http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fukuzawa_Yukichi
The following text was originally published in Prospects: the quarterly review of comparative education (UNESCO: International Bureau of Education), vol. XXIII, no. 3/4, 1993, p. 493–506.
©UNESCO: International Bureau of Education, 2000
This document may be reproduced free of charge as long as acknowledgement is made of the source.
FUKUZAWA YUKICHI
(1835–1901)
Nishikawa Shunsaku
In Japan, one can see a portrait of Fukuzawa Yukichi 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 such a man 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 travelled through Europe for almost a year before the Meiji Restoration (1868).
On these journeys he was able to perceive the basic ‘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, Keio-gijuku, which was to produce
many talented graduates in business, industry and politics.
Fukuzawa published numerous pamphlets and textbooks that were used in the 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 the style was revolutionary in its
simplicity. The Japanese people were able to learn much about the forthcoming 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, Jiji-shimpo [Times], that he launched in 1882.
From that time on, Fukuzawa wrote numerous articles and satires on various contemporary issues, such 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’—since he believed that personal and national independence was the real foundation of modern society in the West. In order to achieve this self-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 asserted, with a corresponding increase in public virtue and social morality. Although Fukuzawa apparently 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 he concluded that the
Japanese people could 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 and was to be followed nineteen years later by the opening up of Japan. The governing bodies of the Shogunate and the 260 domains which had held power for so long had not been able to adjust to the profound changes taking place in society. They were trying desperately to tackle the chronic suffering brought about by the budget deficit by means of
political and economic changes. Fukuzawa’s family lived in Osaka, at that time the trading centre 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. Fukuzawa himself 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 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 domanial school. Since the mid-eighteenth century, most of the large
domains had inaugurated domanial schools. The domain of Nakatsu had it 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 enrolment in the domanial school.
The learning available inside an isolated Japan was limited by government decree, but to
imagine Japan as totally cut off would be to oversimplify. Since the sixteenth century, Westerners
had visited Japan, but from the early 1640s had been barred entry. On the small man-made island of
Dejima, only Dutch traders were allowed to stay. This contact with the outside world was tightly
controlled by the Shogun and special permission was required for merchants, interpreters and the
military 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 tafelen).
The commodity
of Western learning was in limited supply, strictly controlled and sometimes constituted a danger
for its students, but it existed nevertheless.
When Fukuzawa attended school he soon revealed his ability. While he excelled inside the
classroom, outside his low rank left him vulnerable. When playing with his upper-samurai
classmates, the lower-ranking Fukuzawa was the brunt of their arrogance. Class divisions were still
strict enough to prohibit marriages between the two groups. Even as a young man Fukuzawa was
aware of and deeply resented the inequality of the system.
The arrival of the United States 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 expected him to render 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. Fukuzawa became a servant/student to the councillor of Nakatsu’s heir, who
was there for the same purpose. As he was hardly able to learn the alphabet there, he was
transferred to the ‘master’ of gunnery who really did not understand Dutch very well.
Although there was no vast progress in Dutch studies in Nagasaki, the councillor’s son was
jealous of Fukuzawa. He fabricated a story that Fukuzawa’s mother was ill in Nakatsu, showed him3
a falsified letter, 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 domanial warehouse in Osaka. Instead of heading for home, he went to
Edo (now Tokyo), 1,000 kilometers to the north, to continue his studies.
The boat trip across the Inland Sea took two weeks owing to the numerous stops. En
route, Fukuzawa disembarked and walked through the night to reach the Osaka domanial
warehouse where his brother, Sannosuke, was stationed. He persuaded Fukuzawa to stay and enrol
in a Dutch-language school at Tekijuku, which was run by a physician, Ogata Koan (1810-63). The
school did not teach medicine exclusively; rather Ogata was successful in distributing vaccines in
Japan and educating many young men like Fukuzawa who would later participate in the building of
the modern nation.
During Fukuzawa’s three-year stay at Tekijuku, both he and his older brother fell ill and
were sent back to Nakatsu to recover. But Sannosuke died and Fukuzawa succeeded him in
performing guard duty at the castle, since he had no experience as a treasurer to take over his
father’s old job. He begged his mother to let him return again to study at Tekijuku 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 his schooldays.
It is worth mentioning that, with his colleagues, he
studied mainly physics, chemistry and physiology, and copied and translated a Dutch book on the
art of fort-building.
The move to the capital and 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 domanial house of Edo. This time Fukuzawa
travelled on foot to Edo with ‘real money’ and a servant. This ‘servant’ was actually his colleague
who wished to go to Edo and who later completed the translation of a statistical table giving figures
about all nations.
July 1859 marked the opening of three ports in Japan according to terms of the Treaty of
Amity and Commerce, signed in the previous year with the United States and some European
nations. Soon after the opening, Fukuzawa went to visit Kanagawa (now Yokohama) and was
disappointed to find that he could not read the signs or make himself understood. English was the
language of the port city. He then decided to learn English, but his progress was slow since he
could find neither a good teacher nor a good dictionary.
Within the terms of the Treaty the Shogunate decided to dispatch envoys to the United
States. Fukuzawa immediately volunteered 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 Manjiro,
is deemed to have been
Fukuzawa’s intellectual weapon in understanding modern civilization.
After his return, Fukuzawa was employed in the foreign affairs office of the Shogunate
translating diplomatic documents. The next year he married Okin, the daughter of an upper-rank
samurai from his home domain. Once again, in 1867, Fukuzawa was able to go to the United
States. This time the mission visited Washington and New York to negotiate on the unsettled
purchase of a warship from the United States’ Government. Fukuzawa’s real aim was to acquire
textbooks for students who were forced to copy their texts by hand. He bought as many books as
possible within his budget.
Fukuzawa’s most important voyage was with the mission to Europe, whose assignment
was to negotiate the postponement of additional port openings and an adjustment of the exchange4
rate. It failed on both accounts, but travelled through France, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands,
Germany, Russia and Portugal. Fukuzawa, acting as translator, observed many new things and
institutions such as hospitals, arsenals, mines and schools. Based on what he saw and read in the
year-long tour, Fukuzawa published the first volume of Seiyo jijo [‘Things western’, or ‘The
conditions of the west’],
which described his immediate discoveries. It became a national
bestseller.
Fukuzawa realized that technical progress had contributed to the prosperity he had
witnessed in Europe. He began to believe that revolutionary changes in people’s knowledge and
thinking were a fundamental requirement for similar progress in Japan. While in London, he sent a
letter to his friend at home stating that the most urgent thing to do was to educate talented young
people rather than to purchase machinery and armaments. He decided to postpone the writing of
the second volume of Seiyo jijo and instead translated J.H. Burton’s Political economy. In this
1867 book, to which he gave the title The outside volume, the ‘corner-stones and main pillars’, the
intangible social network constituting civilized society was discussed.
It was indeed an
introduction to ‘the condition of the West’.
After his return to Japan, Fukuzawa began to set up his own school. The number of
students grew rapidly to 100 by 1867. His duties with the Shogunate were only six days a month,
so he was apparently able to use the other days for reading, writing and teaching. The popularity of
his accounts of Western life indicated an interest and tolerance of the outside world. Other groups,
however, wanted to expel the ‘barbarians’, together with any Japanese scholars interested in
Western studies. The fanatic joi ronin (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, Omura (see footnote 5) was killed by them in 1869.
The encouragement of learning
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 hold on Western learning. As long as this school of ours stands, Japan remains a civilized nation of the world’.
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,
which gave him much more freedom in judging and writing about the course of both parties. In the
years that followed, he devoted himself exclusively either to teaching at Keio or 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 such as 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 essays written and published between 1872 and 1876. The
first essay, which was an enormous success, was the manifestation of Fukuzawa’s thesis to the
general public. The opening lines read: ‘It is said that heaven does not create one man above or
below another man. Any existing distinction between the wise and the stupid, between the rich and
the poor, comes down to a matter of education.’
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 opinion it consisted first of5
learning the forty-seven Japanese kana letters, methods of accounting and the abacus, the way to
use weights and measures, and then such subjects as geography, physics, history, economics and
ethics.
The subjects in the first group had been taught in the terakoya, which literally means ‘the
temple school’. Its connection with Buddhism had been gradually relinquished since the
seventeenth century, and in the next century it became a primary school for commoners’ children
and daughters of samurai, particularly those of low rank. The teachers were people such as poor
samurai, village headman or Shinto priests. Buddhist teachers were rather scarce in the eighteenth
century. The terakoya mushroomed in the first half of the nineteenth century. Fukuzawa was aware
of this, so apparently he put more stress on the subjects in the second group which could be taught
in a modern school.
He felt that these areas had been well developed in the West but not in the
East.
He bitterly criticized the traditional Japanese school curriculum, emphasizing ancient texts
and the enjoyment and writing of poetry, as providing impractical pursuits. He argued that Western
education was necessary and urged boys and girls who had just learned kana letters to consult
translated textbooks and, at a more advanced stage, to read a Western language. In his school he
relied on Western authors, and by 1890 had hired foreign teachers.
Fukuzawa felt that jitsugaku could contribute to personal independence, but that ‘freedom
and independence refer not only to the private self, but to the nation as well’.
Fukuzawa also believed that these elements were a human right and concluded:
Each individual man and each individual country, according to the principles of natural reason, is free from bondage.
Consequently, if there is some threat that might infringe upon a country’s freedom, then that country should not
hesitate even to take up arms against all the countries of the world.
It can be understood from this why he even 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. The new style was colloquial and
comprehensible even for the less educated. In the face of the general opinion that the Japanese
language did not lend itself to oratory, he started public speaking and conducted open debates. He
was a prime exponent of the art of public speaking in the presence of skeptics and built a meeting
hall at Keio where he, his fellows and students held many gatherings and debating contests. This
small hall, the Enzetsukan, still stands on the campus at Mita.
The theory of civilization
In a letter to one of his friends, dated 23 February 1874, 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 enlightenment, this
book was intended for Japanese intellectuals. At that time they were divided into several camps—
some were very enthusiastic about introducing an ideal Western model of civilization, while others
were reluctant about or even opposed to modern values and principles. Presumably, Fukuzawa6
wanted to clarify the argument and to persuade them to present a common front in favour of
modernity.
Fukuzawa was a prolific writer and able to produce an enormous quantity of work, but it
took an exceptional amount of time and toil to finish this book. The manuscripts, which are
preserved today, show that they were subject to revision again and again. The style was scholarly,
hence not easy to read, eloquent and presenting all points of view. Nonetheless, his main objective
is crystal clear: self-sufficiency and national independence. ‘Civilization’ was both the outcome and
the means to independence.
What then was ‘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.
Fukuzawa took great care to explain the distinction between knowledge and virtue. He defined
virtue as morality, and knowledge as intelligence, and deliberately adds that in English they are
termed respectively ‘morals’ and ‘intellect’. These definitions were specified so as to avoid any
association with neo-Confucian concepts. Fukuzawa’s philosophy represents a break with
traditional thinking.
Traditional Japanese teaching appreciated both private virtue and benevolent rule as
imparted by the Chinese classics. In this case, the philosophy was concerned mainly with
governing—the man of virtue, usually the king or emperor, ruling benevolently over his people and
land due to his personal competence and virtue. The people, on the other hand, were uneducated
and depended on the ruler. Most 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.
Buddhism in Japan had lost its authority and function in the previous centuries. Buddhists
had become mere subjects of the political authority, namely the Tokugawa Shogunate. Thus, not
only neo-Confucian scholars and Buddhists but also commoners and samurai depended on their
hereditary positions. Most of them were indifferent to public matters. They were ruled, credulous
and blindly faithful to the ruler upon whom all the power was vested. Fukuzawa remarked that this
was the most outstandingly 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 man had an innate integrity and potential talent. While it was
quite possible to acquire 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 so
that it could rarely surface—at best, only within the family unit. Private knowledge, on the other
hand, could be diffused into society more easily and then transformed into public wisdom. People
had begun to recognize empirical laws and science, not only natural but also moral (or social)
science. ‘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
civilization—in the process giving birth to freedom and independence.’
While Japanese thinking had been concentrating on the impossible task of creating public virtue, the West had expanded
public wisdom, that is why he revered Western learning and criticized neo-Confucian teaching in his country.
In this regard, Japanese civilization apparently lagged behind the West. According to the theory of human development proceeding in stages, Japan (along with China) was placed in the semi-civilized stage.
Although ‘advanced’ and ‘backward’ are relative terms, the distance between
East and West was assuredly great. It was impossible, in Fukuzawa’s thinking, to be able to catch
up with the leaders simply by purchasing modern arms, machinery and external structures, since
civilization meant the development of the inner spirit, namely the virtue and knowledge, of the
entire nation. Thus it follows that ‘Civilization [is] Our Goal’.
In the final chapter of ‘An outline of a theory of civilization’, Fukuzawa turns 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 concludes:
Moreover, the argument for national polity, for Christianity, and for Confucianism[...]are also insufficient to bolster
people’s hearts. What, then, will? I say there is one thing: namely, to establish our goal and advance toward
civilization[...]The way in which to preserve this independence cannot be sought anywhere except in civilization.
30
Hard years, 1877-81
The number of students at Keio-gijuku, which had climbed back to more than 300 between 1871
and 1876, again began to decline, 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 confiscation was completed. The shizoku
(former 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 been obliged to
leave the school because of their lost privileges, the war 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 Keio-gijuku any money and some suggested that it should be dissolved. His
fellow teachers responded by voluntarily accepting a reduction of their salary by two-thirds.
Subsequently, 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’ income sufficiently to send their sons to Keio-gijuku.
As the government was heavily dependent on fixed land taxes for its revenue, 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 criticized the government severely. A rumour appeared in
the press that Fukuzawa, with the financial help of Iwasaki Yataro (1835–85) of the Mitsubishi
Corporation, was urging a coup d’état by Okuma. In a counter move, Ito Hirobumi (1841–1901)
purged Okuma 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
Okuma had suggested a constitutional monarchy on the British model, while the Ito group
preferred the Prussian type. This group was responding to, and afraid of, Fukuzawa and the Keio
school, since Fukuzawa himself often expressed active support for Okuma’s policies.8
Criticisms and appreciation
After the political victory, Ito suspended the constitution and the opening of the Diet for ten years,
and cancelled the sale of government properties. Before their split, Ito, 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
Jiji-shimpo on 1 March 1882. In the inauguration article, he declared that this quality newspaper
would remain impartial and independent.
From that time onward most of Fukuzawa’s writings appeared in Jiji-shimpo, not only
serious articles but also satire. He addressed all 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 parodies fill nearly half of the twentytwo volumes of his Collected Works.
In a broad overview of his works, it can be seen that Fukuzawa was proceeding in a
straight line towards individual and national independence. Yet, even in the 1870s, there was some
controversy over his discussions on moral issues concerning loyalty, money and so forth.
Moreover, serious criticisms and comments have recently been levelled at his articles from the
1880s and afterwards. Such criticism has raised serious doubts as to Fukuzawa’s real intentions or
his real personality. So strong has been the reaction against his articles about Asia that it has nearly
obscured the impact of his less controversial articles—for instance, the ones about women’s
equality—and placed Fukuzawa in the very category that he was supposed to be opposed to.
One such article, and perhaps the most disputed, is ‘Datsu-a-ron’ [On departure from
Asia], written in 1885. Fukuzawa states:
Our immediate policy, therefore, should be to lose no time in waiting for the enlightenment of our neighbouring
countries [Korea and China] in order 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.
Readers today react strongly to this passage. Yet such a statement can be more fully understood if
it is seen in its proper context. Fukuzawa’s seemingly aggressive stance reflects 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 Okkyun, since 1881. Kim had particularly close contacts with Fukuzawa
as he came to Japan three
times between 1882 and 1884, receiving much advice and every assistance from Fukuzawa during
his stay (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 emphasized.
Thus, in the first instance, Kim sent a group of young students to Keio-gijuku, to the
military academy and to other Japanese schools. Secondly, the newspaper, or more properly
speaking, a governmental bulletin, was published three times a month beginning in November 1883
through the efforts of Kakugoro Inoue (1859-1938), who was dispatched by Fukuzawa in
December 1882 and appointed project adviser by the king. 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 obviously 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. A more
sympathetic view of Fukuzawa’s suggestion of turning away from Asia can be sustained with the
knowledge that, for several years, his efforts were directed at aiding enlightenment and reform in9
Korea. Fukuzawa’s articles on Korea after 1881 were numerous, but always emphasizing its
sovereignty and national independence. On the contrary, in ‘On departure from Asia’, he criticized
Chinese imperialism and decided not to give China any special consideration simply on the grounds
that it was a neighbouring country.
Fukuzawa’s concern for women is apparent in his main writings, now collected in
Fukuzawa Yukichi on japanese women.
From today’s perspective his position on women’s rights
seems somewhat restrained. 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 in the late 1880s on the subject.
His focus was directed to where the biggest problem lay in Japan: women’s rights in the home, the growth of their independence there, and eliminating the subjection of women to men in society.
Fukuzawa criticized the customary ill conduct of men towards women, and condemned the remaining vestiges of polygamy. Both, he argued, were the most uncivilized customs of Japanese society. He claimed fundamental equality for women and 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 labour 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, 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-shimpo, 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 ‘teacher’ of not only boys and girls in schools but also of Japanese men and women, and this may still be considered the case today
Tokyo's Ginza district. Photograph: Alamy
Bar in Roppongi, Tokyo. Photograph: Alamy
No time for received wisdom: a young Alan Watts (L) and friends reading haiku poems written for a contest. Photo by Nat Farbman/Time Life Pictures/Getty