CHAPTER VJAPANESE AUDIENCES
Audiences in Japan differ, as they do everywhere, in dependence on the social classes which compose them, their culture, varying points of view; and their more immediate or remoter interests. They all have, however, certain characteristics in common; and the more prominent of these seem to be of racial origin and significance. Perhaps the most obvious thing to the experienced and observing foreigner is a certain “secretiveness,” or demeanour due to trained habit of repressing the emotions, at least until they break forth into more emphatic or even extravagant form because of long-continued repression. This habit was acquired by theSamuraiin his control of the passion of anger. He was taught as a boy to receive injury and insult from others with an appearance of calm; and not to draw his sword until he had determined that either he, or his insulter, or both, must pay the penalty with death. I have already told how “du calme” was given to General Jan Hamilton as the most important qualification for a field marshal orgeneral in command of a grand army in time of battle. But this habit of repression is not confined to the more explosive of the emotions. It is the testimony of those who witnessed the behaviour of the two combatants during the Russo-Japanese war,—in battle, and when wounded or dying,—that the Japanese were generally quiet and the Russians more noisy and demonstrative. The same thing is true of expressions of appreciation and gratitude.
In this connection I recall with pleasure two or three incidents in my own experience. At the close of an engagement in one of the larger cities, the President of the Government institution in whose behalf most of the lectures had been given, said to me in a voice choked with emotion: “You know, of course, that we Japanese are trained to repress our feelings. I do not know whether it is a good thing or not; but it is so. And I cannot tell you what we all feel.” On parting from one of my favourite pupils, who had spent several years in study in this country, he said: “I do not know how to say at all what I feel; but Confucius taught that the gratitude and affection of the pupil toward his teacher stand next to those of the son toward his father.” In reality the teacher who succeeds with his Japanese pupils receives a reward of these much covetedfriendly bonds, which it is difficult or impossible to hope for even, anywhere else in the world. The foreigner, therefore, who enters into scholastic relations with Japanese students, if he is competent, devoted and tactful, need not concern himself greatly about this part of the returns from his labours; it will surely follow in due time. And there is still enough left in Japan of the Confucian style of arranging social classes in the scale of their values, which has—theoretically at least—prevailed for centuries in China; and which places the scholar at the head of the list and relegates the money-maker to the bottom of the scale. Indeed, it is only very recently that Japanese “men of honour” would have anything to do with business; or that the sons and daughters of the higher classes would intermarry with the business classes. This is undoubtedly one reason for the partially justifiable, but on the whole exaggerated, low estimate of the business morals of the Japanese. It remains to be seen, however, whether the good or the evil results of the change of attitude toward the money-getter, which is now taking place with such rapidity, will prevail; and whether the net results will elevate or degrade the prevalent standards of morality. Certainly, neither Europe nor America has much to boast of, as respectsthese standards, on a fair comparison with Japan.
This attitude of secretiveness, born of the habit of repressing all appearance of emotional excitement, is further emphasised by the desire, sometimes only to appear and sometimes really to be, independent and critical. The tendency to revolt from authority and to appeal to the rational judgment of the individual has been the inevitable accompaniment of the transition from the “Old” to the “New” Japan. Naturally and properly, too, this tendency has been greatest and most conspicuous among the student classes. As a result affecting the relations of teacher and pupils in the higher institutions of learning, and even among more popular audiences, a certain coolness of demeanour is deemed appropriate. In certain audiences—notably those of such institutions as the Young Men’s Christian Association, or of the missionary schools, or of other native schools that imitate foreign ways, approval is expressed by clapping of hands or by other similar means. But this is not characteristically Japanese. The truly native manner of listening is an unflinchingly patient, polite, and respectful, but silent attention. The disadvantage, therefore, under which the occasional speaker or more constant lecturer before Japanese audiencessuffers, is this: he may be utterly unaware, or completely deceived, as to the way in which his audience is taking him. It is entirely possible, and indeed has happened to more than one missionary or other teacher, to remain for years self-deceived concerning the estimate his pupils were holding, both of his person and of his instruction.
Another marked characteristic of Japanese audiences is their extraordinary patience in listening. Whatever the subject, and whoever the speaker, and whether his treatment is interesting or dull or even totally unintelligible, the listeners seem to feel the obligation to maintain the same attitude of attention to the very end of the discourse. This endurance on the part of his hearers makes the call for endurance on the part of the speaker who is determined to interest and instruct them, all the more imperative and even exhausting. While lecturing in India, I came regularly to expect that a considerable percentage of the audience would melt away—not always by any means as silently as the snow goes in a Spring day of genial sunshine—before the talk was half or two-thirds over. In Korea, it needed only one or two experiences to learn that, perhaps, the larger portion of the audience came to look, and see (indeed, to “look-see” is the current nativephrase). But in Japan, under circumstances most trying to the patience of both speaker and hearers, I have never known more than a handful or two of individuals to steal quietly away, until the proper and exactly ceremonial time for leaving the room had fully arrived. And in such cases it was usually thought necessary for some one to explain the engagement which had made necessary such a breach of etiquette.
So far as native habits and influences still remain in control, this characteristic of patience in listening seems to belong to all kinds of audiences, in both town and country, and both cultured and relatively uninstructed. In the Imperial Universities of Tokyo and Kyoto, and in the Government Colleges of Trade and Commerce, my lectures were given in English and were not interpreted. This was not allowed, however, to shorten greatly the entire period covered by the exercises; for a double lecture—fifty minutes’ talk, then ten minutes for a cup of tea, and then fifty minutes more of talk—was the order of the half-day. In the case of the lectures before the teachers, under the auspices of the Imperial Educational Association, or the similar Associations under the presidency of the Governors of the various Ken, the necessity of having the English done intoJapanese operated to stretch out each engagement to even greater length. Of this more than two hours of speaking and listening, somewhat less than one-half was usually occupied by the lecture in English; while the Japanese paraphrase, in order to make all clear, required the remainder of the allotted time. The tax upon the patience of the audience must have been increased by the fact that, ordinarily, for a large part of the whole period they were listening to a language which they either understood very imperfectly or did not understand at all. For the customary method was to divide the entire address into five or six parts of about ten minutes each; and then lecturer and interpreter alternated in regular order. In some cases, however, as, for example, the course of lectures given at Doshisha in 1892, Mr. Kazutami Ukita, now Professor of Sociology in Waseda University,—the most skilful interpreter I have ever known,—at the close of the English lecture, rendered it entire into fluent and elegant Japanese, preserving as far as the great differences in the structure and genius of the two languages make possible, the exact turns of speech and the illustrations of the original.
What is true of these more scholastic audiences is equally true of those which are more popular. Indeed,it is probably the fact that the non-scholastic audiences in the smaller cities and in the country places are hitherto much less infected with the Western spirit of impatience, which masquerades under the claim to be a sacred regard for the value of time, but which is often anything but that, than are the student classes in the crowded centres of education. At Osaka, in 1892, nearly one thousand officials and business men gathered on a distressingly hot summer’s afternoon and sat without any show of desire to escape, listening for more than two hours to an address on a topic in ethics. In Kyoto, in 1907, on invitation of the Governor of the Ken, and of the mayor of the city, fifteen hundred of the so-called “leading citizens” packed the Assembly Hall of the District Legislature, galleries included, and sitting Japanese fashion on the floor listened for three mortal hours, to a speech of introduction, to a biographical address, to a talk on “Japan from the Point of View of a Foreign Friend,” and its interpretation, to an address of thanks and to a response by the person who had been thanked.
“CLASS AND TEACHER ALWAYS HAD TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED”
“CLASS AND TEACHER ALWAYS HAD TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED”
“CLASS AND TEACHER ALWAYS HAD TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED”
Nor is this characteristic great patience exhausted by a single occasion. In Tokyo a class of more than four hundred teachers continued, substantially undiminished, through a course of thirty lectures onthe “Teacher’s Practical Philosophy”; the class in Kyoto which entered for a course of twenty hours on the same subject numbered rather more than eight hundred, and of these nearly seven hundred and fifty received certificates for constancy in attendance. At Nagasaki, Sendai, and other places, similar classes obtained and kept an average attendance of from four hundred to six hundred. At the close of each of these engagements,the class, together with their foreign teacher, always had to be photographed.
It is well known to all travellers in Japan, and to all readers of books on Japan, how much the Japanese, in their intercourse with each other, insist upon a formal and elaborate politeness; and how careful the better classes, and even the body of the common people, are to practice this virtue, so esteemed by them, in all their intercourse with foreigners. But it is far from being generally or sufficiently recognised, how unfortunate and even positively shocking, the disregard—not of their particular forms, but of all attempts at the polite treatment of others, seems to them, as they are so constantly forced to notice its prevalence among foreigners. That a fair degree of genuineness attaches itself to these formal and conventional observances, no one who knows the nation at all thoroughly can for an instant entertaina doubt. Of course, on the other hand, neither non-compliance nor the most exact compliance, mean the same thing with us as with the Japanese. With them, not to treat a person—even a coolie—politely, is positively to insult him. The foreigner who should treat the native domestic servant, when the latter approached on his knees and bowing his head constantly to the floor, with an insult or a blow, might pay the penalty with his life. But the old-fashioned politeness is being put to a difficult test by the conditions of modern life, and by the changes of costume and of customs which are being introduced from abroad. It may seem strange that I speak of changes in costume as influencing the rules for polite social intercourse. But, for example, the Japanese kimono forms a fitting and convenient clothing for ladies who, on indoor festal occasions, salute each other by hitching along the floor on their knees, bowing the head as low as possible at frequent intervals. It is decidedly not so fitting and convenient, however, where courtesy while standing is demanded by politeness; or where it is desired to dance with decency and elegance. On the other hand, the modern gown, whether with or without train, is even less well adapted to the practice of the requirements of the native social ceremonial.
According to the Japanese ideas, a proper respect for the teacher requires that the pupil should receive and salute him, while standing. This rule characterises the ceremonial adopted by audiences of all sizes and as composed of different classes of hearers. In all the lectures before audiences composed principally of teachers—since they were, of course, for the time being regarded as the pupils of the lecturer—the procedure was as follows: A select few, such as the President of the Imperial or of the local Teacher’s Association, the Mayor of the city, or his representative, and one or more members of the Committee who had the affair in charge, were gathered some time before the lecture-hour for tea-drinking in the reception room, with the lecturer. At the appointed time—usually a little after, and sometimes much after—this party of the select few proceeds to the audience-room. On their entering the room, the entire audience rises to its feet and remains standing until the speaker has mounted the platform, bows have been interchanged with him, and he has sat down. At the close of the address, the audience rises, bows are again interchanged, and the “teacher,” unless some special arrangement has been made and announced for him to remain for further exercises, or to be introduced, leaves the hall first. The audienceis expected to remain standing until he has disappeared through the door; it would be very impolite for them to begin sooner to disperse. Indeed, I have never seen my friend, Baron T—, so excited by anything else as he was on one occasion, when the assembly of teachers began to move from their ranks, with the appearance of breaking up, while I was only half-way between the platform and the door.
It would be a great mistake, however, to infer from such passivity and enduring patience in attention that Japanese audiences are ready to accept with complaisance whatever any one may choose to tell them for truth; or, indeed, to regard theipse dixitof their authorised instructors as of itself, a sufficient authority. On the contrary, no small portion of the “Young Japan,” especially among the student classes, is inclined to an extreme of bumptiousness. Considering the circumstances of the present and the experiences of the recent past, this is not strange; in view of the characteristics of the race and its history in the more remote times, it is not unnatural. Moreover, science, scholarship, and inventive talents, cannot be subjected promptly in Japan to the same severe and decisive tests, which are available to some extent in this country, but to a far greater extent inmost countries of Europe. But surely, in this country to-day the difference between pretence or quackery and real merit or unusual attainments, is not so well recognised, either by the people, or by the press, or even by the executive officers of our educational institutions, as to enable us to throw stones at the Japanese,—or for that matter at any other civilised nation.
Perhaps there is no larger proportion of any Japanese audience, who have perfect confidence in the superiority of their own views, or in the originality and conclusiveness of their own trains of thinking, or in their infallibility of judgment and loftiness of point of standing, than would be the case with an audience similarly gathered and constituted in America. I do not mean to say that Japanese student audiences are lacking in docility or difficult to teach. On the contrary, I think they are much more eager to hear about the last things in science, politics, philosophy, and religion, than are the college and university students in this country. And they certainly are on the whole much more in deadly earnest in the matter of getting an education. Something—probably much—of the old Samurai spirit still lingers, which forbade the boy to rest or sleep until he had finished his appointed task. I have hadmore than one of my own pupils tell me how he had studied on through the night, applying wet bandages to his head, or placing some sharp instrument so as to prick his forehead, if, overcome by sleepiness, he nodded in his task.
This earnestness of demeanour, joined with the full confidence in an ability to judge or even to discover for one’s self, undoubtedly makes the audiences of students in Japan the more exacting. Besides, they are prompt, severe, and even extreme,—oftentimes—in their judgments concerning the ability and moral character of their teachers. It is a by no means unusual occurrence for the students in private or even in the Government institutions, to demand the removal of some teacher, about whom they have made up their minds that he is either incompetent as a scholar or unsafe and misleading as a guide. I have repeatedly heard of “strikes” among the students to enforce such a demand; but I have yet to hear of a strike or a “call-off” in the interests of fewer hours or easier lessons. Indeed, nine-tenths of the students in the Imperial University of Tokyo are probably, in their ignorant enthusiasm to master quickly the whole realm of learning, taking a much largerquotumof lecture-hours than is for the goodof sound scholarship, or than should be permitted by the University.
As underlying or supporting or modifying all the other characteristic features of the task attempted by the foreigner who expects to be really successful in treating of serious themes with a Japanese audience, is the high value placed on education by the nation at large. At the period of first excitement over the action of the School Board of San Francisco, in 1906, a Japanese friend of mine, a professor in the Imperial University of Tokyo, who had spent some fifteen years of his earlier life in this country, remarked to me with extreme concern and sadness, that now his countrymen were wounded by us at their most sensitive point. “Nothing else,” he added, “do all our common people prize so much, for their children and for themselves, as education.” In spite of its comparative poverty, and of the feeling which—wisely or unwisely—it shares with America and Europe, that the lion’s part of its resources must go to the support of the army and navy, there is none of these nations which is giving so much official attention to the education of all its people as is Japan. As has already been pointed out in another connection, the minister of Education takesrank with the other members of the Ministry. The President of the Imperial Teacher’s Association is a member of the House of Peers; he is a permanent officer and his office is not a merely honorary position, is in no respect a sinecure. As I know very well, his active administration includes the care of the details, physical and intellectual, of the various meetings of the Association. The case is as though some Government official of high rank—for example like the late Senator Hoar of Massachusetts—were to be the permanent president and active manager of the general Teachers’ Association of the United States. The Professors of the Imperial Universities have court rank, in accordance with the length of the time and the distinction of their services. Distinguished men of science and of literature are appointed members of the Upper House or are decorated by the Emperor, in recognition of their services to the country and of the value of their presence, as men who may be reasonably supposed to know what they are talking about, in the councils of the nation. Diplomats, even of the lower ranks, must be educated in the languages and history of the countries in which they are to be stationed as members of the foreign service. The ability to read, speak, and write English is required of all thegraduates of the Government Schools of Trade and Commerce. There is a larger proportion of the children in the public schools than in any other country, with the possible exception of Germany. The proportion of illiterates to the entire population is much less than it is in this country. And in spite of the meagreness of equipment, the incompetence of much of the teaching force, the large amount of crude experimenting, and the numerous and serious deficiencies, which still afflict the system of public education in Japan, the recognition of the absolute necessity and supreme value of education in determining the conditions of national prosperity and even of continued national existence, is intelligent, sincere, and practically operative among all classes throughout Japan.
Now this esteem of the importance of instruction has a profound, if not consciously recognised, influence on the attitude of all sorts of Japanese audiences toward the person who is addressing them. He is assumed to be telling them something which is true and which they need to know. Talks by foreigners, that aremerelyfor entertainment or amusement are, in general, an insoluble puzzle to the average Japanese audience. Of course this failure to appreciate such efforts is in part due to the widedifference in the spirit and structure of the two languages,—that of the speaker and that of his hearers. But it is even more largely due to something which lies far deeper. The Oriental story-teller and professional joker has his place in the estimate of the educated and even of the common people. It is side by side with the juggler or performer with marionettes. To consider such a person as a teacher would be foreign to the conception,—a scandalous profanation of a sacred term. On the other hand, if one can—and this must come only after a considerable period of testing—win and hold the claim in its highest meaning, he may, as simply a teacher, wield an influence in Japan which is comparable to that to be gained in the same way in no other civilised land. For have not the greatly and permanently influential benefactors of the race always been teachers? Were not Confucius, and Sakya-Muni, and Jesus, all teachers? And in Japan itself, only a few years ago, did not a certain man who had refused offers of government positions deemed higher by most, in order that he might remain a teacher of Japanese youth, when his work was ended, have his coffin attended to its resting-place by ten thousand of his fellow citizens of all classes, walking bareheaded through the rain? Even now, whenthe appreciation of the importance and value of wealth, for the individual and for the nation, is rising, and the appreciation of the importance and value of intelligence and character is, I fear, relatively declining, it is still possible for the truly successful teacher to gain the esteem and influence over Japanese audiences which are implied in the very wordSensei, or its equivalent. And if the title is used with its full, old-fashioned significance, it will have much the same meaning as the word “Master” in the New Testament usage.
“THE BEARING OF THE BOYS AND GIRLS IS SERIOUS, RESPECTFUL AND AFFECTIONATE”
“THE BEARING OF THE BOYS AND GIRLS IS SERIOUS, RESPECTFUL AND AFFECTIONATE”
“THE BEARING OF THE BOYS AND GIRLS IS SERIOUS, RESPECTFUL AND AFFECTIONATE”
At the time of my last visit to Japan, in 1906 and 1907, the temper of the entire nation was particularly and indeed uniquely interesting. They had just been through a terrible struggle with what had, at the beginning of the struggle, been quite generally regarded as an invincible European power. They had been, indeed, uniformly victorious; but at the cost of enormous treasure and of the outpouring of the blood of the flower of their youth. The nation was heavily burdened with debt; and its credit, in spite of the fact that the financing of the war had been conducted with very unusual honesty, frankness, and skill, was low for purposes of borrowing large additional sums of money. The great body of the people, whodid not know what His Majesty, the Genro, and the most intimate circle of advisers knew perfectly well, considered the nation humiliated and defrauded by the unfavourable terms on which the Portsmouth Treaty of Peace was concluded. As I can testify, there was an almost complete absence of those manifestations of elation and headiness, amounting to over-confidence and excessive self-conceit, which prevailed so widely at the end of the Chino-Japanese war. On the contrary, the great body of the people, especially outside of Tokyo and the ports of Yokohama and Kobe, were in a thoughtful, serious, and even anxious state of mind. This condition could not fail to make itself felt upon the attitude of the audiences toward those who addressed them, in correspondingly thoughtful and serious fashion, on themes of education, morals, and religion. Even in the public schools of the primary grade,the bearing of the boys and girls toward their work is serious; and toward their teachers, respectful and even affectionate.
Indeed, in the year after the war with Russia ended, the demand everywhere in Japan was for the discussion of moral problems; and of educational, economic, and political problems, as affected by moral conditions and moral principles. The lectures to theteachers which were most eagerly welcomed and which made by far the most profound impression, spoke of the teacher’s function, equipment, ideals, and relations to society and to the state, from the ethical point of view. A course of lectures on the “Doctrine of the Virtues as applied to Modern Business” was called for by the Government Business Colleges. On my accepting an invitation to speak to the boys in the Fisheries Institute, and asking for the topic which was preferred for the address, the reply was given without hesitation: “Tell them that they must be ‘good men,’ and how they may serve their country better by becoming good men. Most of these boys come from low-class families, whose morals are very bad, and they have not been well brought up; but we wish them to become honest and virtuous men.”
Nor was this interest, amounting in many cases to anxiety, about the moral condition and future moral welfare of the nation, confined to educational circles. The Eleventh of February is a national holiday in Japan, corresponding more exactly than any other of its national holidays to our Fourth of July. This is the traditional date of the founding of the Empire. On this date, in 1889, the “Constitution was promulgated by the Emperor in person, with solemn andgorgeous ceremony, in the throne-room of the Imperial Palace,—and its proclamation was followed by national rejoicings and festivities.” In 1907 theAsahi Shimbun, a leading paper of the large commercial city of Osaka, undertook to commemorate the day by a public meeting in the Hall of the Assembly of the District, and by a banquet in the neighbouring hotel. In the afternoon I addressed an audience of more than twelve hundred on the “Conditions of National Prosperity,” dwelling chiefly on those conditions which are dominatingly moral and religious in character. The banquet in the evening was attended by about one hundred and fifty persons, and was fairly representative of all the most influential citizens of various classes. After the customary exchange of complimentary addresses, opportunity was given for others to speak. A venerable gentleman, one of the most distinguished physicians of the city, was the first to rise. With great seriousness he made, in substance, the following comments on the exercises of the afternoon,—which were, however, not interpreted for me until a full fortnight later. He had been much impressed by what the speaker had said at the afternoon meeting about the dependence of national prosperity upon the nation’s morality;but he had asked himself: “Why are such things said to us? We are not ‘rice merchants’ (a term of opprobrium); we are the leading and most respectable citizens of Osaka.” He had, however, at once reminded himself that this is precisely what their own great teacher, Confucius, taught them centuries ago. And then he had asked himself: “Why do the ancient Oriental teacher, and the modern teacher, both teach the same thing,—namely, that nations can have genuine and lasting prosperity only on condition that they continue to pattern themselves after the eternal principles of righteousness?” His answer was: “They tell us this, because it is so.” And “surely,” he added with much impressiveness, “it is time that we were all governing our actions in accordance with so important a truth.”
After the aged speaker had taken his seat again, a much younger man, the Vice-Mayor of the city, arose; and beginning by expressing his hearty agreement with the sentiments of the last speaker, he proceeded to emphasise the truth with passionate fervour, and wound up his address by saying: “There are enough of us, one hundred and fifty leading citizens of Osaka, seated around this table here to-night, to change the whole moral condition ofthe city, and to redeem it from its deservedly bad reputation, if only we truly and fixedly will to have it so.”
Several months later I had another similar experience, which I mention here, because it illustrates so well the extraordinary interest in moral issues which characterised the disposition of the nation at the close of the Russo-Japanese war, and which made itself felt in so powerful a way upon all the audiences which I addressed during the year of my stay. Toward the close of the course of lectures and addresses at Sendai, I was invited to visit the barracks where twenty-five or thirty thousand of the recruits for the Japanese army are regularly undergoing their preparation for service. After I had been shown about the entire establishment by an escort of under-officers, the General in command, a distinguished veteran of the Russo-Japanese war, called me into his private office. There, he first of all assured me that he had followed the accounts of the lectures and addresses as they had been published in the various papers, and then thanked me for what had been done in general for the good of his country; but, more particularly, for the assistance rendered to him personally in his work of training the young men for the Japanese army.Upon surprise being expressed as to how such a thing could be, the General began to explain his statement as follows: His great difficulty was not in teaching the manual of arms or the proper way to manœuvre upon the field of battle. His great difficulty was in giving these recruits the necessary “spiritual” training (I use his word, and explain it to mean,—The moral spirit which animates the upright and knightly soldier, the spirit which, in the Japanese language, is called “Bushidō”). At this I again expressed surprise and a wish for further light upon his kindly remark. He then went on to say that since the Government had reduced the term of required service from three years to two, the time was more than ever all too short to inculcate and enforce the right moral spirit on youths, many of whom came from homes in which this spirit by no means prevailed. But a profound moral impression had been made upon the teachers in the public schools all over the land; the teachers would take these moral teachings and impress them upon the pupils under their charge; and “these are the boys that will later come to me.” When my thoughts turned homeward—as, of course, they were bound promptly to do,—they awakened a strange mixture of feelings of amusement and ofconcern; of the former, when the effort was made to imagine any remotely similar conversation occurring with a General or a recruiting officer there; and of concern, at the obvious decline of the spirit of patriotism in the United States, as evinced by the almost purely mercenary way in which all branches of the public service have come to be regarded by the body of the people. That it is difficult to keep the ranks of our small standing army filled by offers of big pay, much leisure, and opportunities for foreign travel, is significant, not so much because of a growing and, perhaps, reasonable distaste for a military career, as of a prevalent conviction that the nation is bound to serve individual and class interests rather than the individual and the class to serve the interests of the nation.
The most thoughtful leaders of Japan are at present exceedingly fearful that those more serious and self-reliant traits, which I have chiefly selected to characterise, may succumb to the incoming flood of commercial avarice, and of the love of comfort and luxury. And they have grave reasons to be afraid. But I leave on record my testimony to the truth that immediately after the close of the great war with Russia, the nation of Japan was not only willing to hear, but even coveted tohear, how it might prepare itself by intelligent adherence to sound moral principles—in education, in business, in the army and navy,—for an era of genuine and lasting prosperity, at peace with the rest of the world.