Chapter Six: Making Japanese Through Music & Education
In most modern societies, and certainly in the case of modern Japan, cultural affairs were an essential arena for forging and contesting national identity. In previous chapters we examined some of the ways in which Japan's modern state intervened in cultural affairs and personal behavior to propagate its version of Japanese national identity. Here we continue with a similar line of inquiry, examining music, a potent cultural form in most modern societies, and formal education, the most important means by which the sense of nation itself was created in modern Japan and in most other modern nations. In the realm of music, we shall focus on western-style music for reasons that should become clear as the chapter progresses.
By the start of the Meiji era, numerous styles of #native Japanese popular music# had developed to a high degree of sophistication. This popular music included several styles of #shamisen# 三味線 music, some connected with the kabuki theater and some independent of it. Other forms of popular music featuring the #koto# 琴 (a type of zither), the #biwa# 琵琶 (a type of lute), and the #shakuhachi# 尺八 (a type of flute) were closely associated with certain social groups. For example, it had long been the case in premodern Japan that koto and other stringed instrument performances for popular audiences was an occupation for blind people. Similarly, during the Tokugawa period, shakuhachi music was the nearly exclusive preserve of one sect of Buddhism. Soon after the start of the Meiji period, these groups lost their exclusive rights to their particular types of music—much to their economic disruption.
Several broad categories of native music--popular, religious, and courtly--flourished in late Tokugawa Japan. There was also a long tradition of itinerant story tellers, who typically sang their tales. The advent of the Meiji period did not in and of itself cause any popular clamoring for the importation of European-style music. As with many other cultural forms, western music came into Meiji Japan and became established there, not because "the people" specifically asked for it, but because a few particularly influential people advocated it as part of the "bunmei-kaika" movement discussed in a previous chapter. Soon, *western-style music* became closely connected with formal education, thereby receiving the sanction of the Meiji state. Compared with traditional visual arts, traditional Japanese music had fewer (or at lest less influential) advocates. So western-style music continued to comprise the core of school music education even after western-style visual art had been abandoned in the 1890s.
Although at least some Japanese were knowledgeable of scientific developments in the western world during the Tokugawa period, a much smaller group was familiar with western cultural forms such as painting, music, or dance. We have already seen some major developments in painting and dance in the previous chapter. As for music, it came into Meiji Japan in three major forms. The first was church music. Recall that it was common for many of the early Meiji cultural reformers to dabble in Christianity, though few remained Christians for long. Although the number of Christians in Japan was small, the simple, "foursquared" (4 lines of 4 bars each) style of many Protestant hymns became a common model for early Meiji western-style music of all types.(1) A "perfect example" of this phenomenon, according to William P. Malm, is the song #Meiji setsu,# the lyrics of which are:
The eastern sun of Asia rises
His Majesty appears
The ancient mist-covered universe
He purifies through and through with his great, august light
His teachings open up wide pathways
Graciously ruling over us, Noble Sovereign
(For this and other references to William P. Malm, see "The Modern Music of Meiji Japan," Donald H. Shively, ed., Tradition and Modernization in Japanese Culture (Princeton University Press, 1971), pp. 257-300. Meiji setsu is on p. 261.)
Of course, the lyrics do not convey a sense of the melodic style, but study them carefully anyway. As an exercise, identify elements of national thinking in them. Now, consider the point that nationalism often functions much like religion. Such lyrics combined with a "Christian"-sounding melodic structure are common in nationalistic songs not only of Meiji Japan, but elsewhere throughout the world. Notice also the central importance of the emperor in this example. A focus on the emperor as the locus of national essence is a major characteristic of the official view of the Japanese imagined community. The central role of the emperor in defining Japan as a nation continued and strengthened until approximately 1946, and, for a small number of Japanese, the emperor continues to occupy this mental niche.
Marching band and military music is the second major form to exert a strong influence on Japanese music in the Meiji era. Early Japanese military bands were typically directed or advised by European bandleaders. Such bands provided Japan's first public performances of western-style ensemble music and provided music for the dances at the Rokumeikan (see earlier chapter). Military bands were, of course, ideal for creating national and patriotic music, which they did in the case of Japan. One early project was the creation of a national anthem, which proved to be a remarkably difficult task. The lyrics for Kimigayo 君が代 (Reign of Our Lord--which remains Japan's national anthem today) come from an ancient poem and, in English translation, read:
The reign of our Lord
A thousand ages, eight thousand ages;
So long that a tiny pebble
Will grow into a rock
All covered with moss
Finding a melody line suitable for singing these lyrics was the main problem, and #several versions# existed in the 1870s and 80s. Eventually, #one version# of the melody garnered official recognition. This melody is well known today because the anthem is rarely sung. Typically, only the stately melody is played to a group standing in silence. (To listen to the official version, #click here.# [Real Audio format]. Can't get enough of it? Here is #another one# [now costs $3 to buy the file--not worth it] from a site that claims that Kima ga yo is the world's oldest national anthem! ).
Church and military music provided a format for Meiji Japan's earliest western-style music, and military music continued to exert a strong influence throughout the period. Most influential in the long run, however, was school music. It was in the state-run school system that a generation of young Japanese got their first exposure to music and the ideas and images to which the music was connected. A typical formula for school music was to use a western in melody (often note-for-note) and "Japanese" in lyrical content--in the sense that lyrics typically reflected values the Meiji state hoped to instill in the populace as part of its effort at making Japanese. Some early--and generally unsuccessful--efforts at school music creation used classical Japanese melodies we well.
In their initial efforts to construct music suitable for use in the newly-created school system (explained later in this chapter), educational officials often employed the services of official imperial court musicians and poets. As in the days of the Tokugawa period, the imperial court continued to employ musicians, poets, and other artists to perform ancient (or at least seemingly ancient) rites on ceremonial occasions. The court musicians typically had no knowledge of western-style music, but were well versed in traditional musical scales and literary language. Therefore, the tunes and lyrics in which they had a hand in composing were often extremely difficult for children to sing or understand. As Malm puts it, "It would be rather like starting American children with pieces based on Gregorian chant which used Shakespeare sonnets for text. Court music had and still has about as much relation to the general Japanese public as the various collegiate medieval instrumental ensembles have to the American populace."(2)
Owing to this difficulty, school music textbooks quickly began to make greater use of western-style melodies and simpler lyrics. It was common, for example, to use the melodies of well known European (especially Scottish) popular songs and create lyrics of them suitable to the educational goals of the state. For example, The Bluebells of Scotland became #Utsukushiki# (Beautiful), Annie Laurie became #Saijo# (Talented women), and Auld Lang Syne became #Hotaru no hikari# (Light of the fireflies). This last song is especially well known even today, where it is typically sung at school graduation ceremonies. The first verse may be translated: "By the light of the fireflies and the [moon reflecting off] the snow through the window, the days and months spent studying books accumulate. In no time at all one grows up and the time comes to open the next door--this morning he leaves home." The song goes on to extol the virtue of hard work and accomplishment "on behalf of one's country." It reflects the popular early-Meiji ideal of a self-made man overcoming poverty and obscurity through determined study and making a name for himself while serving the greater good of society (see the example of #Fukuchi Gen'ichirō#).
Another song from the early Meiji period extolling this common and well-loved image of the hard-working, self-made man is #Sumera mi-kuni# (August imperial country). Its two short verses are as follows:
Soldiers of the august imperial country
Must do their duty come what may.
Take care of your selves and exhaust your
Sincere heart on behalf of your ruler and parents.
Men of the august imperial country
Keeping your hearts focused and undeterred
Pour yourself into your occupations
To enrich the country and its citizens.
Here, and in nearly all instances in which songs, stories, and visual images depicted the theme of hard work and success in one's social duties and occupations, the ultimate purpose of such success was to support and advance, country, nation, emperor (and, by extension, his officials), and one's family (both the literal family, and, by extension, the imagined family of the nation). Notice the mingling of ancient, mysterious mythology with a practical political message, all within the general framework of national imagining.
Of course, not all the music of the Meiji period consisted of moralistic school songs. Popular forms of native Japanese music continued to find a large audience. As generations of state-school-educated Japanese became adults, however, traditional forms of music gradually lost appeal, especially in urban areas. In other words, western-style music increasingly became the basis of popular music in Japan with the passage of time during the Meiji period. Before looking at other musical examples, let us pause briefly two examine the two most influential promoters of music during the early Meiji era: Izawa Shūji (1851-1917) and the American Luther Whiting Mason (1828-1896).
Izawa studied education for three years in the Untied States, became an educational official in the new Meiji government, and, although not a musician, became the supervisor of music education. In 1879, he submitted "Plan for the Study of Music" in which he advocated a creating a distinctive form of modern Japanese music by mixing Japanese and western elements. To carry out this plan, Izawa brought in Mason in 1880, who was a professional musician. Later that year, twenty-two students, mostly women, enrolled in a course in music studies directed by Izawa and Mason.
They called their group the Music Investigation Committee. Only a small number of that first group actually graduated (#see photograph#). By 1890, this course evolved into the Tokyo Music School. The major effort of Izawa, Mason, and the students they trained was directed at producing compilations of children's songs, the first of which appeared in 1881 for use in the schools. Ideologically, Izawa's view of the proper role of music in society can be summed up by his statement: "It goes without saying that music purifies human feelings, promotes physical health, and aids the progress of study. It is a factor in maintaining public order as well as harmony within the family and state, and foments human well-being."(3) The examples we have seen above reflect Izawa's view of music.
School and military music were tremendously influential throughout the whole of society during the first decades of the Meiji period. Formal concerts of ensemble music for adults, for example, often featured the same *moralistic songs* that children learned in elementary school (recall also that these songs had a tendency to be too demanding for young children). By the turn of the century, however, true popular, commercial music for adult consumption began to emerge. The themes of this music ranged widely, and the melodies sometimes used the scales of native Japanese popular music, or, at least suggested such scales for certain effects.
Many popular songs addressed major political events, issued and movements of the day, often in ways that directly or indirectly criticized the policies of the Meiji state. One good example, is #The Dynamite Song#, sung by sympathizers and supporters of the beleaguered Freedom and Popular Rights Movement of the 1870s and 80s (Jiyū minken undō, an early popular movement for constitutional government that we take up in a later chapter). The first verse might be translated:
The spirit of Yamato [literally, "the liver of Yamato"(4)] is polished with rain
In the form of the tears of the advocates of people's rights
Advance the wealth and prosperity of our citizens
Nurture the people's strength
And if you don't get the message
Dynamite! Bang!
Remember that although the Meiji state tried hard to forge Japan's citizenry into a unified body that identified its interests with those of the nation-as-represented-by-the-state, it encountered significant resistance in various forms. "The Japanese" (!) certainly did not all share the same political point of view. Here is an example of invoking the nation ("spirit of Yamato") to criticize the state.
This song is also an interesting example of one technique of Japanese rhetoric, which we examine in a later chapter in detail. The English translation conveys a slightly more bold tone than the original owing in part to skillful use of multiple writing systems in Japanese. Here is what the stanza looks like *in the original* (scroll down and look at the vertical lines of text briefly, even if you cannot read them). Notice especially the third and fourth lines (i.e., the two middle lines). These two lines are written in the katakana script, but are in fact Sino-Japanese compound phrases that would normally appear in Chinese characters. To illustrate this point, the same text is written below first in the katakana script as it appears in the song, then in roman letters (simply to provide the pronunciation in case you are curious), and, next, in the normal manner of writing these words, which consists mainly of Chinese characters. Your browser will need Japanese character display support for the text below to appear as it should:
コクリミンプク ゾウシンシテ (katakana script)
kokuri-minpuku zōshinshite
国利民福 増進して (mainly Chinese Characters)
(Advance the wealth and prosperity of our citizens)
By writing the lines in katakana script, not Chinese characters, the effect on those who would read the text of the song would likely be a substantial degree of vagueness in the meaning, at least at first glance. Why? Because the words used in these lines are not common in vernacular speech. The Chinese characters provide an instant message as to both meaning and style, the style here being abstract and academic. The katakana script provides only the sounds of the words, which will result in a mental delay as a reader or, of course, an uninitiated listener, tries to figure the words out.
This specific example illustrates one of the methods in Japanese political discourse of stating key points indirectly. The example here of writing words that would normally appear as Chinese characters in a syllabic script (katakana or hiragana) is not likely to have been greatly effective in avoiding the wrath of the state. A more sophisticated technique would be to use Chinese characters that meant something other than one's point, but which had the same pronunciation as the words that would communicate that point—as we will see later.
As Japan moved toward becoming a nation, that is, as its people began self-consciously to think of themselves as Japanese, the general population became increasingly concerned with Japan's prestige and power in the world. In general, Japan's population supported expanding their nation's empire, even if doing so meant going to war. Indeed, popular opinion regarding foreign affairs often favored a more reckless course of action than did the relatively more prudent leaders of the government. Warfare and other major events concerning Japan's place in the world often produced popular songs. One early example is the #Song of the Sinking of the Normanton# (Norumanton-gō chinbotsu no uta, 1887). Consisting of 59 verses, the song describes in detail an *infamous incident* and reflects popular outrage toward the so-called "unequal treaties" that granted privileged status to certain foreigners in Japan.
On October 21, 1886, the British steamship Normanton was on its way from Yokohama to Kōbe in what should have been a routine voyage. But the vessel hit a reef and started to sink. All Europeans on board, including the captain and crew, escaped in lifeboats. All Japanese on board drowned. The British consular court in Kōbe had jurisdiction over the matter because of the extraterritoriality provisions of Britain's treaty with Japan. After a hearing, it cleared the captain of all blame for the ship's sinking and the subsequent loss of life. Popular outrage in Japan was so great, however, that the court felt compelled to re-examine the case. The second verdict did find fault with the captain and sentenced him to three months of confinement. The court refused to order any compensation to the families of the dead. The sinking of the Normanton and the judicial hearings that followed dramatically demonstrated to the Japanese public that justice was futile under extraterritoriality. Pressure on Japan's leaders to revise the treaties increased markedly as a result.
The many verses to Song of the Sinking of the Normanton have relatively little to say about the sinking of the ship itself. Instead, the emphasis is on the aftermath of the sinking, the judicial decisions, ethics, and geopolitical affairs. Here, for example, is a translation of verses 32-35:
When our countrymen heard the results of the much ballyhooed trial
We ground our teeth and clenched our fists, there being nothing else to do
Public opinion boiled over in unison
Right is right and wrong is wrong
Though there be countries in the east and in the west
There should not be two standards of justice
The extreme evil of the behavior of the Normanton's captain
Would be recognized as wrong by all the inhabitants of any country
Of the many on board, all members of the Caucasian race survived
All members of the yellow race(5) drowned
If there is a reason for this, I'd like to hear it
They are people and so are we
Verses 36-38 go on to chastise the British judges on the basis of such universal principles of righteousness. Then, verse 39 gets to the heart of the matter, namely, the discrepancy in military strength between Japan and Britain: "Though you have great cannon on your warships, our citizens lack knowledge, and our country is indeed weak, should we be treated like birds and pigs?" Verses 55 and 56 (among others) exhort the listener to:
Struggle fiercely to acquire knowledge
Acquire fame in profound accomplishments in the technical arts and sciences
Now, let us show no letup in the present struggle
Those of you who are cognizant of the dreadful facts of the Normanton's sinking
Strengthen your resolve from the bottom of your heart.
The Normanton Incident (#Japanese Wikipedia entry#) tends to get passed over with little or no mention in surveys of Japanese history, but there is much that we can learn from it. Not only was it historically significant in pushing Japan's leaders to redouble their efforts to revise the unequal treaties, but it is an excellent opportunity to see modern Japanese history from the point of view of the average person in Japan. As the words to the song indicate, from the point of view of Japan looking outward, the powerful countries of "the west" often applied a double standard. Though claiming to abide by "international law" or "universal principles of reason," in fact, might made right. The application of "international law" or "universal principles of reason" by those countries with the greatest military power would inevitably result in the oppression of the world's weaker countries. Hypocrisy such as was demonstrated in the Normanton Incident derived in large part from cultural/racial prejudice, as well, of course, as the discrepancy in military power. That the extraterritoriality provision in the unequal treaties was based on an alleged lack of full "civilized" status on the part of Japan and its people only added to the bitterness of such incidents.
Bear in mind that the late nineteenth century was both the high point of modern, scientific, "rational" thought (for example, Newtonian physics and positivism) and the high point of imperialism. Although this convergence may well have been a random coincidence, imperialism and modernist thought reinforced each other in many ways (think back to some of the material on Orientalism). To mention several examples, such concepts (or ideologies) as the idea of linear, universal progress, the view "race" as a biological entity in humans that necessarily determines culture (i.e., scientific racism), and social Darwinism all contributed to the justification of imperialism on a global scale and to the oppression of "undesirable" elements within many countries. Just as the prejudices of the age became written into domestic codes of law (e.g., laws requiring or allowing the sterilization of allegedly "unfit" or "feeble minded" individuals, which were common throughout the Western world and continued to exist in the United States into the 1970s), so, too, did the application of international law serve the interests of the world's powerful countries at the expense of its weaker ones.
Perhaps it is inevitable that a country's citizens tend to remember the injustices visited upon their country by others but to overlook similar injustices their own country has visited upon others. There is no room for doubt that the Normanton Incident was a blatant injustice, with Japan and, especially, the specific Japanese dead as the victims. And there were numerous other such injustices Japan and its people suffered, such as Woodrow Wilson's veto of the so-called "racial equality clause" in the Versailles Treaty of 1919 or the 1924 exclusion of Japanese immigration to the United States. On the other hand, Japan, too, embarked on the path of imperialism as early as the 1876 Kanghwa Treaty with Korea and the 1879 annexation of the Kingdom of #Ryukyu# (to be examined elsewhere in the course).
The broader point here is that since the 1850s, there has been a strong tendency for ordinary Japanese to view their country as a victim of world greed and hypocrisy. Many Japanese today also hold this view. Furthermore, as we see in the Normanton Incident (among many others), there is plenty of evidence to support such a view. That Japan became a militarily powerful, imperialist country during the twentieth century and is a major economic power today tends to obscure the important fact that many Japanese have seen, and continue to see, their country as weak, misunderstood, unappreciated, and oppressed. Whether this view was or is reasonable is debatable, but the fact of the existence of it should not be overlooked by anyone trying to understand modern or contemporary Japan. We will return to some of these points elsewhere in the course of our study.
Notice also how the Song of the Sinking of the Normanton and others we have examined serve to reinforce the idea of the nation, that is, the imagined community of Japanese. People in remote regions of the country, for example, who previously might not have cared less about geopolitical conflict, treaties, trials of British sea captains, et cetera, and who might well have had difficulty imagining any common links between themselves and far away residents of other parts of Japan began increasingly to invest emotional energy in the idea of Japan. They began to imagine the existence of many other fellow Japanese with whom they shared essential commonalities. Interestingly, the term I translate as "countrymen" in the excerpts above is dōhō 同胞, which literally consists of the elements "same" plus "cell," "placenta" (thus womb), or "enveloping membrane." In other words, this common term for "countryman" or "fellow national" employs a biological metaphor suggesting a common origin or common ties of bio-social relatedness. It is a perfect example of a major characteristic of the modern mode of imagining national communities.
Let us conclude this brief survey of music with one more example of a popular song that both reflected and served to reinforce the emerging sense of nation in Meiji Japan. Recall the importance of a sense of history in the national imagining process. One reason interpretations of the past have so often become the object of controversy in modern and contemporary times is that, in a world of nations, statements about the past are also statements about the present (since the essential qualities of the nation allegedly remain unchanged throughout history). In the Meiji era, Japan's pre-modern past became a fund of material from which to fashion songs (among other things).
#Genkō# is an 1892-vintage song about the #Mongol invasions of Japan,# which took place in 1274 and 1281. The second invasion fleet encountered a powerful typhoon soon after landing in Japan, which is the origin of the modern term kamikaze, literally "divine wind." The basic thinking is that the soil of Japan and its surrounding waters are graced with supernatural qualities, which, among other benefits, provide for cosmic protection of the islands in the case of armed invasion from the outside. Study the words of the song (total of four verses; translation is rather literal, so read slowly). Notice that these words are not so much a reflection of the thirteenth century as they are a product of the late nineteenth century. As an exercise, identify and explain elements of national thinking in the song:
Bringing together [the resources of] over 400 lands and over 100,000 mounted invaders
We realized that our country/nation was in danger in the fourth year of the Kōan era
What was there to fear with the men [implies "real men"] of Kamakura [as our leaders]?
In the name of righteous warfare, thundering for all the world to see
On the beach at Tatara, the barbarian Mongols
These arrogant and rude invaders--either they or we will depart this earth
Were met by our soldiers, arms strengthened by loyalty and righteousness
Who, for the sake of their country/nation, tried out their Japanese swords
The waves parted on the sea near Tsukushi [northern Kyūshū]
Brave and bold men who knew that should they fail to return from their righteous battle
They would in death fulfill their oaths to the deities defending the nation
And be known to the deities of Hakozaki--pure and noble is the Japanese spirit
Heaven became angry and the ocean waters churned in great waves
Those enemies of the nation, over 100,000 Mongols
Sunk to their watery graves, only three remaining
In an instant, the clouds cleared away, leaving the moon to shine on the northern Fukuoka ocean
(Thanks to Joseph Cronin for providing valuable information regarding the translation of this song.)
Notice that beyond the obvious patriotic rhetoric (disparaging the enemy while praising one's own side) there is a deeper sense that Japan has long been home to a coherent, self-conscious community of Japanese. We hear no mention of the many divisions in Japanese society that greatly hindered the military units in the service of the bakufu to mount a coordinated, effective defense against the Mongol invaders. Nor is there any hint that rancor resulting from the perception of a lack of sufficient rewards on the part of many of those who fought contributed greatly to the fall of the Kamakura bakufu itself. Instead, such unpleasant political realities have been covered over by the sense of a united, national community of citizens willing to make any sacrifice in its defense—precisely the values the late nineteenth-century Meiji state hoped to instill in its population as it set about the task of making Japanese.
The most important tool of the Meiji state in making Japanese was formal education. Immediately after overthrowing the bakufu, the new Meiji leaders tried to use religion to make Japanese. This initial attempt failed, and attention shifted to education, especially elementary 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 empress (the Meiji emperor's 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, and part of the image of the self-made man discussed earlier. But while the self-made man was indeed imagined as a man (i.e., male), person-making through 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, 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 because the average ambitious citizen tended to favor technical knowledge and skill as the fastest way to advance in society. Early in the Meiji period, education in Japan tended closely 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, 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 (*click here* and scroll down--#or here#).
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.*
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.
(For one example of how Ninomiya appears, rather irreverently it seems, in contemporary popular culture, #click here# and skim down to the second-to-the-last paragraph for a brief description of "Nino." Or #click here# and scroll down to "Nino," who appears right after "Hanako-san.")
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."6
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. (7)
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 (kokutai, the "national body" of the previous chapter). 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 (he was a universalist along with Fukuzawa Yukichi, Tokutomi Sohō, and others). 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.(8)
The two-tier system described above was firmly in place by the turn of the twentieth century and lasted until the late 1940s. To summarize, the formation of the prewar system, here is a basic chronology that includes related events:
Early 1890s: There is a general tendency at all levels of Japanese society to reject "western" culture, at least in many of its superficial aspects. For example, the lyrics to a popular song from the time go:
This thoughtless imitation of the west . . .
Not drinking Japanese sake
But beer, brandy, and vermouth
Stuffing your stomach with strange foreign foods . . .
Somebody drinking coffee . . . how funny . . .
1888: Education Minister Mori declares that "What is to be done [in education] is not for the sake of pupils, but for the sake of the nation-state." Incidentally, a politically-motivated assassin murdered Mori for pursuing what the assassin regarded as excessively liberal policies (and, specifically, for allegedly showing disrespect to an important imperial shrine).
1889: Practice of sending imperial portraits to the schools begins
1890: Elementary school regulations specify the following priority of objectives: 1) moral training; 2) development of a distinctive national essence; 3) cultivation of skills and knowledge
1890: Imperial Rescript on Education is promulgated
1891: copies of the Rescript are sent to all schools, where it joined the imperial portraits as an object of veneration
1893: Controversy flares up between two well known intellectuals Uchimura Kanzō and Inoue Tetsujirō over the question "Is it possible for Christians to be truly patriotic?" Inoue concluded that Jesus was opposed to the principles of "loyalty and filial piety"—notice how potent this rhetorical figure has become. Therefore, he argued, Christianity and Japanese education are in conflict.
By 1900: The majority of Japanese have received formal education from the state. Completion of compulsory education becomes the norm.
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.
1. Much of the information presented here on Early Meiji music is based on the work of William P. Malm. See especially "The Modern Music of Meiji Japan" in Donald H. Shively, ed., Tradition and Modernization in Japanese Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), pp. 257-300.
2. Ibid., p. 269.
3. Quoted in Julia Meech-Pekarik, The World of the Meiji Print: Impressions of a New Civilization (New York: Weatherhill, 1986), p. 166.
4. It is common for humans to associated certain qualities like courage or love with a specific organ of the body. But there is no universal agreement about which qualities go with which organs. To complicate the written text slightly, the character used in the lyrics, (tan), actually means gallbladder, though it is read "kimo," or liver. Not to distinguish between these two organs was common.
5. Note that it was common for Japanese to refer to themselves as "yellow" in certain contexts and that the color yellow in East Asia generally did not have any negative connotations like cowardice or sickness. The practice of assigning colors to different groups of people was not common in East Asia until modern times, and it was a direct result of European influence.
6. Peter Duus, Modern Japan, Second Edition (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1998), pp. 128-129.
7. 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.
8. 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 Christian high school principal, Uchimura Kanzō 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.
