The Life and Works of Fukuzawa Yukichi†
In Japan, a portrait of Fukuzawa Yukichi appears on every 10,000-yen note. This is official recognition of his dedication to the cause of introducing Western institutions and thought into Japan. Some people, however, may wonder why he wears traditional Japanese robes. Although there are a number of pictures of Fukuzawa, only a few are in Western attire. It seems that this reflects his basic stance: he always emphasized the spiritual revolution rather than the spurious imitation of things Western.
Fukuzawa first learned Dutch and later changed to English studies; he visited the United States twice and traveled through Europe for almost a year before the Meiji Restoration (1868). On these journeys he was able to perceive the basic “corner-stones and pillars” of modern society developing in the West. There he also conceived his manifest destiny—education and journalism. Soon after his second voyage he began to set up his school, the Keio-gijuku, which was to produce many talented graduates in business, industry, and politics.
Fukuzawa published numerous pamphlets and textbooks that were used in Japan’s emerging modern schools and were also welcomed by a variety of other types of reader. The great attraction of these writings was not only that the topics were new, but that their style was revolutionary in its simplicity. The Japanese people were able to learn much about their forthcoming advance to modern civilization from the so-called “Fukuzawa books.”
Fukuzawa also wrote many books and articles for scholars. These were mostly published by the university press or through the newspaper he launched in 1882, Jiji-shinpō (The Times). From that time on, Fukuzawa wrote numerous articles and satires on such contemporary issues as politics, international relations, economic and financial problems, educational policy, women’s rights, and a moral code.
His main theme may be summarized in one word—independence—based on his conviction that personal and national independence constituted the real foundation of modern society in the West. In order for Japan to achieve a comparable level of independence, Fukuzawa advocated Western, or practical and scientific, learning, instead of the traditional studies of the Chinese classics. The more educated the people became, the better their national independence could be achieved, with a corresponding increase in public virtue and social morality.
Although Fukuzawa evidently learned much from Western thinkers, he was not blindly attached to Western civilization. He was well aware of its flaws, but realized that Western civilization was technologically superior to the Japanese situation, and so he concluded that the Japanese people should use it as a model. He seemed, however, to have anticipated the difficulties that arose in revolutionizing the minds of his countrymen.
Boyhood and Student Days
Fukuzawa was born in Osaka in 1835. This was a period that had been preceded by two centuries of isolation from the rest of the world. It was to be followed nineteen years later by the opening up of Japan, a time-frame during which the governing bodies of the Tokugawa Shogunate and the 260 domains that had held power for so long were trying desperately to adjust to the profound political and economic changes, including chronic suffering caused by budget deficits, taking place in society.
Fukuzawa’s family lived in Osaka, which at that time was the trading center of Japan. His father worked as a low-level treasury officer representing his home domain of Nakatsu (a province in the northern part of the island of Kyushu). His class in society was that of samurai, but of low rank with a modest hereditary position. The job did not appeal to Fukuzawa’s father, but he remained loyally in service until his sudden death at the age of 44, barely eighteen months after the birth of Fukuzawa.
The widowed mother returned to Nakatsu to bring up her two sons and three daughters. Their allowance reduced them to poverty, and they were obliged to supplement their income with casual paid work in the home. The young Fukuzawa repaired sandals and did other odd jobs. There was no money to send him to school until he was 14, ten years after the usual starting age.
Elementary education at the time was divided between one type of school for male children of samurai, and another for children of commoners. Sons of samurai, aged 5-7, learned the Chinese classics from either their father or some relative and then from masters of Neo-Confucian Learning, who often ran private classes or schools. Secondary and/or higher education was provided either in private schools or in the domain school. Since the mid-eighteenth century, most of the large domains had inaugurated domain schools. The domain of Nakatsu had its own school, but entry was restricted, the rank of the student’s family being an important factor. The son of a low-ranking samurai, even if he were the eldest, did not qualify for enrollment in a domain school.
The learning available inside an isolated Tokugawa Japan was limited by government decree, but to imagine Japan as totally cut off would be to oversimplify. Westerners had reached the shores of Japan ever since the sixteenth century, but they had been barred entry in the early 1640s, when only Dutch traders were allowed to stay on the small man-made island of Dejima in Nagasaki harbor. This contact with the outside world was tightly controlled by the Shogun and special permission was required for merchants, interpreters, and military personnel to go to Dejima. Nonetheless, Western knowledge, especially medical and natural science, somehow filtered through the Shogun’s barriers and was diffused throughout the country. Eighty years before Fukuzawa’s time, several Japanese physicians had pioneered the translation of the Dutch version of J. A. Kulumus’ Tabulae anatomicae (Ontleedkundige tafalen). The commodity of Western Learning was in limited supply, strictly controlled, and sometimes constituted a danger for its students, but it existed nevertheless.
Fukuzawa soon revealed his ability at school. But while he excelled inside the classroom, outside of it his low rank left him vulnerable. When playing with his upper-samurai classmates, the lower-ranking Fukuzawa was the brunt of their arrogance. Upper and lower pedigrees were still strict enough to prohibit marriages between the two groups. Even as a young man Fukuzawa came deeply to resent the inequality of the system.†
The arrival of Admiral Perry’s fleet in the summer of 1853 sent a profound shock throughout the country—to samurai and commoner alike. For Fukuzawa it meant that he was asked by his brother (who had inherited his father’s position) to go to Nagasaki to learn Dutch in order to master Western gunnery. The elder brother wished to give Fukuzawa a unique opportunity and prospect of rendering a service to his lord in the future. Fukuzawa accepted his suggestion with no real understanding of what Dutch was or what threat was represented from the outside—he was, however, most anxious to leave his home town.
They left for Nagasaki one month before the Treaty of Peace and Amity between Japan and the United States (March 1854). Fukuzawa became a servant/student to the councilor of the lord of Nakatsu’s heir, who was there for the same purpose. Though they were hardly able to learn the alphabet there, they were transferred to the “master” of gunnery who really did not understand Dutch very well either. The councilor’s son eventually became jealous of Fukuzawa. He falsified a letter which fabricated a story that Fukuzawa’s mother was ill in Nakatsu, and suggested that Fukuzawa return home. Fukuzawa discovered the falsehood but decided to leave Nagasaki anyway. Having no money, he forged the signature of an official and charged his expenses to the domain warehouse in Osaka. Instead of returning for home, he headed for Edo (now Tokyo), 1,000 kilometers to the north, to continue his studies.
The boat trip across the Inland Sea was to take two weeks owing to its numerous stops. En route, Fukuzawa decided to disembark and walked through the night to reach the Osaka domain warehouse where his brother, Sannosuke, was stationed. Sannosuke persuaded Fukuzawa to stay and enroll in a Dutch-language school, the Teki-juku, which was run by a physician, Ogata Kōan (1810-63). Ogata did not teach medicine exclusively; he was also successful in distributing vaccines in Japan and in educating many young men like Fukuzawa who would later play roles in the building of the modern nation.
Well into Fukuzawa’s three-year stay at the Teki-juku, both he and his older brother fell ill and were sent back to Nakatsu to recover. Sannosuke died there. As he had no experience as a treasurer to take over his father’s old job, Fukuzawa was to succeed Sannosuke in performing guard duty at the Nakatsu castle. He begged his mother to let him return again to study at the Teki-juku and subsequently received official permission to do so.
In the next year, Fukuzawa became the top student at the school and his autobiography recalls fond memories of these schooldays in Osaka.† He and his colleagues mainly studied physics, chemistry, and physiology, and copied and translated a Dutch book on the art of fort-building.
The Move to the Capital and to the World
In the autumn of 1858, Fukuzawa was appointed teacher of Dutch to the vassals of the domain of Nakatsu. The course was to be held in the second domain house of Edo. This time Fukuzawa travelled on foot to Edo with “real money” and a servant. This “servant” was actually Okamoto Setsuzō (1837-77), one of his colleagues who later completed the translation of a statistical table giving figures about the nations of the world.†
July 1859 marked the opening of three ports in Japan according to terms of the Treaty of Amity and Commerce that had been signed in the previous year with the United States and some European nations. Soon after the opening of the ports, Fukuzawa went to visit Kanagawa (now Yokohama) where he was disappointed to find that he could not read the signs or make himself understood. English and not Dutch was the language of the port cities. He then decided to learn English, but he made slow progress since he could find neither a good teacher nor a good dictionary.
At this time when, within the terms of the Treaty, the Shogunate decided to dispatch envoys to the United States, Fukuzawa seized the opportunity to volunteer his services to Admiral Kimura Yoshitake (1830-1901). After thirty-seven days at sea on a voyage marked by consecutive storms, they reached San Francisco in the spring of 1860. During his one-month stay, Fukuzawa’s most significant acquisitions were a Webster’s dictionary and a photograph of himself with the photographer’s daughter. This dictionary, recommended by the interpreter, John Manjirō,‡ is deemed to have been Fukuzawa’s first intellectual weapon in understanding modern civilization.
After his return, Fukuzawa was employed in the foreign affairs office of the Shogunate in translating diplomatic documents. The next year he married O-kin, the daughter of an upper-rank samurai from his home domain. In 1867 Fukuzawa was able to go to the United States for a second time. The mission visited Washington, D.C. and New York to negotiate on the unsettled purchase of a warship from the United States Government. Fukuzawa’s real priority was to acquire textbooks for students who were forced to copy their foreign texts by hand. He bought as many books as possible within his budget.
Fukuzawa’s most important voyage was his second, in 1862, when he accompanied a mission to Europe, whose assignment was to negotiate the postponement of additional port openings and to secure an adjustment of the exchange rate. The official mission failed on both accounts, but Fukuzawa managed to travel to France, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, Germany, Russia, and Portugal. In his capacity as translator, he observed many new things and institutions such as hospitals, arsenals, mines and schools. Based on what he saw and read in this year-long tour, Fukuzawa published the first volume of his Seiyō jijō (The Conditions in the West), which became a national bestseller.
Fukuzawa realized that technical progress was an essential component of the prosperity he witnessed in Europe. He believed that a revolution in people’s knowledge and thinking was a fundamental requirement for similar progress in Japan. While in London, he sent a letter to a friend at home stating that the most urgent thing to do was to educate talented young people in things Western rather than to purchase machinery and armaments. He decided to postpone the writing of the second volume of Seiyō jijō and instead translated John Hill Burton’s Political Economy. In this 1867 book, to which he gave the title The Outside Volume (Gaihen), he focused upon the “corner-stones and main pillars,” that is to say, the intangible social network, constituting civilized society.† It was in effect another introduction to “the condition of the West.”
After his return to Japan, Fukuzawa began to set up his own school. The student body grew rapidly to 100 by 1867. His duties with the Shogunate were only six days a month, a circumstance that enabled him to use the other days for reading, writing, and teaching. The popularity of his accounts of Western life indicated interest and tolerance of the outside world. There were other groups, however, who wanted to expel the “barbarians” together with any Japanese scholars interested in Western studies. The fanatic jōi rōnin (breakaway groups of samurai who wanted to expel foreigners) were apt to murder those who represented Western ideals. People like Fukuzawa were at risk. In fact Ōmura Masujirō (born in 1820), undersecretary of the Emperor’s army, was killed by them in 1869.
The Encouragement of Learning
In this tense atmosphere, and amid the sounds of gunfire from a battle only a few kilometers from Keio-gijuku, Fukuzawa continued his lectures on political economy as usual.† It was 4 July 1868 and the Restoration forces were challenging the tottering Tokugawa regime. Fukuzawa told his students, reduced from 100 to 18 on that day, “Whatever happens in the country, whatever warfare harasses our land, we will never relinquish our commitment to Western Learning. As long as this school of ours stands, Japan has become a civilized nation of the world” (The Autobiography).
These words explain clearly what Fukuzawa had in mind—Western Learning and education. Soon after the defeat of the Tokugawa forces in Edo, the new authorities asked Fukuzawa to join the government service. He declined the offer and never became a partisan of the new government, a decision which gave him much more freedom in judging and writing about the course of the emerging political parties. In the years that followed, he devoted himself exclusively to teaching at Keio-gijuku and to helping initiate modern schools elsewhere. He also translated and/or wrote pamphlets about the West and elementary textbooks on a surprisingly wide variety of subjects, including physics, geography, military arts, the British Parliament, and international relations.
Among his books, Gakumon no susume (An Encouragement of Learning) is the most celebrated. It was originally a series of pamphlets written and published between 1872 and 1876. The first essay, which achieved an enormous success, was the manifestation of Fukuzawa’s thesis to the general public. The opening lines read: “Heaven, it is said, does not create one person above or below another. [...] the question of the difference between wise and stupid is traceable to the degree of learning” (p. 3)
What is important here is Fukuzawa’s concept of education—the “practical learning that is closer to ordinary human needs,” or, in a word jitsugaku. In his judgment it consisted first of learning the forty-seven Japanese kana syllabary, the methods of accounting and the abacus, the ways to use weights and measures and, after these fundamentals, such subjects as geography, physics, history, economics, and ethics.
The subjects in the first group had been taught in the terakoya, which literally means “temple school.” Since the sixteenth century the terakoya’s connection with Buddhism had gradually diminished. In the next century it became a primary school for commoners’ children and daughters of samurai, particularly those of low rank; the teachers of were such people as poor samurai, village headmen, or Shinto priests. Buddhist teachers were rather scarce in the eighteenth century. The terakoya continued to mushroom in the first half of the nineteenth century. Aware of this, Fukuzawa chose to put more emphasis on the subjects in the second group, those areas that were more developed in the West than in the East, in his modernized education program.
Along with this orientation he sharply criticized the traditional Japanese school curriculum, which emphasized the study of ancient texts and the enjoyment and writing of poetry, as providing impractical pursuits. He argued for the necessity of Western education, urging boys and girls who had just learned kana letters to consult translated textbooks and, at a more advanced stage, to learn to read the Western language editions. In his own school he relied on Western authors, and by 1890 had hired foreign teachers.
Fukuzawa felt that jitsugaku would contribute to personal independence, but that “freedom and independence refer not only to the private individual, but to the nation as well.” Believing that these elements were human rights, he famously concluded:
[T]he principle of Heaven grants freedom from bondage to each individual person, and each individual country is free from bondage as well. Consequently, if there is some threat which might infringe upon a country’s freedom, that country should not hesitate to take up arms against all the countries of the world. (pp. 7-8)
It can be understood from this why he also translated military manuals.
Fukuzawa’s style in An Encouragement of Learning and in other textbooks and manuals was completely new to Japan. In the past, books had been written in a Chinese script with characters difficult for ordinary people to understand. His ingenuous style was colloquial and comprehensible even for the less educated. In the face of the general skeptical opinion that the Japanese language did not lend itself to oratory, he started public speaking and conducted open debates. He built a meeting hall at Keio-gijuku where he, his colleagues, and students held many gatherings and debating contests. This small building, the Enzetsukan, still stands on the campus at Mita.
The Theory of Civilization
In a letter dated 23 February 1874 to one of the Keio fellows, Shōda Heigorō (1847-1922), Fukuzawa wrote:
I don’t think I’ll take on any more translations. This year I’m going to read and work without worrying about the hundreds of miscellaneous things. My health is getting better, and my knowledge will be exhausted unless I study more. I shall spend about a year on my studies.
This was in anticipation of reading the references and drafting his magnum opus, Bunmeiron no gairyaku (An Outline of a Theory of Civilization), which appeared the following year.†
Unlike the other works by Fukuzawa, which were mainly for public consumption, this book was intended for Japanese intellectuals. At that time the intelligentsia were divided into several camps—some were very enthusiastic about introducing an ideal Western model of civilization, others were dragging their feet or even opposed to modern values and principles. Fukuzawa wanted to clarify the terms of the argument and to persuade them to present a common front in favor of modernity.
While Fukuzawa was a prolific writer who produced an enormous quantity of work, it took an exceptional effort to finish this book. The manuscripts, which are preserved today, show that he revised them again and again. The style was scholarly and hence not so easy to read, at times eloquent, and presenting all points of view. Nonetheless, his main theme was crystal clear: self-sufficiency and national independence. “Civilization” was both the end and the means to independence.
What, then, is “civilization”?
In its broad sense “civilization” means not only comfort in daily necessities but also the refining of knowledge and the cultivation of virtue so as to elevate human life to a higher plane. … [Thus] it refers to the attainment of both material well-being and the elevation of the human spirit. … [But] since what produces man’s well-being and refinement is knowledge and virtue, civilization ultimately means the progress of man’s knowledge and virtue. (pp. 45-48)
Fukuzawa then took great pains to distinguish knowledge and virtue. He defined virtue as morality, and knowledge as intelligence, adding that in English they are termed “morals” and “intellect,” respectively. He specified these definitions so as to avoid any association with Neo-Confucian concepts and to signal his break with traditional thinking.
Traditional Japanese teaching promoted private virtue and benevolent rule as imparted by the Chinese classics. Overall, the classics were concerned mainly with the art of governing—the exemplary ruler, usually the king or emperor, benevolently governing his people and land by his personal competence and virtue. The people, on the other hand, remained uneducated and dependent on the ruler. Most traditional Japanese scholars, in both official and private academies, taught young people how to read, but they did not encourage any original thought or novel ideas. The courses had nothing to do with political economy: such subjects were considered either “vulgar” or inappropriate for the young. Teaching in terakoya was assuredly practical, but not very scientific. Knowledge gained there at best only contributed to personal intellect and profit.
As indicated above, Buddhism in Japan had lost its authority and educational function in the previous centuries. Buddhist believers had become mere subjects of the political authority, namely the Tokugawa Shogunate. Thus, not only the Neo-Confucian scholars and Buddhists but also the commoners and samurai depended on their hereditary positions. Most of them were indifferent to public matters. They were governed by, credulous of, and blindly faithful to the ruler upon whom all the power was vested. In Fukuzawa’s estimation, this was the most radically negative feature of Japanese civilization.
In Fukuzawa’s thinking, virtue and knowledge could each be divided into two parts, private and public. He was convinced that every person has an innate integrity and potential talent. But while it was quite possible to acquire private knowledge in school, it was impossible to make a person use his private virtue publicly. Looking at history, he saw that the ruled had their virtue bottled up inside them: it could rarely surface—at best, only within the family unit. Private knowledge, on the other hand, could be transformed into public knowledge or wisdom. People had begun to recognize empirical laws and science, and not only the natural but also moral (or social) sciences. “In Western civilization,” Fukuzawa wrote, “the social fabric includes various theories that have developed side by side, have drawn closer to one another, and finally united into one fabric of civilization—in the process giving birth to freedom and independence.” Thus while Japanese thinking had been concentrating on the impossible task of creating public virtue, the West had progressed in the trajectory of public knowledge or wisdom. That is why he revered Western Learning and criticized Neo-Confucian teaching in his country.
In this regard, Japanese civilization lagged behind the West. Adopting the theory of human development as having advanced in stages from “barbarous” to “half-civilized” to “civilized,” he placed Japan (along with China) in the half-civilized stage. Although “advanced” and “backward” are relative terms, the distance between East and West was assuredly great. Since civilization meant the development of the inner spirit, namely the virtue and knowledge, of the entire nation, it was impossible, in Fukuzawa’s thinking, to be able to catch up with the more advanced nations simply by purchasing modern arms, machinery, and external structures. Hence it followed for Fukuzawa that “the Western Civilization [is] Our Goal.”
In the final chapter of An Outline of a Theory of Civilization, Fukuzawa turned again to the problem of “national independence” which was a serious concern for all Japanese intellectuals. Japan, he believed, was in reality only a small far-Eastern country at that time, and hence did not require the support of great military power. He concluded:
Moreover, the arguments for national polity, for Christianity, and for Confucianism … are all insufficient to bolster people’s hearts. What, then, will? I say, there is only one thing: namely, to establish our goal and advance toward civilization. … [T]he way in which to preserve this independence cannot be sought anywhere except in civilization. (pp. 253-54)
Hard Years, 1877-81
The number of students at Keio-gijuku climbed back to more than 300 between 1871 and 1876, then began to decline again, in part because of the unsettled domestic scene. As most of the students were samurai, a decision by the government in 1871 to abolish domains and reduce the hereditary privileges and stipends of the lords and vassals also affected the amount of money that could be spent on education. In five years, this process of disenfranchisement of the samurai class was completed. The shizoku (ex-samurai and their families) were given a compensating debenture, the amount of which was modest compared with that given to the kazoku (aristocrats) and the higher-ranking shizoku. The majority of shizoku—the medium and lower ranks—were not satisfied with the arrangement. Only Fukuzawa was pleased to declare himself a commoner (heimin) and declined any compensation.
During this period, Fukuzawa’s students, most of whom were samurai, had to withdraw from the school because of their lost privileges and worsening poverty due to inflation. Those who came from Satsuma returned to join the Rebellion there and were either killed or wounded. In dire financial straits, Fukuzawa supplemented the school’s budget with his personal income and also asked for loans from the government and private sources. No one, however, was willing to lend the Keiogijuku any money; some suggested that it should be dissolved. His fellow teachers responded by voluntarily offering a reduction of their salary by two-thirds. In due course, the number of students gradually recovered from a low of 200 in 1878 to as many as 500 in 1881. Interestingly, the ratio of commoners enrolled grew from a third to more than a half by 1875. Fukuzawa later conjectured that this was due to the post-war inflation that raised the wealthy farmers’ incomes sufficiently to send their sons to the Keio-gijuku.
As the government was heavily dependent on fixed land taxes for its revenues, it was also suffering financial deficits. As a measure to reduce expenditure, it decided to sell government factories and enterprises. When it was announced that these properties had been sold off at incredibly low prices, civil rights leaders severely criticized the government. A rumor appeared in the press that Fukuzawa, with the financial help of Iwasaki Yatarō (1835-85) of the Mitsubishi Corporation, was urging a coup d’état by Ōkuma Shigenobu (1838-1922), one of the government members. In a counter move, Itō Hirobumi (1841-1909), another member of the government, purged Ōkuma from the cabinet. The real reason for this political drama was a struggle for control over input on legislation for the future constitution. The man who was able to exercise this control was expected to be the de facto prime-minister. Several Keio graduates who had worked under Ōkuma had suggested a constitutional monarchy on the British model, while the Ito faction preferred the Prussian type. This group was responding to, and afraid of, Fukuzawa, the Keio fellows, and students, since Fukuzawa himself often expressed active support for Ōkuma’s policies.
Criticisms and Appreciation
After his political victory, Itō suspended legislating any constitution and opening of the Diet for ten years, and canceled the sale of government properties. Before their split, Itō, Okuma and other members of the government had arranged with Fukuzawa to start a newspaper to help promote the early opening of the Diet, but this too was shelved. Fukuzawa decided to proceed alone and launched his Jiji-shinpō on 1 March 1882. In the inaugural article, he declared that this quality newspaper would remain impartial and independent.
From that time onward most of Fukuzawa’s writings, not only serious articles but also satire, appeared in the Jiji-shinpō. He addressed all kinds of contemporary issues—politics, domestic and international issues, political economy, education and educational policy, the moral code, particularly women’s rights, and so forth. These articles and satires fill nearly half of the twenty-two volumes of his Collected Works.
In a broad overview of his works, it can be seen that Fukuzawa had always unswervingly advocated individual and national independence. Yet even in the 1870s there were controversies over his discussions of moral issues concerning loyalty, money matters, and so forth.† As well, serious criticisms have recently been leveled at his articles from the1880s onwards. Such criticisms have insinuated serious doubts as to Fukuzawa’s real intentions and his character. The brunt of the reactions had been against his articles on Japan’s role in Asia. These criticisms have nearly obscured the impact of his less controversial articles—for instance, the ones about women’s equality—and have placed Fukuzawa in the very category to which he had always been opposed.
One such article, and perhaps the most disputed, is his 1885 “Datsuaron” (Departure from Asia). There Fukuzawa stated:
Our immediate policy, therefore, should be to lose no time in waiting for the enlightenment of our neighboring countries [Korea and China] so as to join them in developing Asia, but rather to depart from their ranks and cast our lot with the civilized countries of the West [....] We should deal with them exactly as the Westerners do.
Some readers today react strongly to this passage. Yet it can be more satisfactorily understood if it is seen in its proper context. Fukuzawa’s seemingly aggressive stance against Japan’s Asian neighbors reflected the changing international relations in East Asia during those years. Moreover, Fukuzawa’s concern with Korea had its own history.
Fukuzawa had been acquainted with the Korean reformists, Pak Yong-hyo and Kim Ok-kyun, since 1881. Kim (1851-94) had particularly close contacts with Fukuzawa when he came to Japan three times between 1882 and 1884, receiving much advice and every assistance from Fukuzawa during his visits (each one lasting several months). Fukuzawa recommended that talented young men should be educated, that the people should be enlightened through a “newspaper,” and that Korean sovereignty and independence from China should be secured.
In accordance with these recommendations, Kim, in the first instance, sent a group of young students to the Keio-gijuku, as well as to a military academy, and to other Japanese schools. Secondly, a newspaper, or more properly speaking, a governmental bulletin, was published three times a month beginning in November 1883 through the efforts of Inoue Kakugorō (1860-1938), who was dispatched to Korea by Fukuzawa in December 1882 and appointed project adviser by the king of Korea. The third objective, however, was extremely difficult to achieve; following the 1882 anti-Japanese revolt by the Korean army, China had declared her suzerainty and exercised a firm grip over the Korean court.
Fukuzawa’s expectation for Korean progress faded as Korean dependence upon China grew. “Traditions” were once again the lifelong enemy of Fukuzawa. In such a hopeless situation, he saw a parting of the ways—Japan choosing change, with Korea and China resisting it. Thus a more sympathetic view of Fukuzawa’s suggestion of Japan’s departure from Asia can be sustained with the knowledge that, for several years, his efforts were directed at aiding enlightenment and reform in Korea. Fukuzawa’s articles on Korea after 1881 were numerous, but always emphasizing its sovereignty and national independence. On the contrary, in “Departure from Asia,” he criticized Chinese imperialism and rejected giving China any special consideration simply on the grounds that it was a neighboring country.
Fukuzawa’s concerns for women is apparent in his main writings, and are now collected in Fukuzawa Yukichi on Japanese Women. From today’s perspective his position on women’s rights seems somewhat conservative. But no one can deny that he was the only Meiji thinker who tirelessly argued for women’s equality. In addition to several earlier articles, he wrote much to the same effect in the late 1880s. His focus was directed to where the biggest problem lay in Japan—such as women’s rights in the home, the growth of their independence there, as well as elimination of the their subjection to men in society.
Fukuzawa criticized the customary ill conduct of men towards women, and condemned the remaining vestiges of polygamy. Both, he argued, qualified as among the most uncivilized customs of Japanese society. Advocating fundamental equality for women and their equal ownership of the family property, he wrote:
Therefore, to teach them [women] at least an outline of economics and law is the first requirement after giving them a general education. Figuratively speaking, it will be like providing the women of civilized society with a pocket dagger for self-protection.
Some recent comments concerning his arguments on women suggest that Fukuzawa held too narrow a view. For example, he never suggested public activism for women; he mainly encouraged middle-class women compared to those of the lower classes; he did not touch on the issue of women in the labor force (most of whom worked in wretched conditions); and, lastly, he did not condemn the prostitution of poor girls or their migration overseas, since he regarded it as preferable to starvation. Despite the limitations of Fukuzawa’s definition of equality of women, considering their position in his day, his arguments were appreciated by women at the time, as is shown by the following letter passed anonymously by a lady to Mrs. Fukuzawa at the time of his funeral:
Every time I read Sensei’s articles on Japanese women in Jiji-shinpō, I feel grateful that he is our real friend. Indeed, it is our deep sorrow to lose Sensei now [...] With my tears, I sincerely hope that Sensei’s desires shall permeate our country for ever.
To sum up, in his time Fukuzawa was a sensei not only to boys and girls in schools but also to Japanese men and women in society at large, and he is still our teacher today.
Nishikawa Shunsaku, Former Director
Fukuzawa Memorial Center of Keio University
Professor Emeritus, Keio University
