A History of Japan: From Stone Age to Superpower (89 page)

However, true miracles have no logical explanation. Japan’s achievements do. Pure chance has certainly played its part, but more often than not Japan’s achievements have come about through its response to circumstance. That is, in a sense Japan helps make its own luck, capitalising on good fortune and overcoming adversity. In general its pattern of response to circumstance has been based on values and practices rooted in history.

Paradoxically, though a tendency to fall back on traditional values might seem to constrain Japan’s variety of response, one of its key traditional values is pragmatism. This entails responding to the particulars of a situation on a flexible and practical case-by-case basis as opposed to being shackled by some abstract set of principles that pre-determine a course of action. Japan has had certain constraining codes of principle, such as the much exaggerated and idealised ‘way of the warrior’, but in general the Japanese – including many warriors in practice – have preferred pragmatism over rigid idealism. This gives them a certain freedom of movement at individual level, and at a national level minimises internal conflict between idealists and allows the nation to present a relatively united front. Ever since its earliest days in the Yamato period there has been almost no religious conflict in Japan, and very little in the way of
moral censure. Instead there has been a lot of give-and-take on matters that often divide westerners, a mutual tolerance which among other things has made it easier for individuals in Japan to work together.

There have occasionally been forces that seem to be opposed to pragmatism, such as intolerance, absolutes, and ideals, but these have not dominated its history. The Tokugawa regime, for example, showed great intolerance towards those who defied its policies of orthodoxy, but this was generally confined to outward form. If outward behaviour met acceptable standards, there was scope permitted for considerable freedom at a less formal level. It was, again paradoxically, a type of intolerance prepared to compromise in practice under certain circumstances. Absolutes such as reverence for the emperor in Meiji and prewar Japan have been the exception rather than the rule, and in any case such ‘absolutes’ have in practice been (ab)used for practical purposes, as with the emperor system. In general things are seen as relative, and it is subtle shades of grey that usually prevail over simplistic black and white. For example, the absolute nature of the Christian God is one major reason why the religion has not taken root in Japan, though it is tolerated and given due respect. Christians have their causes to fight for and their idealised goals to aim for, and so too – like everyone – do the Japanese, pragmatists though they be. However, in Japan’s case there has almost always been great scope for compromise and flexibility on the way to achieving those aims and winning those causes.

In particular, there has been a readiness to try out different things, mixing old and new, native and foreign, till the best mix is achieved. Moreover, the Japanese seem to have a great ability to ‘Japanise’ the new and foreign to make them more easily blended with tradition and more acceptable. The Meiji state-builders exemplified this, mixing new foreign elements such as democracy and western technology with old methods of Tokugawa authoritarianism and even older practices in state creation from the Yamato-Nara era, which in some cases were in turn adapted from Chinese practices. The Tokugawa sh
gunate had itself drawn on earlier policies used by Hideyoshi and Nobunaga, who had in turn borrowed some of their ideas from Ashikaga Yoshimitsu.

Learning from others is one of Japan’s great strengths. At a national level this is particularly so when those others seem to have something stronger or better than Japan does. It has adopted, adapted, and frequently improved, making the strengths of a potential competitor or foe into its own strengths. This is not just a case of ‘know thy enemy’: it is a case of knowing what makes thy enemy a threat and then using his own
strengths against him. More than a thousand years ago Japan learned much from China, to the point where it was no longer a vassal nation but considered itself a superior one. It repeated the process to some extent in the Tokugawa period, learning the use of firearms from the west. In the Meiji period it furiously studied western imperial powers till it became one itself. After the war it learned much from America – admittedly with little choice to start with – but went on beyond its compulsory lessons to the point where it reversed roles and became widely recognised as the master.

The enthusiasm to learn from others is part of a broader respect for the power of learning and education in general. This has always been the case, but particularly obviously since the Tokugawa period. If you are educated, you can achieve things better than if you are not. This is beneficial both to the individual and the nation. From the state’s point of view, it is true you also become potentially more difficult to control and coordinate, but this can be overcome by controlling knowledge itself, so that what you learn is ‘safe’. The Meiji and early Sh
wa governments showed clearly that they recognised the importance of controlling education, and the government since late Sh
wa has displayed a not dissimilar awareness. (This is a classic illustration of cultural theory, which holds that knowledge is to a significant extent a political product.)

Education as a means of achieving success is a reflection of a general wish to achieve. This dates particularly from the Meiji period, when successism that combined both individual and national interests was greatly encouraged. However, an achievement-orientation is also seen earlier, in for example the dynamics of Tokugawa merchants, the material drive of the Tokugawa peasant, or earlier still in the often ruthless ambitions of sundry medieval warlords. Amongst the nation’s leaders, it is seen as early as the Yamato period.

Fortunately for Japan, its rulers have not found it too difficult to merge individual and national interests, for the national cause has always been a strong one. Ever since Japan was founded there has been a clear wish to make the nation strong and respected – at least respected by China, for awareness of the wider world was relatively limited till the arrival of Europeans in the mid-sixteenth century. Europeans’ arrival stimulated further a sense of national identity, aided by insularity and a strong insider–outsider mentality (which was itself reinforced by Tokugawa policies that made association with strangers a cause of possible punishment). The return of westerners in the mid-nineteenth century brought
forth a much stronger and more widespread type of nationalism, with the public at large committed to making their nation great and powerful. Indoctrination helped, but the buds of nationalism were there already in most of the public, brought to flower by a sense of crisis. The sense of national crisis soon turned to a sense of national pride. The fact that national pride returned so quickly after Japan’s setback by defeat in the war is testimony not only to the depth of national spirit but also to the Japanese quality of resilience. National pride has been a little dented since the 1990s and will need some re-nurturing, but it is there deep down.

I should add that in recent years many scholars have claimed that nations are modern creations basically arising after the emergence of capitalism, and that nationalism is something sinister. I personally do not fully accept either of these propositions. Though modern nation-states may differ from earlier prototypes, I still believe the term ‘nation’ can be applied in substance to such prototypes. Nor do I believe that nationalism is necessarily a bad thing. It is the way it is (ab)used that matters. In my view it can also be used to provide a healthy and specific focus or framework for individuals to identify with amidst the potentially disorientingly vast global context, and can also permit a healthy competition between nations just as companies compete in the business world – but of course with necessary checks and balances and in line with accepted international standards, as in the business world.

Japan’s rulers have also benefited from having a public relatively willing to tone down individual interests for some greater cause. Japan’s groupism has been much exaggerated, but it is true that there has been a greater awareness shown in Japan than in many nations of the strength of the group. It is no good having a team of strong horses if they do not actually work as a team, and end up all pulling in different directions, as so often seems to happen in the west. Moreover, every team needs a leader, a coordinator, and this too is something the Japanese have recognised. There have been cases in Japan, especially in times of crisis, of extremely powerful and dominant leaders, but in general their preference is for one who can bring a team together, a skilled pragmatist who can compromise here and balance interests there, often keeping a low profile, and get the job done. This has been helped by Japan’s preference for a distinction between formal authority and actual power. It is often the faceless people behind the scenes who make most of the decisions, benefiting from a greater freedom of movement than that permitted to those formally in authority.

For these various reasons western-style democracy and concepts of individual rights have only ever had limited appeal in Japan, at least until very recent years. Of course the Japanese, like anyone, have preferred freedom to repression, but they have shown a greater readiness than most westerners to accept limits. The survival of the group means the survival of at least the majority of its individual members. It is in the interests of each individual to preserve the group – one main reason why harmony has become so important. But the group can be destroyed if any one individual is allowed too much freedom. This will necessarily impinge on the freedoms of the others, and destroy the balance that holds the group together. The western world has the same sort of idea in theory, as seen for example in Rousseau’s ‘social contract’, but in practice – as if to convince itself of the wonders of democracy and equality – it often seems to prioritise the interests of minorities, especially if they are seen as somehow disadvantaged. Japan has never done that. The only ‘minority’ it has ever really respected is the numerically minor ruling elite.

All this does not mean that Japan has never had its moments of naked self-interest. The medieval samurai provide numerous examples of this. But it does mean that over time it has found muted – or better still, guided – self-interest to be better. The self-interest of the medieval period was harshly suppressed, at least in terms of its naked expression, by the Tokugawa regime. This was a particularly important period for the Japanese, who became accustomed to obeying authority and to the idea of real collective responsibility (though in theory this had been the legal norm for many centuries before). Open pursuit of self-interest was revived during the subsequent Meiji period, but harnessed by the government for the good of the nation, to achieve the best mix of democracy and authoritarianism. Of course the degree of authoritarianism was not to the liking of some Japanese, especially during the prewar years, but in general there has been acceptance of the fact that one can have a surfeit of democracy. There was genuine widespread sympathy for Yoshida Shigeru when he expressed such a comment about the early Occupation reforms. There has been a genuine willingness among the Japanese public to allow the nation’s leaders a larger and more intrusive role than in many western nations – though that has been put to the test since the 1990s.