than from Chinese bullets. Courtesy the Kanagawa Museum

  Japanese troops convoying Chinese prisoners. Lithograph by Georges Bigot (1895). Courtesy Donald Keene

  Russian and Japanese military at the outset of the Russo-Japanese War. Print by Watanabe Nobukazu (1904). The soldiers and sailors of the two nations are facially almost indistinguishable. Courtesy Print Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations

  Chapter 33

  The customary New Year ceremonies for 1880 were performed by the emperor, now in his twenty-ninth year. The emperor and empress received the duke of Genoa, and Prince Heinrich, the grandson of the German kaiser, telegraphed greetings from his ship in Nagasaki harbor. On the second day of the new year Emperor Meiji sent a telegram of congratulations to Alfonso XII, the king of Spain, not on the New Year, but on his having escaped assassination.1 More than ever, Meiji was in communication with the crowned heads of Europe, but he may have felt, even as he expressed joy over the narrow escapes of various kings, how remote their world was from his own; surely he had no fears that anyone would attempt to assassinate him.

  This was the first year in which Meiji might be said to have routinely exercised his powers as emperor. His councillors’ proposals were brought to him for a final decision, not (as in previous years) as a mere formality, but because his opinion was needed, often to break a deadlock within the cabinet. This new responsibility may account for the reduction in his other activities. There was a marked decrease, for example, in the emperor’s visits to the empress dowager and in the number of times he went horseback riding. His formal education also suffered: he listened to lectures delivered by Motoda Nagazane and other scholars only twenty-three times between April and December, despite being scheduled to hear them four or five times each week. Instead, Meiji attended meetings of the cabinet almost every day,2 and he had frequent lunch meetings with high-ranking officers of the government to discuss state business. Itō Hirobumi was particularly eager at this time to establish direct links between the emperor and the cabinet and for the emperor to assume a major role in decision making.3

  Financial problems were a principal concern of the government during 1880. Government revenues were far from covering expenditures. Although in the previous March the emperor had commanded the ministers, councillors, and others to practice strict economy and had given orders to the imperial household minister for the palace to serve as a model to the nation in its avoidance of wasteful expenses, his orders had little effect. The different ministries insisted that they were unable to cut expenses any further, and the palace’s expenses reportedly had actually increased. This was partly due to inflation, but the news prompted another call for economy: the staff was ordered to refrain from having repairs made to the palace that were not absolutely urgent and not to buy anything new.

  Believing that a more positive policy than thriftiness was needed to overcome the financial problems, Ōkuma Shigenobu submitted in June 1879 a four-point proposal for remedying the situation. The first point was to redeem a considerable part of the paper money that had been printed to pay the expenses of the 1877 Satsuma Rebellion. The flood of banknotes had resulted in a loss of confidence in their value, and now a silver 1-yen coin was worth 1 yen, 43 sen in paper money. Inflation was rampant, and the only way to restore confidence in the banknotes was to replace nonconvertible notes with notes convertible into specie. The money for redeeming the notes could be raised in part by selling government-owned factories, but Ōkuma’s main proposal was to float a foreign loan of 50 million yen to be repaid over twenty-five years. He estimated that these measures would permit the government to redeem 78 million yen in nonconvertible notes.4 Another 27 million yen in paper money would be redeemed in exchange for convertible bills.

  The cabinet was evenly divided on the issue of whether to float a foreign loan. Ōkuma had won over the Satsuma faction, but the Chōshū and allied councillors, headed by Itō Hirobumi, opposed the loan, though not all for the same reasons. Among the strongest opponents was Minister of the Right Iwakura Tomomi, who (as a member of the nobility) was in constant communication with the palace. His allies among the former jiho, especially Sasaki Takayuki and Motoda Nagazane, also continued to have access to the emperor’s ear. Motoda spoke strongly against any foreign loan, conjuring up the peril to the nation that this might involve and recalling General Grant’s warning against accepting foreign money. The question he (and Iwakura) posed was, what if Japan were unable to repay the loan? Would Japan have to yield part of its territory—say, Shikoku or Kyūshū—in order to satisfy its creditors?5 The only way to overcome the financial crisis, these men argued, was to practice strict economy.

  The emperor was aware of Ōkuma’s plan and did not like it, but he was also anxious not to risk a permanent split in the cabinet, such as had occurred at the time of the dispute over Korea. He sought the opinions of the heads of the different ministries, but they also were divided. Unable to get a clear recommendation either way, the emperor finally decided against borrowing money from foreign countries. On June 3, 1880, he issued this rescript:

  Ever since the early years of t
he Meiji era, there have been many demands on the state that have brought about the present financial difficulties. Today, in the thirteenth year of the era, there is an outward flow of specie, resulting in a loss of confidence in paper money. This was the reason for Councillor Ōkuma’s proposal. I have examined this proposal. I have also been informed that there is no unanimity of opinion in the cabinet or in the various ministries. Although I am well aware that it is not easy to dispose of the financial problem, I am convinced that borrowing money from abroad is today an inadmissible solution. Last year Grant spoke at length concerning the advantages and disadvantages of foreign loans. His words are still in my ears. The financial crisis looms before us today, and we must choose a goal for the future. Now is the time for putting thrift into practice. I call on you, my lords, to implement my wishes and, making strict economy your watchword, establish a course for economic recovery. Discuss this fully with the cabinet and ministries, then report back to me.6

  There was naturally no opposition to the emperor’s command, although there was discussion about how to implement it. The emperor’s decision in effect had established the palace as the ultimate authority when divisions existed in the cabinet and ministries. Before long, a similar decision would be required of the emperor with respect to the proposal that in order to control the mounting price of rice, the farmers should be required to pay taxes in rice rather than in cash, reverting to the system that had existed under the shoguns. But before this problem came to a head, the emperor set out on another progress, this one to Yamanashi, Mie, and Kyōto Prefectures.7