Читать книгу The Making of Modern Japan - John Harington Gubbins - Страница 10

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In the movement which swept away the Tokugawa Shōguns two cries were raised by the Imperialists: “Honour the Sovereign” and “Expel the foreigner.” They constituted the programme of the party. No sooner had the revolution been crowned with success than the second part of the programme was abandoned. The bulk of the military class had been led to believe that the downfall of the Shōgunate would carry with it the withdrawal of foreigners and the closure of the country. But the wiser heads among the revolutionary leaders recognized that this plan was unrealizable. They had at one time, regardless of consequences, encouraged the cry in order to stir up popular feeling against the Shōgunate. But with the disappearance of the Yedo Government the situation had changed. Moreover, in the course of the fifteen years which had elapsed since Perry’s Treaty the first bitterness of anti-foreign feeling had begun to wear off. Earlier ignorance of the outside world had given way to better knowledge. Closer association with foreigners had revealed the prospect of certain benefits to be derived from foreign trade, while the fighting at Kagoshima and Shimonoséki had been an object-lesson to many, whose reading of history had given them inflated ideas of the strength of their country. There were, also, among the leaders men who were aware not only of the military weakness of Japan, as compared with foreign nations with whom treaties had been concluded, but of the importance of introducing changes on the lines of Western civilization in many branches of administration. So the foreigner remained, and the foreign policy of the Shōgunate was continued. The other cry of “Honour the Sovereign” permitted much latitude of interpretation. The talk about establishing direct Imperial rule, in which Imperialists so freely indulged, was scarcely intended to be taken literally, any more than the vague phrases in the manifestos of the time regarding the abolition of dual government, for the personal rule of the Sovereign was in historical times unknown. It simply expressed indirectly the main object in view—the cessation of Tokugawa rule. This aim was achieved, and more easily than had been anticipated; but the dual system of administration, and the figure-head method of government, were too deeply rooted to be removed all at once, even had there been a desire to do so. The Shōgunate was, therefore, replaced by a government of the clans which had taken a leading part in the Restoration, while the figure-head method of rule worked on as before.

The Restoration ushered in what is known as the “Meiji Era,” or “Era of Enlightened Government,” this being the name given to the new year-period then created. The point is one of no little significance. This year-period marked the beginning of a reign more fruitful in rapid and far-reaching changes than any which had preceded it; it synchronized with the rise of Japan from the position of an obscure Asiatic, country to that of a Great Power; and it was chosen with undeniable fitness as the posthumous name of the monarch with whose death it ended. In dwelling on it, it will be necessary to go somewhat fully into the rather complicated question of Japanese chronology, which calls for explanation.

There were formerly four ways in Japan of reckoning time. These were: (1) By the reigns of Mikados; (2) by year-periods (Nengō), which constantly overlapped, one ending and the other beginning in the same year of our chronology, so that the last year of the former was the first year of the latter, the year in question, which never began on the first day of the first month, having, therefore, two designations; (3) by the Chinese sexagenary cycle; and (4) by computation from the first year of the reign of Jimmu Tennō, the mythical founder of Japan. The first was used at an early date in historical compilations. It ceased to be employed long ago, and the records based on it are unreliable. The second was borrowed from China at the time of the “Great Reform” in the seventh century, which gave its name to the first Japanese year-period. This and the third, the sexagenary cycle, were used both alone and in conjunction with each other. The fourth system (based on the imaginary reign of the mythical founder of Japan about the year 660 B.C.) is of comparatively recent origin, its adoption being due to the same somewhat far-fetched patriotism which encourages belief in the divinity of Japanese sovereigns.

The year-period, or Nengō, copied from China, had in that country a special raison d’être, for it changed with the accession of a new Emperor, its duration being consequently that of the reign with which it began. In Japan, owing probably to the seclusion of the Sovereign and the absence of personal rule, the year-period had no direct connection with the reign of a Mikado or the rule of a Shōgun, the correspondence, when it occurred, being, with few exceptions, merely fortuitous. As a rule, some unusual or startling event was made the reason for a change, but in Japan, as in China, great care was bestowed on the choice of propitious names for new year-periods. Since the Restoration, however, it has been decided to follow the old Chinese practice, and create a fresh year-period on the accession of a new sovereign. This decision was put into force for the first time on the death of the late Emperor in 1912. The Meiji year-period then came to an end, and a new year-period, Taishō, or “Great Righteousness,” began. Owing to the overlapping of year-periods, to which attention has been called, the new year-period dates from the same year as that in which the preceding Meiji period ceased.

The sexagenary cycle was formed by combining the twelve Chinese signs of the Zodiac, taken in their fixed order, namely, “Rat,” “Bull,” “Tiger,” “Hare,” etc., with what are known as the “ten celestial stems.” These ten stems, again, were formed by arranging the five primitive elements—earth, water, fire, metal and wood—into two sections, or classes, called respectively “elder” and “younger brother.” This arrangement fitted in exactly with a cycle of sixty years, a number divisible by ten and twelve, the numbers of its two component factors. When the year-period and the sexagenary cycle were used in conjunction with each other, it was customary to mention first of all the name of the year-period, then the number of the year in question in that period, and then, again, the position of the year in the sexagenary cycle.

Formerly, too, the month in Japan was a lunar month. Of these there were twelve. Every third year an intercalary month was added in order to supply the correction necessary for the exact computation of time. There was no division of time corresponding to our week. This, however, came gradually into use after the Restoration, the days being called after the sun and moon and the five primitive elements. The weekly holiday is now a Japanese institution. There are also in each year twenty-four periods of nominally fifteen days each, regulated according to climate and the season of the year, which are closely connected with agricultural operations, and bear distinctive names, such as “Great Cold,” “Lesser Cold,” “Rainy Season,” etc. Each month, too, is divided into three periods of ten days each, called respectively Jōjun, Chiūjun and Géjun, or first, middle and last periods.

With the adoption of the Gregorian Calendar, which came into force on January 1st, 1873, the sexagenary cycle and lunar month disappeared, and with them, of course, the quaint Zodiacal appellations of the years. The other distinctive features of Japanese chronology have survived. There are now three recognized ways of computing time annually—by year-periods, by the Christian Calendar and by the National Calendar, dating from the year 660 B.C. The year 1921 may therefore be spoken of either as we do, or as the tenth year of Taishō;, or as the year 2581 of the National Calendar.

The adoption of the Gregorian Calendar caused some grumbling, as it did when introduced in England in the eighteenth century, where it was received with the cry: “Give us back our eleven days.” In Japan there was more reason for complaint, for the year 1872 was shortened by no less than twenty-nine days, what would, under the old calendar, have been the third day of the twelfth month of the fifth year of Meiji being altered so as to become the first day of the first month of the sixth year of Meiji (January 1st, 1873). Much inconvenience and even hardship were occasioned by the change, since the end of the year, the time chosen, is the time fixed for the settling of all accounts between debtors and creditors.

The Restoration was the work of four clans—Satsuma, Chōshiū, Hizen and Tosa—whose territories lay in each case in the south-west of the country, though they had no common frontiers. The formation by feudal chiefs of alliances of short duration for definite objects had been the distinguishing characteristic of the unsettled times which preceded the establishment of Tokugawa rule. This was put an end to by the Tokugawa Shōguns, who by various measures, already described, kept the feudal aristocracy in complete subjection. As soon, however, as the power of the Shōgunate began to decline, the independent spirit of the clans reasserted itself. This tendency was encouraged by the attitude of the leading Tokugawa families. On Perry’s arrival the House of Mito had supported the Court against the Shōgunate on the Treaty question; while the House of Owari a few years later sided with Chōshiū in its second and successful struggle against the Yedo Government, thus definitely abandoning the Tokugawa cause. The alliances formed in this regrouping of the clans were of the same artificial kind as those which had taken place in earlier feudal days. Apart from the common object which brought them together, the overthrow of Tokugawa rule, there was no real sympathy between any of the four clans which took the chief part in the Restoration. It would have been strange if there had been, for it was no part of the policy of any clan, whose frontiers were jealously guarded to prevent the entry of strangers, to cultivate friendly relations with another. In the case of two of the allied clans, Satsuma and Chōshiū, special difficulties stood in the way of an understanding. They had long been rivals for the confidence of the Court, while the constant changes in the relations between Kiōto and Yedo gave opportunities for further friction and jealousy. More recently, too, the sinking of a Satsuma steamer by Chōshiū forts, the Chōshiū raid on the Imperial palace and the subsequent invasion of Chōshiū territory by the Shōgunate, on both of which occasions Chōshiū clansmen found themselves fighting against those of Satsuma, had created a feeling of active hostility. The author of “Ishin Shi,” or “History of the Restoration,” explains how these difficulties were eventually removed by the exertions of men in the Satsuma clan, whom the critical position of affairs brought to the front, by the mediation of men of influence in the Tosa, Hizen and other clans, whose political sympathies lay in the same direction, and by the co-operation of certain Court nobles, whose knowledge of domestic affairs gained in the conduct of relations between the Court and Shōgunate, and whose position at the Court were of great value to the Imperialist party. Some of these Court nobles had been placed in the custody of the daimiō of Chikuzen after the suppression of the first Chōshiū rising, and through their efforts, and those of the other mediators already mentioned, a friendly understanding was at length established between Satsuma and Chōshiū clansmen. This obstacle having been removed, a plan of campaign was discussed and settled by the four clans. The military strength of the alliance thus formed was soon proved in the short struggle which ended in the fall of the Shōgunate.

Ōkubo Ichizō.

A leading figure in the Restoration Movement and, until his early death, a member of the Government subsequently formed. His death occurred before the creation of the new peerage, but his son, the present Marquis, was ennobled in recognition of his father’s services.

There remained other problems of a political kind. These were solved by degrees in the sequence of events. Not the least of these was the form of the Government which should replace that which had fallen. On this point there had before the Restoration been much divergence of opinion. According to the author of The Awakening of Japan the Satsuma “Federalists,” as he calls them, wished to reorganize the feudal system much on the lines existing in the half century that preceded the Tokugawa domination. The Chōshiū leaders, we are told, sought their ideal further back. They advocated the restoration of the Imperial bureaucracy of pre-feudal days. This view, supported by the Court nobles, who perhaps hoped by increasing Imperial prestige to strengthen their own position, was the one which ultimately prevailed. There were two powerful arguments in favour of its adoption. One was the inadvisability of attempting to retain the constitution of the previous Government, even had it been possible to do so. Another lay in the necessity of taking full advantage of the current of popular feeling in favour of the Restoration, and at the same time, while as yet the influence of the rising men was small, to work as far as possible through the class of Court nobles who had administered this system in early days.

The form chosen for the new administration was that of the bureaucratic system of pre-feudal days, modified to some extent by innovations copied from abroad. The chief feature in this administration was its division into eight departments. Two of these, the Department of Supreme Administration and the Department of Shintō (which dealt only with matters concerning the native faith, Shintō), ranked together, and before the other six, one of which dealt with legislation, while the remaining five corresponded in a general way to similar Departments in Western countries. As between the two senior Departments, however, though authority was nominally equal, the greater prestige lay with the Department of Shintō.

It will be seen that the new Government, formed in the spring of 1868 before the final surrender of the Tokugawa forces, was at best a patchwork attempt at administrative reconstruction. Its pre-feudal form had little in common with the feudalism that still survived, nor was it possible to harmonize innovations borrowed from the West with an ancient system in which the highest place was reserved for the department which controlled all matters connected with the primitive Shintō cult. In the autumn of the same year, and at various times in the course of succeeding years, many administrative changes were introduced. Into the details of these it is unnecessary to enter at length. They will be referred to, when essential, subsequently in the course of this narrative. It will suffice for the present to note that a Council of State, the constitution and functions of which were modified from time to time so frequently as to puzzle the administrators themselves, was substituted in place of the Department of Supreme Administration, thus reducing the number of departments to seven; and that the Department of the Shintō cult underwent many vicissitudes, being eventually reduced to the comparatively humble status of a bureau in the Home Department, a position which it occupies to-day. As might have been expected in the case of a Government which came in on the cry of the restoration of Imperial power, at a time when an atmosphere of semi-divinity still surrounded the Court, the new Ministry included several Imperial princes and Court nobles. Prince Arisugawa became President of the new Government, while the two Court nobles, Sanjō and Iwakura, who had been largely instrumental from the first in promoting the clan alliance which overthrew the Shōgunate, were appointed Vice-Presidents. Two other Imperial princes and five Court nobles were placed at the head of the remaining seven departments, the second position in three of these being given to the daimiōs of Échizen, Aki and Higo. Among those who held offices in minor capacities were Ōkubo and Terashima of Satsuma, Kido of Chōshiū, Gotō of Tosa, Itō and Inouyé, the two young Chōshiū clansmen, who, on their return from England in 1864, had tried without success to prevent the Shimonoséki hostilities, Ōkuma of Hizen and others whose names are household words in Japan.

In the group of princes and other notabilities above mentioned the only outstanding personality was Iwakura, who at once took a leading place in the direction of affairs. The rest took no active part in the administration. They were simply convenient figure-heads, lending stability and prestige to the new order of things, their presence also carrying with it the assurance that the main object of the Restoration had been accomplished.

In spite of the Western innovations embodied in its constitution the form assumed by the new Government gave little indication of the radical reforms which were destined to be accomplished in the course of the new reign. In the very year of its birth the murderous attack on the British Minister and his suite when on the way to an audience of the Emperor in Kiōto furnished incontestable proof of the existence still of much anti-foreign feeling. In view, however, of the fact that the cry of “Expel the foreigner” had continued until the eve of the downfall of the Shōgunate, and that up to the last moment the bulk of the military class in many districts was led to believe that the Restoration would be accompanied by the closure of the country, it was not surprising that the survival of anti-foreign feeling should show itself in fanatical outbursts of this nature. On the other hand, the employment in subordinate posts under the new Ministry of men of the military class who were known to be convinced reformers furnished good evidence that the policy of the new Government would, if their views prevailed, be progressive and not reactionary. And further proof of the new and radical departure contemplated by those active spirits in the Government was supplied by what is spoken of as the “Charter Oath” taken by the young Mikado on the 6th April, 1868, after the new Government had been formed.

In this Oath he announced his intentions in unmistakable language which undoubtedly reflected the ideas and aspirations of the reformers. The first of the five clauses of the Oath furnished the keynote of the whole, pointing, as it did, to the creation of parliamentary institutions. “Deliberative Assemblies”—so it ran—“shall be established on an extensive scale, and all measures of government shall be decided by public opinion.” And the last clause reinforced the resolution expressed by stating that “knowledge shall be sought for throughout the world,” a phrase which indicated indirectly the intention to draw on the resources of Western civilization. The other passages in the manifesto simply expounded the time-worn and vague principles of Chinese statecraft, which had long ago been adopted by Japanese administrators.

The general correspondence of the Imperial intentions, as set forth in the Oath, with the views of the last of the Shōguns, as expressed in the statement announcing his resignation which was communicated to the foreign representatives in the autumn of the previous year, is noteworthy. It shows that the liberal policy enunciated was no monopoly of the party of progress in the new ministry, but that a feeling in favour of reform was very widely entertained. There was, of course, no idea at that time of giving the masses a voice in the government of the country, for the feudal system was still in existence, and the bulk of the population had no interest in public affairs. It was, nevertheless, clear that representative institutions of some kind, however imperfect the popular conception of these might be, were the goal towards which men’s thoughts were turning.