Chapter 7: Attempts to Make Japanese through Religion
and Education
During its first decade, the main concern for Japan’s Meiji state was to ensure its own survival against potential opponents. To accomplish this task, it consolidated power in various ways such as the elimination of the domains, elimination of the samurai class, imposition of a land tax, and the creation of a conscript army. By 1878, the power of the new government was secure. But there was much more work to be done in transforming the newly-created Japan into a powerful nation-state. The general goal of Japan’s new government can be summed up by a popular political slogan of the day: fukoku-kyōhei 富国強兵, which means “wealthy country and strong military.”
Although they often disagreed on particular details of policy or administration, Japan’s new leaders generally understood that creating a wealthy country and a strong military would require mobilization of human resources to an extent never attempted previously. The most basic step in mobilizing Japan’s human resources was to instill a strong sense of national identity. This task could be regarded as “making Japanese.” Owing in large part to state policies, groups of people whose main sense of identification had once been to villages and towns gradually came to regard themselves as Japanese above all else.
Creating a sense of national identity alone was not sufficient for the state to realize its goal of prosperity and military power. It was also necessary to convince these newly-created Japanese that the Japanese state was the legitimate, proper, and natural leader of the Japanese nation. In this scenario, loyalty to the nation would require obedience to the state. The state was not always successful in this regard. For example, soon after word of the provisions of the Treaty of Portsmouth became public in 1905, anti-government rioting broke out on a large scale. This rioting was the first instance in Japan’s modern history of the general population becoming angry that the state had, in their view, betrayed the nation. In general, however, the Japanese state was fairly successful in channeling nationalism toward its own ends. Religion and education were ways in which the state created and channeled national consciousness.
Question: What is Japan’s national religion? Most educated people would tend to say “Shintō” (or “Shintōism”). How old is Shintō? Most people, Japanese and foreigners alike, would usually say that it is extremely old, with roots in ancient Japan. Let us congratulate the Meiji-era religious ideologues, because these answers are precisely what they would have wanted you to think. Consider the following typical definition of Shintō from a medium-sized Japanese dictionary:
神道。日本に古くからある宗教。祭祀をおもんじる多神教で、ふつう神社をたてて、祖先神をされる神がみをまつる。The religion in Japan since ancient times. It is a polytheistic religion that places particular importance on ritual observances. Typically, [its practitioners] construct shrines and venerate those deities regarded as ancestral spirits.
An English dictionary would provide much the same definition. Here is a more detailed definition from the Kōjien 広辞苑, the most authoritative unabridged dictionary in Japan:
神道。（もと、自然の理法、神のはたらきの意）わが国固有の民族信仰。祖先神への尊崇を中心とする。古来の民間信仰が、外来思想である仏教、儒教の影響を受けつつ成立し理論化されたもの。平安時代には神仏習合、本地垂迹があられ、両部神道、山王一実神道が成立、. . . 明治時代以降は神社神道と教派神道（神道十三派）と分かれ、前者は敗戦まで政府の大きな保護をうけた。(Originally the term meant laws of nature of the workings of the spirits) The inherent religion of our Japanese people. It centers on the veneration of ancestral spirits. As the ancient native beliefs of the people acquired influences from the foreign doctrines of Buddhism and Confucianism, [these native beliefs] became formally established and systematized. In the Heian Period, [the idea of] the unity of native deities and Buddhas and [the idea of] native deities as local manifestations of Buddhas led to the establishment of Ryōbu Shintō and Sannō-ichijitsu Shintō. . . . Since the Meiji period, [Shintō] became divided into Shrine [i.e., state] Shintō and Sectarian Shintō (thirteen denominations). Until defeat in war, the former played a major role in supporting the government.
This definition acknowledges the influence of Buddhism and Confucianism, the role of the state, and the diversity of varieties of Shintō. Is it reasonable, however, to regard Shintō as something “inherent” in the Japanese people? Probably not. For one thing, cultural entities are not “inherent” in anyone—they have to be learned. Moreover, although Shintō does have some old roots, for the most part, it is a modern creation of the Meiji state and its successors. A key component of modern, state Shintō was the claim that Shintō is an ancient religion (much like the claim that Japan was an ancient nation). In fact, however, we know very little about religious practices in the Japanese islands prior to the arrival of Buddhism. As the long definition above implies, but does not explicitly state, for most of its history, “Shintō” was a component of Buddhism. Only in 1868, by decree of the state, did Shintō and Buddhism become separate entities.
We will now look at the history of this peculiarly modern “ancient” religion. Here are the major time periods:
1. 1868 – 1889: Establishment of state Shintō; experimentation and disillusion; especially the Great Promulgation Campaign (Taikyō senpu undō 大教宣布運動) of 1870 – 1875/lingering on until 1884
2. 1890 – 1905: Period of relative decline in state interest and support
3. 1905 – 1930: Slow but steady increase in state support and funding for shrines
4. 1930 -1945: State Shintō as prominent public ideology, with a focus on the allegedly unbroken line of emperors since ancient times
5. 1945 – 1973: Period of extreme decline
6. 1973 – Present: Period of limited revival
This section is concerned with the first two periods, and a later section will take up the rest of them.
In 1868, the leaders of the newly-created Meiji government elevated a hitherto obscure division of the imperial court, the Jingikan 神祇官 (dealt with religious and supernatural matters), to the loftiest position within the new hierarchy of government bureaus. Soon thereafter, the new government’s leaders charged the Jingikan with creating a national religion. It failed utterly, owing to dissention within its ranks. In 1871, the Jingikan was downgraded. The next year, it was eliminated entirely, and its offices and other infrastructure became the newly-minted Ministry of Education (Mombushō 文部省). Whether the Meiji bureaucrats realized it at the time, they were actually replacing one religious bureaucracy for another. The reason is that the Ministry of Education, in addition to supervising the dissemination of basic knowledge, also supervised a type of national indoctrination program. Actually, all state-run (“public”) education anywhere includes some degree of an indoctrinating function.
Also in 1868, the new government decreed that henceforth. “Shintō” and Buddhism would be separate entities (shinbutsu bunri no rei 神仏分離の令). Of course, the very existence of such a decree indicates the great extent to which Buddhism and local religious practices had become intertwined by that time. Indeed, until 1868, the word “shintō” generally meant “local religious practices.” These practices could be the local religious customs of any place, not only Japan. In other words, one could have talked about the shintō of China or the shintō of France, but, of course, nearly all discourse on local religious practices in Japan was about places in Japan. But the term did not necessarily refer to Japan. Why the need to speak of “local” religious practices anyway? Because the unstated comparison was with Buddhism, which claimed to be universal in scope. Soon after coming to Japan in the sixth century, Buddhism in effect wrapped itself around local religious practices in the Japanese islands, saying that they were local, unsophisticated forms of Buddhism. Eventually linkages developed between the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas of Buddhism and the local Japanese deities. The idea was that the Japanese deities were local manifestations of universal Buddhist principles. For example, Amaterasu, the solar deity from which the emperors claimed descent, came to be regarded as a local manifestation of Vairocana, the solar Buddha (Jp. Dainichi 大日). This phenomenon is generally called honji-suijaku 本地垂迹 in Japanese, and you can read more details #here# if you are interested.
The separation order caused much confusion and, in some areas, outright destruction. For one thing, nobody was completely sure what was “Buddhist” and what was “Shintō.” The government itself did not seem entirely certain either, at least when it came to details. In a general way, it labeled Buddhism as “foreign” (it originated in India and was widespread throughout Asia) and Shintō as “Japanese,” but to most Japanese, Buddhism/Shintō were part of the same familiar, local system. As the administrators of temples and shrines began sorting out Buddhist and Shintō components the best they could, violence erupted in some areas. The violence was the result of overly zealous local officials. Sensing that the new government was anti-Buddhist and wanting to curry favor with it, these officials encouraged people to attack and vandalize Buddhist temples. The vandalism usually took the form of destroying or decapitating statues, but in some cases mobs burnt down temples. Such violence was not widespread and the government quickly spoke out against attacks on temples. The main point is that there was much confusion in Japanese religious institutions during the years 1868-1870.
Some other religious changes took place in these early years. In 1869, as part of a broader reform of imperial rituals, the Meiji emperor visited the Ise Shrine. The Ise Shrine is where Amaterasu’s spirit resided, and it was a popular destination for the mass religious pilgrimages (okage-mairi) we have seen in an earlier chapter. You might think that the emperors frequently visited the Ise Shrine, but there had not been an imperial visit since the seventh century. The 1869 visit by Emperor Meiji was a highly-publicized public event. Religion had become one of the stages on which the Meiji leaders orchestrated the creation of Japan as a nation.
Although not strictly speaking religious events, in the 1870s the new government adopted the Western solar calendar and created a set of national holidays (e.g., the emperor’s birthday) that had never before been celebrated by ordinary people. One problem was that nobody paid attention to these new holidays. This lack of enthusiasm sometimes brought out the police, who went door to door and forced people to display the national flag (also a recent creation) to show that they were “celebrating” the holiday. Ordinary people did not widely observe the new holidays until the first decade of the twentieth century.
Recall that the Jingikan failed to create a national religion. The main reason was that it was staffed with the heads of various religious organizations (mainly prominent shrines), and they were unable to subordinate their personal ambitions to come up with a generic form of religion. Although it soon eliminated the Jingikan, the Meiji state did not give up on creating a national religion so quickly. It started launched the Great Promulgation Campaign in 1870. Although by 1875 it was clear that the campaign was not accomplishing anything, it dragged on until 1884. Government enthusiasm and the majority of funding, however, dried up in 1875. The major early institution for this campaign was the Great Teaching Institute (Daikyōin 大教院), which remained in existence until 1875.
The main goal of the Great Promulgation Campaign was to create and propagate a unifying religious doctrine that could transcend the many sectarian differences in Japanese religion and promote the cause of national identity. A secondary goal was to draw Buddhist priests into the new religion (one reason for the creation of the Great Teaching Institute instead of relying on the Jingikan, which was exclusively “Shintō”). It set out to create a simple doctrine that stressed basic morality and obedience to the state, without reference to complex metaphysics. The result was the “Three Great Teachings,” which formed the core doctrine for the new religion: 1) respect for deities and love of country; 2) clarifying the principles of Heaven and the Human Way; 3) reverence for the emperor and obedience to the imperial court. As you can imagine, the second item was essentially a blank slate that individual missionaries (those who went forth to spread the new religion) could interpret in their own manner.
These “Great Teachings” had little immediate effect on Japan’s people. For one thing, they were already set in their ways in terms of religious practices. Moreover, a host of problems beset the Great Teaching Institute. It contained too many different religious sects and thus too many differing views. Personnel rarely stayed long in the institute owing to resignations or transfers, so there was little stability. Personality clashes were common, and there was always a struggle for money and power. For example, in 1875 the “Pantheon Dispute” flared up. The chief priest of the Izumo Shrine wanted to add his deity, Ōkuninushi 大国主 to the official pantheon, which sparked opposition from his rivals. This and other disputes led to a tendency to avoid doctrinal issues in official versions of Shintō. One important result of this avoidance of doctrinal issues was the assertion that Shintō, at least in its official form, is not really a religion. The Japanese state adheres to this view even today. For example, it provides aid to the organization that operates the Yasukuni Shrine 靖国神社 where Japan’s war dead are enshrined. However, the state claims that its support is not a case of government sponsorship of religion because Shintō of the type practiced at Yasukuni Shrine is not really a religion.
Owing to its ineffectiveness, The Great Teaching institute became somewhat of a joke within the larger bureaucracy. Two nicknames for it were the “Bureau of Indecision” (injunkan 因循官) and the “Siesta Ministry” (hiruneshō 昼寝省). By the end of 1875, it ceased to exist, and the Ise Shrine complex took over supervision of the Great Promulgation Campaign. In today’s terminology we would say that the government outsourced the vexing task of creating and propagating a state religion. Although the Great Promulgation Campaign did not officially end until 1884, by the end of 1875 the state had largely given up on religion as a means of quickly inculcating a national consciousness. It turned its attention to education, which would prove a much more effective tool of indoctrination. However, owing largely to the effectiveness of education, religion eventually did become an important adjunct to state-sponsored ideology and policy. We will return to the story of state Shintō in a later section.
In the previous chapter, we examined some points about education in Meiji Japan. Here we examine the matter in greater detail. The most important tool of the Meiji state in making Japanese was formal education. Although creating a centrally-directed system of schools throughout the Japanese islands was an expensive and time-consuming process, the effort produced dramatic results. By the turn of the century, most Japanese were literate, numerate, and possessed a strong sense of being members of the Japanese nation. Here we survey some of the major issues in the formation of a system of state-run (public) education in Meiji Japan and later.
As we have seen elsewhere in the course, the Meiji emperor became the living symbol of Japan as a nation. Prior to the Meiji period wives of male emperors (although rare, there were a few female emperors) played no significant role as political or cultural symbols. During the Meiji period, however, the emperor's (primary) wife played at least two important symbolic roles. First, she became the symbol of ideal womanhood, at least as defined by the Meiji state, a topic we examine elsewhere. Second, she became a symbolic teacher and general advocate of education. A poem attributed to her reads (in a rather un-poetic translation):
Even a diamond, if not polished, will fail to shine
People, too, unless they study, will not demonstrate true virtue
If one is diligent every moment all day long
Like the hands of a clock that move without pause
What is there that will not be achieved?
Water follows the shape of its container, no matter what it may be
And people become good and bad depending on the company they keep
Seeking out friends who are better than we are
Driving ourselves forward
We will advance along the path of learning.
The images in these two verses were typical of the rhetoric of education during the Meiji period. Among other things, this rhetoric emphasized pulling one’s self up by the bootstraps to become a valuable member of society. Meiji self-improvement rhetoric often featured the image of a self-made man, someone of humble circumstances who accomplished great things by dint of his effort. While the Meiji-era self-made man was typically imagined as a man (i.e., male), person-making through formal education was imagined as both a male and female pursuit, albeit for different ends (career outside the household vs. household management). In the rhetoric typified by this poem, all Japanese are exhorted to make themselves into learned, capable, intelligent people of good moral character.
In terms of basic logistics, during the late 1860s and early 1870s, Japan’s new leaders fused several Tokugawa-period educational institutions into a single entity that became Tokyo Imperial University. Tokyo University remains the most prestigious of Japan’s colleges and universities. Between 1869 and 1870, the government established primary schools in the three major cities of Kyoto, Osaka and Tokyo. By the time of the establishment of the Ministry of Education in 1871 (from the defunct Jingikan), educational bureaucrats were in general agreement that France’s highly centralized system of education would be the best administrative model for Japan. In terms of the content of the curriculum, the strongest outside influence was the United States.
Money was a major problem. Until approximately 1880, it was common for individuals to shoulder the entire cost of their educational expenses. Even after this time, local governments bore the cost of setting up and maintaining schools, even though the central government dictated the details of what to teach and how. By approximately 1900, elementary education was available throughout Japan and was entirely free (not counting taxes, of course). By 1902 there were two state-run universities (and several more private universities), 222 middle schools (roughly the same as high schools today), and 27,076 elementary schools. There were four basic levels to this system: compulsory education (6 years of elementary school) à middle school à higher school (roughly like the undergraduate college level in today’s terms) à university (roughly like graduate school in today’s terms).
A useful way to approach the topic of education in Meiji and Taishō Japan is by examining broad tensions within the system. The term “tensions” here refers to such things as competing claims on limited resources by different agendas or attempts to make the education system serve several different ends. The term does not necessarily mean outright hostility or opposition.
A major tension in Japanese education generally was that of technical skill versus moral development. The two types of personal development are not mutually exclusive, of course, but each requires precious resources of time, money, and effort. The state tended to stress the importance of moral development, perhaps in part to counter the tendency of the average ambitious citizen to favor technical knowledge and skill as the fastest way to advance in society.
Early in the Meiji period, education in Japan closely adhered to follow foreign models. Indeed, most of the early readers consisted of translations of western morality tales such as the race between the tortoise and the hare. Gradually, native Japanese examples found their way into school textbooks. Perhaps most famous was Ninomiya Kinjirō 二宮金次郎 (1787-1856), inevitably appearing in elementary school textbooks as a hard-working peasant lad of humble origins, who never missed an opportunity to study. He was usually portrayed as reading a book while performing such tasks as carrying a load of firewood on his back. Although he is not quite as well known today as he was during the Meiji, Taishō, and early Shōwa periods, statues of Ninomiya Kinjirō still commonly adorn the grounds of elementary schools.
In the school textbooks of modern Japan, Ninomiya embodied three traits: 1) hard working; 2) uncomplaining; 3) apolitical. Interestingly, such textbooks rarely featured Ninomiya as an adult, typically ending the narrative of this exemplary child with a vague statement like “He accomplished great things when he grew up.” Even his name, Ninomiya Kinjirō, puts the stress on childhood, and he inevitably appeared as “Kinjirō” in the school textbooks. There was indeed a real Ninomoya, and, outside of the realm of school morality, he was and is known by his adult name of Ninomiya Sontoku 二宮尊徳.
The real Ninomiya lived during the last decades of the Tokugawa period. He was a strong-willed local reformer, who organized the farmers of his area into agricultural cooperatives. He also wrote essays on family and social morality, placing emphasis on the concept of hōtoku (literally: “repayment of virtue”). Although Ninomiya managed to stay in the good graces of the local authorities, he was hardly the apolitical character of the later schoolbooks. The Ninomiya Kinjirō of school morality books accepted society as it was, accepted his relatively lowly status in it, and working cheerfully and diligently within the system. He was, in short, the ideal Japanese subject in the eyes of the Meiji-era (and later) rulers. Ninomiya Sontoku, by contrast, was a social reformer who demonstrated that ordinary people could govern themselves and improve their lot at the same time—not exactly a message the Meiji state wished to stress.
The adult Ninomiya was indeed a self-made man. As part of its reaction against the Freedom and Popular Rights Movement of the 1880s, the Meiji state began to de-emphasize the ideal of the self-made man, placing greater emphasis on loyalty and obedience. Two terms in particular come up repeatedly in the rhetoric of Meiji (and later) education: “loyalty” (chū) and “filial piety” (kō). Typically, the two terms appear together as one compound word, chūkō 忠孝. In theory, both loyalty and filial piety (reverence for one's parents) could be interpreted in various ways. In practice, however, the expression chūkō was the rough equivalent of “obedience to one's social superiors,” with the emperor as the ultimate superior. As time went on, the term chūkō also took on connotations of “uniquely Japanese virtues,” and was used to distinguish loyal, filial Japanese from foreigners, who, presumably, were incapable of embodying such virtues. Peter Duus discusses the ideological climate in formal education around the turn of the twentieth century as follows:
By the late 1890s, the schools not only taught school children to be “imperial subjects” but tried to build their patriotism by inculcating them with the belief that the Japanese nation and the Japanese people were unique. Ethics, reading, and history courses taught that Japan possessed a special national polity (kokutai [lit. “national body”]) that made it different from all the other countries in the world. This concept, familiar since the early nineteenth century, was given new meaning by Inoue Tetsujirō and Hozumi Yatsuka, both professors at the Imperial University, who identified [kokutai] with the belief that the Japanese people had enjoyed the imperial rule “in an unbroken line for generations.” In numerous tracts and textbooks, they attributed this remarkable continuity to the sacred origins of the imperial household, whose divine ancestors had “deeply and firmly implanted virtue” both in the monarch and in the common people. Hozumi argued that natural and spontaneous unity knitted the emperor and the subjects together in a “family state.” In a very literal way, he described the people of Japan as the “emperor's children.” Filial piety, or respect for one's parents, became a paradigm for loyalty to the monarch, the state, and superiors in general; and the concept of political loyalty was reinforced by respect for the family head. Indeed, Hozumi seemed to equate the nation with race. “Our family state is a racial group,” he wrote in 1897. “Our race consists of blood relatives from the same womb. The family is a small state'; the state is a large family. The origin of that which links the two, and the power that unites them in the same blood relationship is belief in ancestor worship.” (Peter Duus, Modern Japan, Second Edition [Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1998], pp. 128-129.)
By 1890, the Meiji state issued a formal statement of its educational ideology. This statement took the form of an imperial declaration (always called an “Imperial Rescript,” or “chokugo” 勅語 in Japanese). The resulting Imperial Rescript on Education (kyōiku chokugo 教育勅語) became one of the most important public documents in prewar Japan. The full text of the rescript is as follows:
Know ye our Subjects:
Our Imperial Ancestors have founded Our Empire on a basis broad and everlasting, and have deeply and firmly implanted virtue; Our subjects ever united in loyalty and filial piety have from generation to generation illustrated the beauty thereof. This is the glory of the fundamental character of Our Empire, and herein also lies the source of Our education. Ye, Our subjects, be filial to your parents, affectionate to your brothers and sisters; as husbands and wives be harmonious, as friends true; bear yourselves in modesty and moderation; extend your benevolence to all; pursue learning and cultivate arts, and thereby develop intellectual faculties and perfect moral powers; furthermore, advance public good and promote common interests; always respect the Constitution and observe the laws; should emergency arise, offer yourselves courageously to the State; and thus guard and maintain the prosperity of Our Imperial Throne coeval with heaven and earth. So shall ye not only be Our good and faithful subjects, but render illustrious the best traditions of your forefathers.
The Way here set forth is indeed the teaching bequeathed by Our Imperial Ancestors, to be observed alike by Their Descendants and the subjects, infallible for all ages and true in all places. It is Our wish to lay it to heart in all reverence, in common with you, Our subjects, that we may all attain to the same virtue. (Quoted in Ryusaku Tsunoda, Wm. Theodore de Bary, and Donald Keene, comps., Sources of Japanese Tradition, Volume 2 [New York: Columbia University Press, 1958), pp. 139-140.)
First, notice the several aspects of national imagining exhibited in this document. Especially important in the context of modern Japan is the emphasis on the emperor and his allegedly unbroken line of succession extending back before historical time. In modern ideology, he literally embodied the essence of Japan as a nation. Some historians of modern Japan and other commentators tend to speak of the emperor and the modern emperor system as some sort of an anachronism, a holdover from a “feudal” past. On the contrary, however, Japan's modern emperor system was a modern institution par excellence. It was instrumental in the process of making Japan into a nation-state and its residents into Japanese.
Once the text of the rescript moves into specific virtues and behaviors, it seems typical of the kinds of lofty pronouncements and rhetoric in which most modern states of the late nineteenth century frequently indulged. We should bear in mind, in other words, that schools systems everywhere in the industrialized world served to inculcate in students a sense of nation and a set of state-approved moral values. Indeed, education still functions in precisely this way. What is especially important and distinctive about the Imperial Rescript on Education was not so much its content, but the way in which the document itself came to function within Japanese life. Specifically, it soon became a *fetish* object. The central government sent copies of the rescript, along with portraits (later photographs) of the emperor to schools throughout the country. It soon became common practice to house the imperial image in a *small shrine* within the school grounds and to begin each day with a solemn recitation of the rescript (which all students were required to memorize) and a group bow to the imperial image (or images, the emperor and empress).
Teacher training also received considerable attention in the late 1880s and early 1890s (recall that these years were a time of general retreat from the cultural tendencies of the bunmei-kaika era). Teacher training courses began to include military-style training and indoctrination. Under Mori Arinori, Japan's first Minister of Education, the government declared teachers to be officers of the state and thus prohibited them from participating in *political activities.*
Mori became Minister of Education in 1885. During the 1870s, he had been a vigorous advocate of Westernization. At one point, he even gave serious consideration to replacing the Japanese language with something more “civilized,” namely, French. An American linguist with whom Mori was corresponding apparently convinced Mori of the impracticality of such a plan. Mori also got married in western style, even drawing up a marriage contract that specified an equal union between wife and husband. Recall that universalism and the bunmei-kaika-style westernization came under increasing criticism throughout the 1880s. Mori did not make a radical break with universalism, but as the Meiji state itself became more culturally conservative, so, too did Mori. As Education Minister, Mori was very much in step with the times (both in Japan and in most other modern states) in promoting patriotism and banning teachers from “politics.”
As we will see in more detail in a later chapter, one important aspect of Meiji-era political rhetoric was that “politics” itself was considered improper. Interestingly, we see the same phenomenon in the contemporary United States when politicians accuse their opponents of “playing politics” or of doing something out of “political motivation,” as if some non-political form of politics could exist! Anyway, Meiji Japanese ideology tended to place the emperor, and, by extension, his leading ministers, “above politics.” Politics was thus considered beneath the dignity of proper Japanese subjects. By the 1890s, laws prohibited entire groups of people from participating in politics. One such group was government officials; another was women. One interesting result of this attempt to ban politics was that Japanese pursued political activities, but rarely in the name of politics. Typically, for example, a special interest group would form a “research center” or “study group,” which, however, would function much like a political action or lobbying organization.
In general, the greatest problem of education during the Meiji period and later was reconciling two potentially contradictory needs of the new state. On the one hand, the state sought to produce loyal, obedient, productive, patriotic citizens as outlined in the Imperial Rescript on Education. Education for such purposes would include basic literacy, numeracy, and a rudimentary knowledge of applied sciences and history. Regardless of the subject under study, such education would stress moral and ethical principles. It would, in other words, seek to shape the attitudes of students in a fundamental way. The problem, however, was that the Meiji state also needed elites to serve as leaders of government and industry (recall the tension mentioned earlier). Such leaders, to be effective, had to be innovative and creative. A mastery of foreign languages, foreign cultures (including religion, political systems, ways of thinking, et cetera), and general world affairs was also a requirement for effective leadership. In other words, the Meiji state realized that some students would have to be exposed to the full range of current world knowledge.
But how would such highly and broadly educated elites retain their basic loyalty to the ideology of the Meiji state? The solution was simple and, for the most part, effective. The state required a term of compulsory education for everyone (first four years, then six, and, by the time of the Second World War, eight). During these years, the emphasis was on moral training, ideological indoctrination, and rigorous regimentation. To supply the teachers for this first stage, the Meiji state set up an even more rigorous program for training primary teachers. Indeed, such teacher training was short on academics and long on military drill. The ideal primary teacher of the time would have resembled a drill sergeant. Then, several higher levels of education were created, mostly for men. “Middle” school would correspond roughly to contemporary high school, and was generally a place for training in occupations that required a higher level of skills and knowledge than the basics. Most students ended their studies with elementary or middle school.
A small number of the very best middle school students, however, were admitted to “high” schools (sometimes called “higher” schools), which correspond to contemporary undergraduate studies in college. Here, students enjoyed comparative freedom to seek knowledge broadly and to explore the full range of world knowledge. The teachers at the higher schools were usually professional scholars. Most of those who attended the high schools also went on to the final level, the university. “University” training in prewar Japan would correspond roughly to contemporary graduate school, and it was a continuation of the process started in high school. The thinking was that the initial years of rigorous moral indoctrination would serve as a solid foundation and framework onto which the best and the brightest minds of Japan would attach advanced academic knowledge. Ultimately, the expectation was that they would use such knowledge to further the interests of imperial Japan and its modern ideology of kokutai (the national essence or body of Japan as embodied in the emperor and exemplified by his loyal subjects). Although in most cases the system worked as intended, there were some intellectuals who came to advocate such improper or “un-Japanese” ideologies such as Marxism, socialism, or Christianity. (Christianity was not banned in modern Japan, but the state often viewed it with suspicion. There was a famous case, for example, in which a higher school principal and Christian, Uchimura Kanzō 内村鑑三, refused to bow to the portraits of the emperor and empress because he regarded doing so as idolatrous. Uchimura, and Christianity, was roundly criticized as being "un-" or "anti-Japanese" by many other intellectuals as result.) The two-tier system described above was firmly in place by the turn of the twentieth century and lasted until the late 1940s.
Before moving on to other topics, it is important to point out that the system of education described here did not make Japan and its people into a single-minded group, robot-like in their views and deeds. Perhaps some of the Meiji ideologues would have wanted such a result, but as powerful as state-directed indoctrination was, it was not powerful enough to do away with individual thought. The spread of basic literacy virtually assured that most Japanese would encounter views different from those sanctioned by the state. Intellectual activity was vigorous and impressive during the Meiji era and in later times.
Also, that Japanese intellectuals often criticized “the west” should hardly be regarded as simply the result of state-sponsored patriotism. There was much about the west that one might legitimately criticize, especially in such realms as imperialism, racism, and possible excesses of individualism. And many of these same Japanese intellectuals also criticized Japan in one way or another. When such criticism contradicted key elements of state ideology it either had to be stated indirectly, in code, or the critic faced the possibility of serious penalties. Many Japanese intellectuals and writers spent time in prison for stating their critical views. Education was an important tool of the state to be sure, but the basic tension of moral training and indoctrination versus the cultivation of highly knowledgeable social elites helped ensure that this system produced a pool of potential critics as well as obedient citizens.
The basic education curriculum provided the type of indoctrination in morality and basic religious outlook that Japan’s leaders had tried to promote via the unsuccessful Great Promulgation Campaign. Small children learned about the overwhelming importance of the emperor. Until the 1890s, the emperor remained an abstraction to many children in rural areas, but at least they came to know of his existence. Starting in the 1890s, the practice of starting the school day by reciting the Imperial Rescript on Education while gazing at the portraits of the emperor and empress helped personalize the imperial presence. Basic reading textbooks and history textbooks taught the allegedly divine origins of Japan and its people. Shintō priests of officially-recognized shrines automatically qualified to work as school teachers. Young students spent their time immersed in national symbols while at school, sang patriotic and moralistic songs, and learned the importance of obeying their social superiors. Rigorous physical training helped drive home lessons about discipline and sacrifice taught in the classroom. Although such teachings might well have been met with cynicism if directed at adults, when directed at young children they were quite effective in molding basic perceptions.
By 1900, nearly 100% of Japanese children were completing compulsory education. Although the state did not realize it at first, the gains made by education had laid the foundation for successful promotion of state religion in the future. Although state support for Shintō declined during the 1880s, “Shintō” (masquerading as a non-religion) remained the official religion ideology of the state. Behind the scenes, some important changes were taking place that set the stage for the re-emergence of Shintō in public and official life during the twentieth century. One of these changes was the start of the cult of the war dead. As we have seen, this cult was centered at Yasukuni Shrine. All war dead were automatically enshrined at Yasukuni with state support, and this shrine became a major focus of patriotism, a function it retains to this day. Moreover, most Shintō shrines throughout Japan became linked together in a loose hierarchy by the start of the twentieth century. This hierarchy was mainly based on the size of the shrines and did not require any changes in doctrine or liturgy. It did, however, enable the state to provide graduated levels of support and control after it resumed the active promotion of religion in the twentieth century. Finally, as I have already mentioned, certain varieties of Shintō became linked with public education. Not only did priests qualify as teachers, but Shintō priests also became active in shaping the school curriculum for the lower grades.
A major turning point in state support for religion was the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-5. Unlike the Sino-Japanese War ten years earlier, which had been an easy victory for Japan, the Russo-Japanese War was extremely costly in terms of blood and money. Indeed, by the time Theodore Roosevelt stepped in to broker a peace treaty, Japan was completely exhausted. One result of the war was that it produced large numbers of war dead, thus increasing the public visibility of Yasukuni Shrine. From this time on, pressure on government officials and school children to perform public worship at shrines increased. School children, for example, started making field trips to nearby shrines.
The state became increasingly willing to pay for shrines and priests whose message supported government goals. In return for financial support, however, the state began to demand greater control. In 1910, for example, the government initiated a training program to certify Shintō priests. The state also sponsored a national association that all Shintō priests were expected to join. At about the same time, it streamlined the previously-established hierarchy of shrines and increased budgetary outlays for their support. Additionally, the state began actively to suppress religious organizations (whether “Shintō” or something else) whose message it deemed inappropriate. The main target of this suppression was a variety of so-called “new religions” that were charismatic in nature and often combined elements of Buddhism, Shintō, and sometimes Christianity. The syncretic nature of these new religions did not bother government officials, but the charisma of their leaders and the devotion of their followers did. Any religion that, in effect, competed with the state for the loyalty of Japan’s citizens became suspect in the eyes of the government.
During the period 1930–1945, the state became especially active in promoting Shintō. It further tightened its administrative control over shrines, a move that eventually led to the creation of a government board to oversee all of the country’s shrines in 1940 (the Jingiin 神祇院, abolished in 1946). During the 1930s, popular patriotic sentiment was the main force behind the increasingly prominent public role of Shintō. Consider the degree of change. In 1930, the link between Shintō↔the Japanese people/nation↔the Japanese state had become firmly rooted in every part of the country. Just forty years earlier, the police were out in the streets forcing people to celebrate the new national holidays. In many ways, this change reflects the effectiveness of the educational system.
The Religious Organization Law of 1940 granted the state sweeping power to regulate religion. One result of this law was the creation of the board to oversee shrines. Another was an intensification of the persecution of religious entities of which the state did not approve. For example, in 1941 a branch of the Nichiren sect of Buddhism came under government suppression because its calligraphic mandala (a type of meditation diagram) ranked Buddhist deities higher than Shintō divinities.
During the 1930s, authorities in Japan’s colonies began to promote public Shintō rites in many areas. Japan had annexed Korea in 1910, and began an extensive shrine building program in the 1930s (combined with banning the use of Korean language in public discourse and forcing Koreans to take Japanese names). After Japan’s defeat in 1945, newly-liberated Koreans took out their anger on these Shrines, burning or otherwise destroying them.
Education officials produced textbooks such as Kokutai no hongi 国体の本義 (Cardinal principles of our national essence) and Shinmin no michi 臣民の道 (Way of the imperial subject), which reflected the merging of religion, education, the state, and patriotism. Consider these two passages from Shinmin no michi:
The emperor Kōnin [r. 770-781] decreed, “Ritually to venerate the spirits is the great liturgy of the nation.” The emperor Uda [r. 887-897] recorded in his august diary, “Our nation is the nation of the deities (kami 神). Therefore, every morning we worship the heavenly and earthly spirits, great, medium, and small, in all directions.” . . . In this way, [the emperors] viewed venerating the deities and government administration fundamentally as one and the same thing. In so doing, the august imperial reverence for the deities by itself became a government of love for the people. This is the proper condition of our national essence (kokutai), which is the unity of religion and government (saisei itchi 祭政一致). (pp. 34-35, 36)
So the august imperial heart, a heart filled with veneration for the imperial ancestors, automatically adores our citizens more than parents adore their children. Our citizens look up to the emperor and their great parent, and so they fervently endeavor to carry out genuine obedience. It is beautiful spirit of our national essence that our country is one family. . . . As for countries possessing such a national essence, no matter where in the world we look, there are none to be found [other than Japan]. It was our country that was the first to accomplish the mission of creating a righteous world, and it is our country that is the light of the world. (pp. 39-40)
Notice how thoroughly religion has become integrated with national identity, patriotism, and the state—often articulated via the metaphor of the family. We may be tempted to write off such propaganda passages as something that took place long ago and far away. During the last twenty years, however, there has been increasing pressure in Japan for the state to re-assert some of these values. Closer to home (for most of you), the United States has seen in recent years a strong surge in publically-promoted religion and in a linkage between religion (generally Christianity) and patriotism. In other words, the tendency to merge, religion, patriotism, and state values can happen anywhere.
After Japan’s defeat in 1945, the U.S. occupation authorities issued a “Shintō Directive” that removed all state support for religion (and the directive regarded all forms of Shintō as religious in nature). Japan’s constitution of 1946 specifically prohibits state sponsorship of religion and grants all Japanese citizens religious freedom. After the occupation ended in 1952, Japan’s government began very carefully and slowly to re-establish certain ties with Shintō. Whenever it moved in this direction, it faced court challenges. The standard government line in court was that the activity in question is not actually “religious” in nature. Over the years, Japan’s Supreme Court has allowed the government greater leeway in matters that some would regard as religious. For example, via a proxy organization, Japan’s military provides names and other details about personnel who die while on duty (e.g., in a traffic accident) to the Yasukuni Shrine. The shrine then formally enshrines their spirits, and occasional attempts by relatives to stop the enshrinement of a particular soldier have been unsuccessful.
Another link between the state and religion that periodically causes a diplomatic stir between Japan and its East Asian neighbors is the practice of prime ministers and other government ministers worshipping at Yasukuni Shrine on August 15. At first these official conducted such shrine visits in the capacity of private citizens. The officials would use their personal transportation, sign their personal names in the register, and they visited at different times throughout the day. Starting in 1985, Prime Minister Nakasone began pushing the envelope. He began signing the register with his official title, taking a government limousine to the shrine, and visiting with his entire cabinet in attendance.
Nakasone’s actions generated so much protest and he and his immediate successors retreated slightly. But the overall tendency for government ministers to visit Yasukuni Shrine in official capacities continued. In recent years, government officials have dropped all pretenses of visiting the shrine as private citizens. In this sense, state Shintō has been partially revived. On the other hand, the massive support for shrines by the state ended in 1945 and shows little likelihood of returning any time soon. National consciousness and patriotism are quite strong in today’s Japan, even without the encouragement of state-sponsored religion.