Pathway to Japanese Literature

The study of “Rule of Law” is crucially important for those who seek to research modern states and laws. As I was pondering this matter from various angles, I happened to receive a request from the Tokyo Nichinichi Shimbun to write something; it was this spontaneous act of taking up my brush that brought this essay into being, and its content primarily examines the relationship between rule-of-law states and bureaucratism. The work was composed in late June of Taisho 11 (1922).

I

Due to a habit since childhood, I remain oddly fond of reading newspapers. When abroad—though partly due to my poor language skills—there were times I would squander half a day reading them. During high school, I was compelled to read a German textbook: *The Art of Happiness* by one Hilty. It contained stern warnings against newspaper reading—particularly that consuming such miscellaneous and simplistic material during the morning's peak mental hours would ruin one's work ethic for the entire day. So struck were we by this argument that my roommates—all peculiarly obstinate men—and I resolved to cancel our newspaper subscriptions for six months. Yet my addiction proved too strong; I would sneak reads in the library only to be caught and roundly berated by those same roommates. Recalling these episodes now, I realize my newspaper mania has truly ancient roots.

Even then [at that time], I still read a great many newspapers every morning.
I didn't know what was so interesting about them—if anything—but I kept reading them voraciously nonetheless.
As I pored over their pages each day, various thoughts would cross my mind.
What struck me most when scanning those papers were terms like “murder,” “love suicide”—
and inevitably phrases such as “cabinet conferences,” “corruption,” and “scandals”—but what particularly seized my attention was how frequently articles chronicled citizens’ grievances against bureaucrats.
From among these accounts emerged one recent report that captured my focus more than any other—a case study prompting me to draft this essay titled “The Bureaucrat’s Mind.”
Examining this single incident in isolation might make it appear trivial at first glance.
Yet upon deeper reflection, its implications proved profoundly consequential.
Seizing upon this episode as my starting point, I resolved to explore not merely “the people’s grievances against bureaucrats” but ultimately “the nation’s broader discontent with—and resistance against—the state itself.”

II

About ten days ago, a grievance from a newly returned repatriate regarding customs officials was published in the letters column of a certain newspaper.
According to it, when customs officials inspected the person’s belongings, they discovered a reproduction of a painting and confiscated it.
The reason for confiscation wasn’t entirely clear, but it was likely deemed an obscene image constituting prohibited contraband.

It seems travelers returning from abroad attempting to smuggle obscene or indecent erotic artworks constitute a fairly common occurrence.
When these individuals return to Japan—people who ought to hold respectable positions and at least be “model citizens”—they nonchalantly engage in such acts; this is a fact we frequently encounter.
From the perspective of public morals enforcement, it stands to reason that the state struggles to prevent such acts.

However, the current issue is not that.
The confiscated painting was not erotic art.
Nor was it an obscene book.
It was Sandro Botticelli’s (1444–1510) *Primavera*—a work particularly renowned even among Florence’s many museum masterpieces in Italy.
While undoubtedly titled *Spring*, it was by no means erotic art.
The customs officials could not have intended such wordplay.
They must have indiscriminately deemed it obscene and confiscated it.

Therefore, for the sake of advancing my argument, I would like to request permission to include a photograph of the painting here. Dear readers, after kindly viewing this, I would like you to hear what I have to say.

III

Unfortunately, as someone who is not an art expert, I cannot provide a detailed and appropriate explanation of this painting.
However, to summarize in a word the feeling I had when I first saw this *Primavera* on the third floor of that quiet museum built along the Arno River in Florence—as an amateur art enthusiast—it was rather a “mystical,” “neurasthenic,” lonesome impression—one that my clumsy words and brush could never adequately convey.

Moreover, it possessed an indescribable, mysterious “power.” During my travels abroad, I saw quite a number of various paintings. However, there are not many things that have been as deeply carved into my heart as the feeling I had when I first saw the actual painting. I still cannot forget its rather gloomy, oppressive, yet somehow nostalgic and soft hues. Those shapes and lines—so detached from reality, so unnervingly strange—irresistibly drew me in without reason. Even now, I can still vividly recall that first impression from that time.

No matter how I may think of it, and even if all the art connoisseurs in the world were to unanimously declare it a masterpiece, there can be no doubt that from the perspective of the state’s morals police, there must exist a unique interpretation of it.
Just because it is a masterpiece does not necessarily mean it will absolutely never corrupt public morals.
For lesser individuals lacking the capacity to appreciate masterpieces, this must be especially true.
In my personal view, I am confident that “true masterpieces absolutely do not corrupt public morals,” but I have no intention of forcing this belief upon the general public here.

However, when considering this *Primavera* that has now become contentious here—if indeed there exists anyone who would deem it obscene or destructive to public morals—then even I cannot help but doubt such a person’s eyes and mind.
This painting imparts a rather desolate impression to all who view it.
Moreover, should someone wholly disinterested in art behold it, they would likely regard it merely as an eccentric composition.
Yet if anyone were to perceive obscenity here or feel even faint carnal stirrings, that individual must assuredly be of base disposition and abnormal constitution.
Therefore—as per that article’s account—should a customs official persist in confiscating this work despite thorough explanations from its owner while remaining obstinately uncomprehending, I must conclude he either harbors depraved tastes coupled with brutish appetites or acted from deliberate malice.

Dear readers, you must not dismiss this incident as a trivial matter perpetrated by a minor lower-ranking official. He is undoubtedly a minor lower-ranking official. However, in this specific incident, it was he himself who represented “the State.” He is nothing other than that very entity. The “Japanese state” that countless travelers returning from abroad first encounter is none other than he. And when we consider that it is he who judges whether travelers’ “masterpieces” are obscene or not and decides their importation’s permissibility, how can we dismiss this incident as a trivial matter? The other party is not merely “he” as an individual. “It is ‘the State’ itself.” In this particular incident, “his” eyes and “his” mind are none other than the eyes and mind of “the State.” “What else can we address if not ‘the bureaucrat’s mind’?”

IV

"The bureaucrat's mind shows no essential difference from our own as citizens when examined without prejudice."
Given that bureaucrats grow up in comparable environments, receive equivalent educations, and sustain themselves through similar means of livelihood, there exists no inherent justification for their mentality to develop exceptional qualities distinct from the populace.
Like us, they must inevitably perceive beauty in what appears beautiful and feel sorrow at what sounds sorrowful.

In today’s so-called “rule-of-law states,” bureaucrats were generally bound by “laws.”
Therefore, the system had been designed to prevent excessive arbitrary discretion.
However, even so, they were still granted a considerably wide range of discretionary authority.
That is to say, bureaucrats did not always need to adjudicate matters solely based on the established standard called “laws”; the system allowed them to incorporate their own opinions to some extent when making discretionary judgments.
Moreover, through this bureaucratic discretion, we the people could have even our precious property, freedom, honor, and lives taken away under this structure.
Though termed a “rule-of-law state,” this constituted a truly terrifying reality.
Nevertheless, the reason we the people lived relatively unperturbed and at ease was precisely because we maintained this conviction: that their “bureaucratic minds” were likely much the same as our own; that what we found beautiful, they too would deem beautiful; that what we recognized as sorrowful, they too would acknowledge as sorrowful.
It was under this trust—that bureaucrats too possessed mental processes largely similar to our own—that we managed to live in relative security.

“We do not place our trust in bureaucrats because we think they are somehow superior to us citizens, uniquely impartial, or exceptionally loyal to the state.”
If bureaucrats were such exceptional beings—existing in a world entirely separate from us ordinary citizens—then it stands to reason that we could not live in this world with peace of mind unless we first attended special lectures on what might be called “Bureaucrat Psychology.”
Fortunately, however, we the people need not attend such special lectures, nor possess particular legal knowledge; as long as we act generally in line with conscience and common sense, we can avoid being reprimanded by ‘bureaucrats’—precisely because bureaucrats too are human beings like us.

I consider this an entirely self-evident matter that requires no elaborate reiteration.
Yet in reality, the actions of bureaucrats we occasionally witness all too often threaten to betray this belief of mine.
And each time this occurs, I cannot help but doubt “the bureaucrat’s mind.”
Somehow, we cannot feel secure under those bureaucrats; unless we either have them do something about it or create a system that eliminates bureaucrats with such “minds,” I feel we cannot remain at ease.

Even someone like me—who specializes in academic fields relatively close to bureaucrats, serves in the Faculty of Law at Imperial University (derided by society as a "bureaucrat training ground"), and maintains many acquaintances among bureaucrats—cannot help but be perceived in such terms.
If this holds true, then in ordinary people's eyes, does not the current "bureaucrat's mind" appear far more aberrant?
And is it not that among them, the clever majority resign themselves with grand acquiescence—believing one must bend to authority—regarding bureaucrats as being thus and the State as being so; while the cynics among them coldly scrutinize bureaucrats and the State, pelting them with scorn and irony; and further still, the courageous rebels among them hurl damnable curses at such bureaucrats and the State they represent?
I cannot help but be convinced of this reality.

V

“Bureaucrats often lament, ‘The young these days lack sufficient sense of state loyalty—it’s troubling.’”
However, I believe this is not at all the case; the majority of today’s youth remain quite ardent state loyalists.
But if today’s youth show even the slightest tendency to dislike the State, I cannot help but think that the greatest responsibility lies with the “bureaucrats” who represent “the State.”

Bureaucrats and elders are all too quick to regard this tendency among youth as a result of “foreign ideas.”
Admittedly, there may be some truth to that.
However, “foreign ideas” have merely awakened them.
If the “State” they saw upon waking with open eyes had in fact embodied virtue and beauty, their awakening would be cause for celebration rather than fear.
Yet if these awakened youths harbor even the slightest dissatisfaction toward the State in reality, that is the crime of “the State”—that is, the bureaucrats who represent it.
“It is the crime of bureaucrats who make ‘the State’ appear as such.”

Bureaucrats too，when viewed as individuals—with some exceptions—were all ordinary human beings.
They were respectable compatriots，parents，husbands，and children.
Yet once they represented “the State” externally，they abruptly transformed entirely.
In such moments，“he” became nothing more than a “bureaucrat，” utterly divorced from his original “individual” self.
Moreover，under traditional bureaucratic ethics，the more bureaucrats became like this，the more they were praised for qualities like “impartiality and selflessness” or “loyalty and diligence.”
But was this state of affairs truly acceptable?
I doubted it from the bottom of my heart.

Of course, bureaucrats must not arbitrarily interject personal sentiments to act unfairly or self-indulgently.
For they are not granted their bureaucratic positions for such purposes.
Yet does this mean that when representing "the State," they need only become so-called "impartial and selfless" embodiments, utterly forgetting human compassion and shedding all humanity? No, it is absolutely not so.
The "State" they represent also enters our human world to conduct various affairs.
We must interact with "the State," whether willingly or not.
If that is so, then unless "the State" itself becomes akin to an ordinary, approachable human being, it will never harmonize with common citizens to sustainably maintain social life.
Considering that the sole entity shaping "the State" into such form is none other than the bureaucrats representing it, we see bureaucrats cannot simply content themselves with becoming formal embodiments of "impartiality and selflessness."
They occupy an exceedingly difficult position where they must render "the State" moral, amiable, and pleasant to engage with—just like ordinary humans.

However, bureaucrats tend not only to brandish formal regulations toward us citizens but also to spout sophistries to foreign nations. And each time this occurs, the state’s credibility continues to erode both domestically and internationally.

VI

In my view, traditional legal professionals—no, ordinary people in general—have come to overestimate the domain of law far beyond what is reasonable.
I believe it would be better for us to consider—both in terms of the general citizenry’s mentality and bureaucrats’ mindset—that “the domain of law” exists as a separate world apart from our daily lives.
We dwell daily in the “human world.”
In that world, one need only act according to conscience and common sense—and crucially, for ordinary people, it must be arranged so that this alone suffices without issue; otherwise we face difficulties.
Certainly, as long as people gather to form a social life, they must inevitably establish a state in some form; but as long as there is a state, there must also be laws.
Because it is in fact utterly impossible to maintain group life by relying solely on each person’s “conscience” and “common sense.”

Therefore, because “law” is fortunately structured in most cases to align with “conscience” and “common sense,” our acting in accordance with “conscience” and “common sense” in daily life simultaneously constitutes compliance with “law.” Because this is first and foremost the usual case, there all too easily arises the notion that “all humans—though unaware of it themselves due to ignorance of ‘the law’—should in truth be understood as acting in their daily lives according to ‘the law.’” However, as I would argue, even in such cases, humans act solely in accordance with “conscience” and “common sense,” not according to “law.” What I wish to explain is that it is only when a matter reaches the courts or other state offices that it first undergoes value judgment through “the state’s yardstick”—that is, “the law.” For example, even if we borrow money from others, we do not repay it because of what is written in the Civil Code or the Penal Code. We simply think that, as a matter of common sense, what we borrow should be returned, and if we don’t return it, we just feel vaguely guilty. To think that one does this each and every time because the law commands it in such a way is something ordinary people would never do—and indeed should not do.

If we were required to consider legal matters at every turn in our daily lives, it would lead to utter absurdity.
First, one would need to collect evidence for nearly every action.
For instance, obtaining receipts for trivial purchases, demanding written contracts for minor loans between friends, and in extreme cases sending routine correspondence via certified mail with delivery confirmation.
Yet if anyone actually behaved this way, they would inevitably face social ostracism.
They would be denounced as an eccentric miser or an insufferable pedant and swiftly cast out.
Nevertheless, among legal professionals there exist those inclined toward precisely such thinking.

Even citizens of a nation under the rule of law need only act in accordance with “common sense” and “conscience.”
Moreover, were this not so, it would prove untenable.
When citizens actually appear before courts or government offices, they cannot plead ignorance of the law as defense.
That is to say, upon entering the “legal world,” one must be prepared beforehand to have one’s value judgments measured by law’s yardstick.
Yet this by no means justifies memorizing legal codes and subordinating daily conduct to them within the “human world.”
Ignorance of law itself constitutes no moral failing.
Virtue and vice remain eternally defined by morality alone.
Of course, both State and Law remain essential implements for communal human existence.
So long as we participate in collective life, we must acknowledge benefiting from these constructs.
Thus while moral condemnation awaits those who protest legal consequences despite ignoring commonly known statutes,
to deem such ignorance inherently immoral represents—I maintain—profound error.

VII

However, in advancing these arguments, I by no means intend to encourage “ignorance of the law” among you, dear readers.
Since you too form part of this nation, it would be preferable for you to know the law.
For the “common sense” and “conscience” that you personally deem correct may prove objectively mistaken—and even if correct, they might unfortunately conflict with legal prescriptions.
Yet despite this, I wish to declare to you: “You need not know the law, but you must act according to common sense and conscience.”
And I am convinced this constitutes the most vital philosophy for our nation at present.

In conducting our daily lives, we need only take "conscience" and "common sense" as our standards.
We need only consider legal matters when entering the “legal world.”
Law must be kept out of daily life.
If we were to assume otherwise—that our actions must always be measured against legal standards—then we ordinary people would, in many cases, suffer from not knowing the standards for our actions.
Moreover, this risks evoking the fallacious view that as long as one acts in accordance with the law, they should be deemed to be acting correctly as “citizens” regardless of other considerations—or fostering a mentality where “winning the argument at hand is all that matters” and “avoiding disgrace at all costs” prevails.
There is a British proverb that says, "A good legal professional is a bad neighbor."
In Japan as well, legal apprentices returning from the capital after superficially studying law are disturbers of rural peace.
Those who know the law tend to brandish it.
Forgetting to act according to common sense and conscience, they try to make law the standard of life.
As a result, he ultimately becomes a “bad neighbor.”
Therefore, before I would urge citizens to “know the law,” I rather wish to advocate that they first rectify their “conscience” and “common sense.”

However， we who handle law as our profession—alongside ministers， bureaucrats， legislators， judges， and lawyers—ordinarily draw far too close to law.
As a result， we all too easily use law to regulate every conceivable matter.
We easily forget to judge matters through “common sense” and “conscience.”
It is precisely when I observe recent Diet sessions and other political spheres that I feel this truth most acutely.

I believe that at this juncture—not only the general public but above all legal professionals, and especially bureaucrats—must deeply contemplate those words spoken by Jesus: “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.”

VIII

Unless it were established that ordinary people entering the "legal world" found nothing particularly startling—that matters unfolded much as they did in the "human world"—both law and State would find it utterly impossible to preserve their authority.
The emergence of a chasm between law and society must constitute the gravest concern for any State.
Such a condition represents nothing less than the State's own moral failure.
The State must mobilize its full powers to effect a remedy.

Since ancient times, tyrants have often attempted to command “morality” as their remedy, and attempted to make the people conform to the laws desired by the tyrants themselves. Even today, among current politicians in our country—particularly bureaucrats involved in police or judicial affairs—there seem to be not a few who harbor similar ideologies, seeking to revive “Pure Customs and Virtuous Traditions” through legal means. However, the fact that this strategy has never once succeeded in all of history, and particularly that it has ended in utter failure in modern times, is an exceedingly evident historical reality.

Therefore, modern states began to consider a strategy that was entirely opposite to this.
That is to say, instead of compelling the people to approach "the law"—a tyrant’s decree—the state itself considered proactively approaching "humanity."
The institutional embodiments of this idea are parliamentary government, the jury system, and today’s system wherein anyone can become any kind of bureaucrat.
Moreover, in terms of law, provisions such as Article 90 of the Civil Code—which states, “A juristic act that has as its purpose matters which are against public order or good morals shall be null and void”—are entirely manifestations of the same idea mentioned above, and scholars collectively term this democracy.
Hereafter, I would like to consider the system of “anyone can become any kind of bureaucrat,” which among these is most relevant to the immediate issue.

In the past, “the people” and “bureaucrats” lived in entirely separate worlds.
Therefore, it was only natural that a great distance existed between the bureaucrats’ world—the “legal world”—and the “human world.”
Even so, the people of that time resigned themselves to it as unavoidable.
However, in modern times, people could no longer be satisfied with this and began to demand that the “world of bureaucrats” and the “world of the people” draw closer.
However, the system invented for that very purpose was none other than today’s institution wherein “anyone can become any kind of bureaucrat.”
The essence of this system lay in bringing people from the “human world,” temporarily appointing them to bureaucratic positions—thereby aiming to make the mindset of “bureaucrats,” and consequently the “state” they represented—roughly align with that of ordinary people.
Through this, work that had previously been managed by bureaucrats—people from an entirely separate world—came to be handled by bureaucrats emerging from the “human world” at any rate; as a result, people became able to feel greatly at ease.

Fundamentally, a rule-of-law state is a system that seeks to manage all affairs through laws—that is, predefined standards—established in advance.
And thus, people of modern times demanded that this system be guaranteed by the Constitution in order to secure fairness and freedom.
However, human beings are such capricious and self-indulgent creatures that while demanding standards on one hand, they simultaneously hope those standards can be considerably flexible—in other words, not rigidly applied.
That is clearly a contradictory demand.
But it is a fact, so there is no helping it.
The State must by some means satisfy this.

And in the actual practice of politics, it is precisely the bureaucrats who appropriately satisfy these contradictory demands.

Not only is it practically impossible to predetermine all matters through law, but humans, as living beings, would never prefer such a state of affairs.
Therefore, by using law to establish a general framework while entrusting all concrete applications to bureaucrats—who inhabit the same world as the people—thereby ensuring fairness and freedom while allowing flexibility, this constitutes precisely what we call today’s Rule of Law.
Consequently, under the Rule of Law, the most crucial matters are twofold: making laws truly conform to the demands of the “human world,” while ensuring bureaucrats think exactly like ordinary people.
Only through this can citizens place trust in the state with confidence—the very essence of today’s ingenious system that recruits bureaucrats from the “human world.”

IX

The minimum requirement under the Rule of Law is that bureaucrats share roughly the same way of thinking as we do.
"It is only when bureaucrats—like us—find beauty in what is beautiful and shed tears upon hearing sorrowful things that we can feel at ease."
Yet present reality increasingly drifts from this ideal.
Why does this occur?
I contend this stems from bureaucrats—painstakingly recruited from the "human world"—now seeking residence in a new separate realm called the "legal world," rather than their former dwelling in the "bureaucratic world."
That is to say, our painstakingly constructed democracy risks losing its essence and reverting to bureaucratic formalism.

They painstakingly devised the practice of recruiting bureaucrats from the “human world,” aiming to foster familiarity between people and the law.
However, once those bureaucrats entered the “legal world,” they began to think differently from the “human world.”
Of course, in those days when bureaucrats dwelled in the “bureaucratic world” entirely separate from the “human world,” their entire lives—both public and private—were wholly divorced from those of the “human world.”
In contrast, today’s bureaucrats adopted a distinct way of thinking only when they entered the “legal world.”
And thus they temporarily departed from the “human world.”
Or at least came to think they must depart from it.
What could possibly explain this?

There are various causes for this. However, I believe the greatest cause among these lies in the fact that any and all events, by the time they come to a bureaucrat’s attention, have already been transformed into matters of the “legal world.” Even matters that originally occurred in the human world only come to bureaucrats’ attention after passing through the gates of government offices. Therefore, once bureaucrats pass through the gates of government offices, they cease to interact with anything beyond the “legal world.” Thus, even a person who in the “human world” is a good husband, a good friend, and a good citizen will, once required to act as a bureaucrat, tend to adopt only those ways of thinking peculiar to the “legal world.” Thus, bureaucrats become so preoccupied with the formalities of phrases like “you must not conflate public and private affairs” or “you must remain impartial” that they tend to forget the fundamental principle: above all else, they must remain “human,” and only upon that foundation should they strive to become more impartial and avoid conflating public and private matters.

Above all, bureaucrats under the Rule of Law had their discretionary freedom considerably restricted by legal statutes.
Therefore, rather than carelessly exercising flexible discretion in their decisions and being reprimanded, it was far safer for them to simply adhere formally to what the law dictated.
That was more advantageous.
First, it didn’t require any effort.
Once a bureaucrat came to think this way, he would focus solely on formally obeying the law and forget both the purpose of laws and the duties of bureaucrats.
Therein lay the making of an exemplary bureaucrat.

Fundamentally, the Rule of Law was a system designed to predetermine legal statutes to curb bureaucratic arbitrariness, thereby securing the people's freedom.
Yet paradoxically, those very laws become pretexts justifying bureaucrats' formalistic conduct.
This outcome fundamentally betrays the Rule of Law's original intent.
However, when binding bureaucrats through legal constraints—particularly excessive ones—their actions inevitably ossify into formalism.
For responsibility cannot emerge where freedom is absent.
In essence, we must recognize that states governed by law inherently carry within them the seeds of bureaucratic degeneration.
The sole bulwark against such tendencies running rampant lies in bureaucrats' conscious ethical orientation.
This constitutes my rationale for asserting that bureaucrats' intellectual rigor alone sustains our modern state institutions.

X

Furthermore, bureaucrats are holders of great power.
Setting aside the "human world," once they enter the "legal world," all judgments of right and wrong applicable within that realm are ultimately determined by bureaucrats.
Of course, even bureaucrats are greatly bound by law.
Moreover, the judgments of lower-ranking bureaucrats are structured to be supervised and critiqued by higher-ranking bureaucrats.
However, due to various reasons—such as cumbersome litigation procedures or difficulties in presenting evidence—even those whose rights and interests have been infringed upon by bureaucrats’ erroneous judgments find it practically difficult to appeal to higher authorities.
This constitutes the most common scenario when rights are violated by current administrative officials, leaving victims no choice but to endure in silence.
Therefore, though bound by law, bureaucrats still retain considerable "discretionary power" over citizens—both legally and de facto.
However, while granting such discretionary power stemmed from institutional necessity, even the slightest abuse of it remains fundamentally impermissible.
Yet bureaucrats tend to abuse this power—whether to expedite matters businesslike or uphold their dignity.
This constitutes an extremely alarming matter.
In truth, those wielding discretionary or monopoly power—whether de jure or de facto—must exercise utmost caution.
For there will always inevitably exist some margin for coercion.
Yet this very margin proves most perilous for its wielders.
Nevertheless, bureaucrats remain prone to such conduct—rendering even the state itself an object of public hatred.

The State is the repository of law.
Yet simultaneously, it enters our “human world” to collaborate with us.
Therefore, this State must remain approachable and sociable for us ordinary people.
When ordinary people brandish legal statutes in their mutual dealings, they inevitably face social ostracism.
For such individuals become profoundly difficult for others to engage with.
Yet should bureaucrats shield their improper conduct behind legal technicalities, this signifies that the very state they embody has itself weaponized the law.
We must acknowledge it as utterly natural that citizens would deem such officials intolerable to interact with.

Bureaucrats are in an extremely difficult and pitiable position, bound by laws that make their work exceedingly hard.
Therefore, I express great respect for bureaucrats’ painstaking efforts in applying laws to ensure that people who originally acted according to “conscience” and “common sense” do not violate the law.
However, using the law as a shield to justify their own improper measures is absolutely impermissible.
For such conduct is precisely what causes the State to become an entity difficult to engage with.

The State too must act according to “conscience” and “common sense,” just like ordinary people.
If it does not do so, it will inevitably lose its prestige.
Citizens will cease to trust him and cease to love him.
And the sole entity compelling the State to act in such a manner is none other than the minds of bureaucrats.
Bureaucrats must think like ordinary humans even when occupying their official positions.
It is only in this way that citizens can rejoice with him and weep with him.
At this juncture, I cannot help but ponder the profound significance of the words found in *The Great Learning*: “From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, all must regard cultivation of the self as the root.”

XI

Against these arguments I have presented above, I believe there will undoubtedly arise criticisms of the following nature.
The doubt in question is whether my arguments have completely neglected the state’s guiding functions.
However, I have not forgotten that point—no, I am greatly considering it.

Even I acknowledged that the state possessed guiding functions.
And I believed that the instance where the state most clearly and extensively realized those kinds of functions was indeed our country’s Meiji era.
Our country, which had long been slumbering on an isolated island in the Eastern Sea—dreaming solitary dreams of peace until the end of the Bakumatsu period—awoke with the Meiji Restoration.
When we awoke, we noticed beyond our borders lay a vast garden of great material and spiritual culture blooming splendidly—one we had never before witnessed.
We had to step onto the world stage; to do so, we first had to attain cultural parity with theirs.

Having reached this conclusion, our ancestors rushed headlong along Western civilization’s path.
Yet when examined closely, the general populace remained not fully awakened.
The pioneers first had to rouse them from slumber.
Only after awakening them could they then provide guidance.
Those who fulfilled this vanguard role at the time—though great private-sector leaders like Fukuzawa Yukichi certainly existed—were chiefly bureaucrats.
These pioneering bureaucrats strove to nurture talent by establishing domestic universities and dispatching promising scholars overseas.
They dedicated themselves to absorbing Western culture.
Our people, possessing innate aptitude, assimilated it remarkably well.
Consequently, within a mere four or five decades, we achieved striking proximity—if only superficially—to European and American culture.
And unquestionably, those who brought citizens to this juncture were none other than the Meiji-era bureaucrats.

During the fifty years of Meiji, bureaucrats stood at the vanguard and drove citizens to charge toward “Western civilization.”
The citizens too charged forward admirably under their direction.
Yet military strategists often note, “What compels soldiers to charge is their commander’s conviction and resolve.”
When Meiji ended and Taisho began, we had at last caught up to Western culture in form, if nothing else.
Thus we felt a measure of relief.
But for those who had charged forward single-mindedly, this relief proved truly dreadful in nature.
As a result, the commanders’ resolve grew dull, while citizens too began to feel weariness creeping in.
Now Western culture—the very beacon by which bureaucrats had until then guided the people—found itself at an impasse, seeking new horizons to advance toward.
Bureaucrats lacking independent vision, who had merely chased Western culture without deeper reflection, now found themselves abruptly stranded.

“Now, what shall we take as our objective from here on?”
At that time, the citizens said to the bureaucrats.
“Now, where should we go?
Where do you intend to take us?”
”

However, the bureaucrats were unable to adequately answer this question.
It was only natural that the citizens began to doubt upon hearing their response.
Feeling anxious, they started thinking they must now find their own path forward—like children on the cusp of adulthood suddenly orphaned.
Yet for those who had been blindly led until now, suddenly losing their guides and opening their eyes made choosing a direction profoundly difficult.
This resembled how enemy envoys were treated on battlefields: eyes covered with cloth, driven some distance by carriage before unveiling—leaving them unable to grasp the enemy camp’s layout.
Moreover, not knowing one’s current position rendered even detailed maps useless.
The citizens each began moving toward what they deemed right.
Some sought antiquity; others chased novelty.
Among them, only a handful started thinking independently.
This is what people call “the confusion of public sentiment.”

The bureaucrats and traditionalists still dreaming of Meiji were taken aback.

They concluded that "unification of public sentiment" must be enforced.
Yet their past ability to guide the people stemmed solely from having borrowed objectives—Western culture.
They had maintained this directive posture by clinging to that imported goal without deeper reflection.
But just as they felt nearing parity, Europe and America commenced movement toward entirely new directions.
No—they had already begun advancing.
At this juncture, the bureaucrats and traditionalists recognized they could no longer follow.
Yet when questioned whether they possessed independent objectives of their own, none existed.

They had neglected self-cultivation far too much until now.
“Which way should we truly go?”
Thus they began to harbor doubts.
Lacking independent initiative, they then conceived an idea:
If Europe and America could no longer be pursued, there was no choice but for our country to return to its own past.
Having thought this, they instantly became reactionaries and began viciously denouncing European and American culture—which they themselves had revered as divine and deeply relied upon for fifty years—discarding it like worn-out shoes.

And so they began condemning foreign ideas, advocating a spiritless “ersatz Bushido,” even rejecting material culture at its extreme, and proclaiming that we should discard advanced new weaponry to once again shoulder swords.
Their “unification of public sentiment,” their “cultivation of national strength,” their “Pure Customs and Virtuous Traditions”—that was precisely what this referred to.
However, their “restoration” did not involve cutting off the old “rusted swords” to then reforge new weapons from them.
For that purpose, they were far too lacking in independent initiative.

12

The Meiji bureaucrats were leaders of the people.
They were pioneers.
They were not only superior in knowledge to the general citizenry but also saw themselves—and were permitted by others—as moral exemplars who should serve as models for the people.
At the very least, they were what the public generally demanded as their ideal.
However, since our country at the time was solely preoccupied with chasing after Western civilization, those who were even slightly more knowledgeable about European and American affairs and capable of understanding their culture than the average person could guide the people as pioneers and bureaucrats.

However, for those bureaucrats today, it was no longer sufficient to merely chase after Western civilization. Especially recently, the impasse of European culture and its new direction had made our country’s traditionalists sense the danger of continuing to single-mindedly pursue it as before. What they had until now regarded as paradise and aimed for suddenly began to appear as hell. There, they suddenly came to vehemently assert that our nation must have its own unique objectives—yet as mere imitators and importers at their core, they regrettably lacked creativity. They lacked originality. For this reason, they—unable to create through their own efforts the uniquely Japanese objectives they themselves had so vehemently advocated—once again brandished their “rusted ancestral swords.” And then they attached names like “Pure Customs and Virtuous Traditions” and “Robust Simplicity and Unadorned Strength” to them, and began proclaiming that this was precisely our nation’s unique objective that should guide the citizens. And thus, they were still attempting to maintain and perform the leadership functions they had carried out during the Meiji era even today. Indeed, their advocated “Pure Customs and Virtuous Traditions” and “Robust Simplicity and Unadorned Strength” were undoubtedly good things in themselves. However, these swords had rusted—most regrettably—because they themselves had stored them away for too long. Moreover, while they had stored away those swords, the world had long since departed from the age of blades and entered an era of 16-inch cannons and airplanes. If their swords—unrusted and imbued with spirit—had remained so, they might have been able to fight 16-inch cannons with them. However, theirs were rusted. They should now rather cut off their rusted swords and reforge them into advanced new weapons. However, they lacked the creativity required to implement this. They could do nothing but futilely brandish their rusted swords and intimidate people with loud shouts.

It goes without saying that those who guide others must possess the capability to do so. Even those who had guided others until now, once they lost that capability, should have either gracefully withdrawn from their positions or at least abandoned their authoritative attitude. Those who, despite having lost that capability, still refused to alter their authoritative attitude were “wicked” if aware of their loss, and “foolish” if unaware. There was no greater nuisance for those being guided than this. Now, the people of our country no longer required the guidance of bureaucrats, whether in material or intellectual aspects. This was even more true in the moral sphere. However, the bureaucrats who had traditionally held leadership positions in these various areas still believed they should and could remain as such. And thus, they did not attempt to reflect on their own lack of capabilities. There were no words to describe them other than “evil” if not “foolish.” The reason bureaucrats during the Meiji era had been able to maintain a leadership stance across all domains was entirely due to the exceptional circumstances of that time. On one hand, it had been an era in which both government and people devoted themselves to pursuing Western civilization; on the other hand, bureaucrats had generally been pioneers regarding Western civilization—these factors had enabled them to assume leadership positions or even compelled them to do so.

However, in today’s Taisho era, the circumstances had completely changed. There was no longer any disparity in knowledge between citizens and bureaucrats. Citizens now reached a point where they could freely think and act without awaiting bureaucratic guidance.

Yet bureaucrats who failed to recognize this and persisted in maintaining their traditional authoritative attitude were utterly foolish. To attempt this with “rusted ancestral swords” that had lost their spirit became utterly inexcusable. Now we Japanese citizens began to doubt; we began to think for ourselves. The citizens who had blindly charged forward for years under bureaucratic guidance now awakened and began thinking independently. Moreover, most citizens—long bound by convention—desired self-directed thought yet lacked its capacity. They had completely lost creativity and originality. And though modest, one must observe their efforts toward independent thinking. The citizens had now awakened. We needed to make their awakening truly meaningful—for what had our nation ever contributed to world culture since Meiji? How much creativity did we citizens truly possess?

When considering these points, I cannot help but feel that cultivating the creativity of the citizens is the most pressing urgent task of the moment.

At long last, now that they had finally broken away from the habit of blind obedience, they had begun to think for themselves and act independently.
The state and its bureaucrats should now exert all their strength to promote this newly emerging trend.
And thus, they ought to discard “guidance” and embrace “humility.”
Herein I declare:
They must not attempt to revive “Pure Customs and Virtuous Traditions” through punishment and law.
Though lacking confident moral standards themselves, they must cease obsessing over “unification of popular sentiment.”
The era when citizens chorused in unison that whatever bureaucrats deemed beautiful was beautiful had already passed.
They must no longer cling to the Meiji dream—that fleeting exception.
Open your eyes and behold the world.
Dawn approaches.
We think independently, act autonomously, and strive to forge our own morality.
As I proclaim this resoundingly, I fervently hope both state and bureaucrats will grow ever more humble henceforth.

And thus, I want both the state and its bureaucrats to refrain from obsessing solely over controlling us ordinary people’s way of thinking; rather, they should empty themselves and strive to become capable of thinking like ordinary people themselves. For the alignment of “the bureaucrats’ minds” with “the people’s minds” constitutes the minimum essential requirement for the state system to survive.

13

Now bureaucrats must reform their attitude and way of thinking.
They must shift from “guidance” to “humility.”
And thus they must allow our citizens to think freely and act freely—so that as true global citizens they may contribute to world culture—thereby fully demonstrating their creativity and originality.
This is felt particularly keenly regarding issues of “thought,” “morality,” and “art and literature.”
For these issues are all among the most difficult problems for the state, lawmakers, and bureaucrats.
Given their inherent nature—issues that do not permit bureaucratic guidance—bureaucrats should have no role beyond regulation.
Moreover for our citizens to contribute meaningfully to human culture henceforth their ways of thinking and activities in these domains must be allowed to flourish freely.
Today our nation stands at an impasse in every sphere.
This holds true in politics economics and jurisprudence alike.
In matters of morality too we find ourselves similarly constrained.
All traditional institutions have lost their authority.
Or at minimum teeter on its brink.
Traditionalists lament this state of affairs.
Yet I maintain this very turbulence signals vibrant growth—the true sprouting of a new Japan.
Why then do bureaucrats seek to prune these tender shoots?

They proclaimed themselves as “the moral guides of thought.”
But what indeed constitutes “good”?
Could they answer this with genuine conviction?
No—I maintain they could not.
For even earnest citizens found themselves equally tormented by this insoluble question of morality’s essence.
Bureaucrats too must dwell within this universal quandary.

“What is ‘good’?”
The citizens are all unable to answer that question and wait for a great man to come.
At this very moment, even if bureaucrats brandish their “rusted ancestral swords” and loudly declare, “We ourselves are the moral guides of thought!”, will anyone seriously heed them?
At this juncture, bureaucrats too must descend among the people and together with everyone ponder the universal koan: “What is good?”
Only in this way can they, too, become truly human-like bureaucrats capable of sharing in the sorrows of the citizens—and that alone, I believe, is the sole measure to ensure the state’s enduring stability today.

14

I must add one final word in conclusion.
Among current bureaucrats, those who irrationally revere “rusted ancestral swords” and attempt to wield them in “moral guidance” of citizens prove more numerous among higher-ranking officials.
Moreover, since this mentality remains incompletely instilled in subordinates, superiors inevitably end up coercing their underlings’ perspectives.
The result has been this detestable phenomenon—subordinate bureaucrats lacking conviction in their own ongoing actions nevertheless concluding that mere formal compliance with superiors’ orders suffices.
Yet I remain convinced such circumstances not only grievously inconvenience citizens subjected to regulation by these convictionless bureaucrats but directly cause the officials’ own moral degeneration.
Should subordinate bureaucrats act solely from “because it’s a superior’s order” without personal confidence, their externally lawful actions cannot truly command public obedience.
Furthermore, daily repetition of such conduct must inevitably paralyze their moral sensibility.
Rather than striving toward truly human thought rooted in “conscience” and “common sense,” they will surely settle for maintaining superficial pretense of obeying orders.
Thus I cannot escape the conviction that present-day bureaucrats already teeter at this precipice.
Subordinates shirk duties; they commit malfeasance; they oppress citizens.
Daily we hear these unpleasant rumors.
Daily we hear how superiors seek to bind and discipline subordinates under “disciplinary rectification.”
Yet were I to speak plainly—this is no fault of subordinates.
Even subordinates must eat.
Forced perpetually to enact morally ungrounded actions, their ethical decay becomes inevitable.
Therefore I maintain their degeneration stems wholly from superiors’ failings.
Whether subordinates morally concur or not, superiors compel action through force.
This naturally breeds the notion that anything becomes permissible if done beyond superiors’ sight—
precisely as law’s forcible application readily corrupts public virtue while fostering the belief that mere legal compliance justifies any act.

In this sense, current bureaucrats find themselves in an excruciatingly difficult and pitiable position—bound first by the law and second by their superiors’ orders. Moreover, when considering that only “the bureaucrats’ minds” serve as the sole guarantee to maintain the state’s enduring vitality, one cannot help but feel the crushing weight of their responsibilities. Here, I wish to declare to both the legislature and superiors: make your laws and orders conform to subordinates’ moral imperatives, and empower subordinates to act according to conscience.

Moreover, to bureaucrats themselves, I wish to say: You must strive first to be human before being bureaucrats; you must act not by legalistic reasoning but according to conscience and common sense.
I earnestly hope you will once more fully contemplate the meaning of Christ’s words—“Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and unto God what is God’s”—or, if you find this distasteful, then reflect deeply on the teaching from *The Great Learning*: “From the Son of Heaven down to the commoners, all must regard self-cultivation as the root.”

For the rule of law is indeed a system that relies solely on your minds.