An Outline of a Theory of Civilization

Yukichi Fukuzawa, David Dilworth, G. Cameron Hurst III

• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Year: 2009
• ISBN:
  9780231525268
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Asian History
• Index: History

Yukichi Fukuzawa rose from low samurai origins to become one of the finest intellectuals and social thinkers of modern Japan. Through his best-selling works, he helped transform an isolated feudal nation into a full-fledged international force.

In Outline of a Theory of Civilization, the author's most sustained philosophical text, Fukuzawa translates and adapts a range of Western works for a Japanese audience, establishing the social, cultural, and political avenues through which Japan could connect with other countries. Echoing the ideas of Western contemporaries such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Walt Whitman, Fukuzawa encouraged a grassroots elevation of the individual and national spirit, as well as free initiative in the private domain. Fukuzawa's bold project articulated thoughts that, for him, bolstered the material evidence of Western civilization. He argued that the essential difference separating Western countries from Japan and Asia was the extent to which citizens acted like free and responsible individuals.

This careful new translation, accompanied by a comprehensive critical introduction, highlights the truly transnational aspects of Outline of a Theory of Civilization and its status as a foundational text of modern Japanese civilization. Approaching Fukuzawa's progressive thought with a fresh eye, these scholars elucidate the monumental and peerless quality of his work.

Chapter
ONE

ESTABLISHING A BASIS OF ARGUMENTATION

LIGHT and heavy, long and short, good and bad, right and wrong are all relative terms. If there were no light, there could be no heavy; if there were no good, there could be no bad. Thus, light is light relative to heavy, and good is good relative to bad. If there were not such relativity between one and the other, we could not debate over light and heavy or good and bad. The criterion in terms of which something is judged relatively heavy or good may be called the basis of argumentation. An old proverb says that “The belly must be saved at the cost of the back.” Another asserts, “Sacrifice the small for the large.” Thus, in the case of the human body one must protect the stomach even at the expense of receiving a wound on the back, because the stomach is more vital than the back. And in dealing with animals, the crane is of greater value than the loach, so the loach is used as food for the crane. In the change from the feudal order, in which the daimyo and samurai lived in idleness, to the system we now have, it may have seemed unnecessary to dispossess those with property and force on them the hardships of the propertyless. But if you think of the Japanese nation and the individual han in relative terms, then the nation is important, the han unimportant. Abolishing the han is the same as putting a greater premium on the stomach than on the back, and taking away the stipends of the daimyo and the samurai is like killing the loach to feed the crane.

When investigating things it is necessary to clear away the non-essentials and get back to their source. By doing this, details can be subsumed under general principles and thereby the basis of argumentation can be even more ascertained. Newton, in discovering the law of gravity, first established the principle of inertia (the first law of motion), namely: if something begins to move, it will continue to move without stopping, and if it is stopped, it will remain still and not move until acted upon by an external force. Once he clearly established this law, the principles of motion of all things in the universe must conform to it. Such a “law” can be called a basis of truth. If there were no such law, in debating the principles of motion the opinions on the subject would be of endless diversity. There would be one principle for the motion of ships, another principle for vehicles. The number of items brought into the discussion would merely keep on increasing, and there would be no single fundamental law upon which they all would rest; without some one ultimate principle, nothing could be established with any certitude.

Therefore one cannot discuss the right and wrong, the merits and demerits of an issue without first establishing a basis of argumentation. A castle wall will be of advantage to the man who guards the castle, but a hindrance to one who attacks. The enemy’s gain is the ally’s loss; the convenience of one who is leaving is an inconvenience for one who is coming. Thus, in discussing the merits and demerits of such issues you must first establish the point of view from which you are going to argue; whether as the protector or the defender, the enemy or the ally—whichever it is to be, you must first establish the basis from which you will argue.

At all times of human history there have been numerous mutually conflicting views; when you go to their basic positions you will discover they are radically opposed, and this explains the friction between their sets of final conclusions. For example, Shinto and Buddhist positions are always at odds, yet if you listen to what each proclaims, both of them will sound plausible. But when you go to the basic positions of the two, you see that their points of departure are different—Shinto stressing good and ill fortune in the present, and Buddhism preaching the rewards and punishments of the future—and this is why both positions eventually differ. There is disagreement on many points between the Japanese scholars of Chinese Learning and Confucianism, and of those of the Japanese Learning school. Ultimately the fundamental issue that divides them is that the former accept the overthrow of evil rulers by Tang and Wu as correct, and the latter stress the unbroken lineage of the Japanese emperor. This is the only thing that bothers our scholars of Chinese Learning and Confucianism. All the while debating over fringe issues without ever getting down to the essentials, the Shintoists, Confucianists, and Buddhists never pass a day without their disputes. Their debates are as interminable as those arguments over the superiority of the bow and arrow versus the sword and the spear. To reconcile the two sides, there is but one method: point out a new theory more advanced than the ones now held, and people can judge for themselves the relative advantages and defects of the old and the new. Thus, the argument between the proponents of bow and arrow and those of sword and spear was quite heated at one time, but since the introduction of the gun no one argues the point anymore.^*

When two men’s original premises differ, there may be certain superficial similarities in what they have to say, but as one pushes them back to fundamentals one comes to a point where they part company. The two seem to agree in their discussions of the merits and demerits of various topics, but as we probe further into their logical grounds, their views go in opposite directions. For example, the obdurate samurai all invariably hate foreigners. Men of a scholarly nature, or at least of some knowledge, may also dislike foreigners because of their conduct. In so far as the latter are displeased with foreigners you can say their opinion agrees with that of the obdurate samurai; but when the source of their displeasure is examined you will find there is a disparity. One group looks on the foreigner as of a different species and hates him regardless of his merits or demerits. The other, somewhat more broad-minded, does not have a sweeping hatred or dislike for foreigners, but he realizes that some harmful effects can follow from dealings with them and feels indignant at the unfair treatment dealt out by so-called “civilized” foreigners. The two groups resemble each other in that they hate certain foreigners, but, since the source of their hatred is different, their ways of dealing with foreigners differ. In short, the arguments of those who advocated expelling the foreigners (jōi-ka) and those who advocated opening the country (kaikoku-ka) can appear to be similar, but somewhere along the line they divide because of their fundamental premises. Even when human beings are engaged in pleasurable activities, though all may share the same experiences, many nevertheless differ in their likes and dislikes. From a single, superficial observation of what a person does one must not make hasty judgments about his inner disposition.

Often, when people discuss the pros and cons of a thing, they start by bringing up the two opposite extremes of the argument; both parties are at odds right from the very beginning and are unable to draw closer from that point on. Let me give an example. Nowadays if a person mentions the new theory of equal popular rights, someone of the old school immediately sees it as an argument for a democratic form of government. He asks what will become of Japan’s national polity if Japan were now to become a democratic government, expresses fears about the immeasurable harm that will ensue, seems so upset you would think he envisions the country’s immediate plunge into political anarchy. From the beginning of the discussion he imagines some far-off future and vehemently opposes the other’s argument, without ever investigating what equal rights means or asking what it is all about. On the other hand, the proponent of this new theory right from the beginning considers the defender of the old school as his enemy and attacks the old theory just as irrationally. The argument finally turns into a battle of mutual enemies; a meeting of minds never takes place. It is because they each start from one extreme that such conflict arises.

Let me give a parallel closer at hand. There were two men, one a tippler, the other a teetotaler. The tippler hated rice-cake, the teetotaler hated sake. Both expounded on the harmfulness of what they disliked and advocated its abolition. To counter the tippler’s argument, the teetotaler said that if rice-cake were judged harmful, it would mean abolishing a national custom of several hundred years’ standing in our country; on the first day of the New Year Japanese would have to eat boiled rice with tea. All rice-cake makers would be put out of business, and the growing of rice for rice-cake would have to be prohibited everywhere in the country. He concluded that this should not be done. The tippler, in refutation of the teetotaler, said that if sake were considered harmful, all the sake shops in the land would immediately have to be demolished, and anyone who became intoxicated would have to be given a stiff penalty. In all medicines one would have to substitute sake porridge for the distilled kind, and water cups would have to replace sake cups in the wedding ceremony. He felt that this should not be done. In this manner, when the two extremes of differing views confront each other, they necessarily clash; agreement is impossible. This eventually leads to disharmony between men and produces great harm in society. Japanese history is full of such examples. When such disharmony arises between scholars and gentlemen, the battle is conducted with tongue and pen; a theory is propounded, a book is written, people are persuaded by so-called abstract theory. But the uneducated and illiterate are unable to resort to the tongue and pen, and many, dependent on physical force, are apt to turn to such methods as assassination.

When two people argue, they attack only each other’s weak spots and make it impossible for either party to show his true self. These weak spots are the bad aspects which always accompany a person’s good points. For example, countryfolk are honest, but pig-headed, while townsmen are clever, but insincere. Honesty and cleverness are virtues in men, while pig-headedness and insincerity are their attendant evil aspects. When you hear arguments between countryfolk and townsmen, you find that many of their disputes stem from this difference. The countryman sees the townsman and calls him an insincere smart aleck, while the townsman ridicules the countryman and calls him a stubborn lout. Both parties are closing one eye to the other’s good points and seeing only his bad side. If both sides could be made to open both eyes, with one eye observing the other fellow’s virtues and with the other seeing his faults, perhaps the virtues and faults would cancel each other out and their dispute could be reconciled. The virtues might completely make up for the faults and the quarrel subsides. Also, by seeing each other in a friendly light, in the end the two might both profit from each other.

Scholars are no different. For example, the schools of thought in our country at the present time can be divided into two groups, the conservatives and the reformers. The reformers are quite keen in their judgment and open to progressive ideas, while the conservatives are caution-minded and desirous of holding on to the old. The latter exhibit the defect of stubbornness, while the fault of the former is a tendency toward rashness. Yet there is no law necessarily linking sober-mindedness with stubbornness, or keenness of mind with rashness. After all, there are those who drink sake without becoming drunk and those who eat rice-cake without getting sick. Sake and rice-cake do not invariably lead to intoxication or upset stomachs. Whether they do or not depends entirely on how a person regulates his use of them. Consequently, conservatives do not have to hate reformers, and reformers do not have to scorn conservatives. You have four things involved here: sober-mindedness, stubbornness, keenness of mind, and rashness. Put sober-mindedness and rashness, or keenness of mind and stubbornness, together, and they will always clash and be mutually inimical. But put sober-mindedness and keenness of mind together, and they will always get along well with each other. Only when you get such compatibility will the true selves of both parties be manifested and their antipathies gradually disappear.

During the Tokugawa’s reign there was constant friction between those retainers of a daimyo who lived in the han quarters in Edo and those who stayed in the han territory—they were practically like two enemy forces within the same han. This was another example of true selves not being revealed.

Such evils will naturally be eliminated as man’s knowledge progresses, but the most effective way to eliminate them is through constant intercourse in society. What I mean is that, if there is any opportunity for two people to come together—whether it be in business or in academic circles, in a drinking bout or in a legal dispute, in everyday quarrels or even in wars—and to express frankly in word and deed what is in their hearts, then the feelings of both parties will be soothed, and each will, in effect, open both eyes and be able to see the other fellow’s merits. The reason intellectuals today are advocating the creation of popular assemblies, speech clubs, a better road system, freedom of the press, and the like is that these are of particular importance as aids to intercourse between men.

In all discussions people will have diverse opinions. If opinions are of a high level, the discussion will be at a high level. If the opinions are shallow, the discussion will also be shallow. When a person is shallow he tries to refute the other side before both sides have come to the heart of the matter—this results in the two viewpoints going in opposite directions. For example, if today there were to be a discussion of the pros and cons of dealing with foreigners, both A and B might be in favor of opening the country, and their ideas might appear to be in agreement. But as A begins to explain his ideas in detail and starts getting more and more abstruse, B will begin to take offense and, before you know it, the two will be at odds. B, a common man, is probably only repeating commonly heard views. Since his ideas are quite shallow, he is unable to fathom the main point of the discussion; suddenly hearing a more abstruse statement, he loses his bearings completely. Things like this happen often. The situation can be likened to that of a person with a weak stomach who, when he takes some nourishing food, cannot digest it and instead gets sicker. One must not jump to a hasty conclusion from this simile; it might seem that advanced discussion brings only harm and no good whatsoever, but this is not true. Without advanced discussion, there would be no bringing those who are backward to a more advanced stage. Prohibit nourishing food because a patient has a weak stomach, and the patient will eventually die.

Throughout history, the above type of misunderstanding between people has produced many regrettable situations. Consider the people of a particular era: in any country at any time there are very few who are either extremely stupid or extremely intelligent. The majority fall between these two extremes; shifting with the times, with neither blame nor merit, they spend their whole lives blindly following the crowd. Such people constitute the so-called “common man.” They are the source of so-called “public opinion.” Neither reflecting upon the past nor looking ahead to the future, they simply react to their immediate circumstances—as if their heads were locked in a fixed position. Today there are many such people—and their voices are loud. They would limit discussion in the country to their ideas and brand anything that departs even slightly from their scheme of things as unorthodox. What kind of minds do they have, these people who squeeze everything into their own frame of reference and try to force all discussion to follow a straight line? If they were allowed to have things their way, what possible use to the nation would such “intellectuals” be? On whom would we be able to rely for looking into the future and opening the door to civilization? Such is their gross misunderstanding.

Consider if you will how, since ancient times, progressive steps in civilization were always unorthodox at the time they were first proposed. When Adam Smith first expounded his economic theory, did not everyone condemn it as heresy? Was not Galileo punished as a heretic when he articulated his theory of the earth’s rotation? Yet with the passage of time the mass of “common men,” guided by the intellectuals, were, before they knew it, drawn over to the side of these “heresies”; as a result, at our present stage of civilization even school children entertain no doubts about the theories of modern economics and the earth’s revolution. Doubt these theories? We have reached a point where anyone who questioned them would be regarded as a fool and counted out of society! To take a more proximate example: just ten years ago our solidly entrenched feudal system, in which 300 daimyo each governed independently and held the power of life and death over his subjects by reason of a clear distinction between lord and vassal, high and low, was thought to be a thing that would endure forever. Yet in an instant it crumbled and was replaced by the present imperial system. Today no one considers this new system strange, but if ten years ago a warrior within a han had proposed such measures as the abolition of the han and the establishment of prefectures, do you think for an instant the han would have debated the matter? Why, the man’s very life would have been in immediate jeopardy!

Thus the unorthodox theories of the past become the commonly accepted ideas of the present; yesterday’s eccentric notions become today’s common knowledge. Therefore the unorthodox views of today will most certainly become the common ideas and theories of the future. Without fear of public opinion or charges of heresy, scholars should boldly espouse what they believe. Even when another’s thesis does not square with your own, try to understand his intention and accept those points which can be accepted. Let those points which do not merit acceptance run their course, and wait for the day when both positions can be reconciled, the day when the basis of argumentation will be the same. Do not try to pressure others into your own way of thinking, nor try to induce conformity in every discussion, everywhere.

In conclusion, in order to discuss the merits and demerits of a matter, one must first consider whatever bears on its merits and demerits and then settle which are heavy, which light, which good, which bad. Discussing the merits and demerits of a matter is simple, but it is quite difficult to establish what is heavy, light, good, or bad. One cannot argue the good of the nation from the advantage of one individual. One must not discuss what is convenient for the coming year and err in plans for a hundred years ahead. One must listen to all theories, old and new; obtain extensive knowledge about conditions in the world; judge, without prejudice or personal feeling, where the highest good lies. Breaking through a thousand obstacles and remaining unfettered by the bonds of public opinion, one must occupy a lofty vantage point, from which to look back upon the past and to cast a sharp eye to the future.

Now, while it has not been my intention to pre-determine a basis of argumentation, to point out how to arrive at it, and then to force everyone to agree with my view, I do wish to ask one question of every man in this land. It is simply this: Are we at this time to go forward, or are we to turn back; to go forward and acquire civilization, or to turn back to a stage of primitivity? If you are of a mind to go forward, then perhaps my discussion ought to be read. Still, it is not my purpose to explain how actually to attain civilization. That I leave to the devices of my readers.

* Listen to Shinto priests and they will tell you that, since there are burial ceremonies in Shinto, they too preach a doctrine of future life. Buddhist priests will tell you that, since they have offerings and prayers in such sects as the Hokke [branch of Japanese Buddhism founded by Nichiren (1222–82), who emphasized the teachings of the Lotus Sutra (Hokkekyō)], they too value present good and ill fortune. It is a highly complicated argument. But these things are due to the commingling of Shinto and Buddhism since ancient times. Buddhists try to mimic Shinto priests, and the Shintoists try to take over monkish offices. But when one discusses the general thesis of the two teachings, it is clear from observing their customs of a thousand years that one stresses the future and the other the present. Nowadays it is not worth listening to their lo...