Pathway to Japanese Literature

In the summer of Meiji 18 [1885], I authored an essay titled *On Japanese Women* in *Jiji Shinpō*, arguing that women ought to be equal to men—that within households, men should not monopolize pleasure or assert dominance—and serialized it over several days. Then, in May of Meiji 19 [1886], in *Jiji Shinpō*’s *On Gender Relations*, I presented the rationale that interactions between sexes should be free and natural, for their bond encompasses not merely carnal relations but also essential emotional communion. Though opposition was scarce and my humble views gained traction—a cause for my satisfaction as the author—both *On Women* and *On Gender Relations* took women as their primary subject. They sprang from a measure of grandmotherly concern: pity for women’s present state and a desire to elevate their standing even slightly. Consequently, my prose consistently emphasized invigorating women’s spirit yet failed to direct its critical edge toward men—an imbalance akin to encountering two objects, one too high and one too low. To rectify this, one might exhaustively labor to raise the lowly object yet neglect to lower what towers excessively, striving unilaterally without addressing both extremes.

Though something being too low is naturally undesirable, to raise it only to make it excessively high proves rather inferior to leaving it as it was initially.

Therefore, though the method of lowering what is excessively high on the other side presents considerable difficulty, precisely because executing this without misstep is imperative, in this essay I have taken up my pen with the deliberate intent to grasp those men’s overinflated heads, press them down, and thereby naturally bring both sexes into equilibrium—striking that proper balance—which is why I have titled this work *On Japanese Men*.

In society there existed moral theorists who loudly debated establishing a fundamental moral standard for Japan—some arguing to follow Confucianism, others to adhere to Buddhism, still others to adopt Christianity—while another faction disapproved of this approach, deeming it impractical to favor any single tradition among Confucianism, Buddhism, or Christianity. Instead, they proposed creating a unique moral doctrine that neither wallowed in self-love nor dissolved into universal love—one that precisely captured this middle path.

At first hearing, these arguments appeared perfectly sound as moral theories; however, their objectives seemed less concerned with the self and more with others.

It was as though they prioritized public morality in social interactions while relegating personal virtue to secondary importance.

It was as though they focused solely on moral principles governing society rather than those within the home.

On this single point where my perspective diverged—though this did not constitute outright condemnation of the moral theorists' doctrines—I found myself compelled to question their ordering of priorities.

Examining the history of the world’s creation, it was said there initially existed a solitary self-generated being who later gave rise to male and female as a married couple.
In our Japan, deities such as Kuninotokotachi-no-Mikoto were solitary self-generated gods, while Izanagi-no-Mikoto and Izanami-no-Mikoto stood as deities of marriage.
In the West too, Adam first appeared in the Garden of Eden; afterward Eve was brought forth as a woman, and thus the path of marriage came to be first established.
Now when this self-generated being existed alone between heaven and earth, there could naturally have been no need for morality.
Some might reverently serve heaven and such things—but these were theological matters; the morality I speak of in its common sense could not be cultivated through deliberate effort nor destroyed through willful neglect—it was a state devoid of both virtue and vice. Yet later when a couple came into being there and a man and woman began living together as companions, only then did the essential need for morality become apparent.
Their companionship entailed loving one another mutually, respecting one another mutually—helping and being helped by each other; the two became as one body united, with not a shred of self-interest permitted between them.
That is to say: this constituted the essential requirement for a man and woman to share a dwelling—what we call the moral principles of a married couple.
If contrary to this they neglected and resented each other—causing their affection to wither—then they could not fulfill the great bond of marriage, and one had no choice but to deem this their moral failing.
I privately considered this: even such revered figures as Izanagi-no-Mikoto and Izanami-no-Mikoto—or Adam and Eve—must surely have cultivated these moral principles of married couples and thereby achieved perfect happiness—this I believed without doubt.

Therefore, the morality of human life began between husband and wife; before marriage there was no morality, and only after marriage did one begin to perceive its necessity. Thus we must unequivocally declare this to be the root of all virtues—a truth beyond dispute.
Once a couple formed and a child came into being, the relationships of parent and child, brothers and sisters were first brought into existence—each of these relationships entailed essential moral principles.
Benevolence, filial piety, fraternal duty, friendship—these were all encompassed under what we collectively termed the household moral principles of human life. Yet without exception, their foundation derived from the virtue of the married couple.
For when a married couple first disrupted the great moral bond of matrimony and formed a morally corrupt household, there could be no rationale for other moral principles to arise within this home.
To present concrete evidence regarding tangible matters: if parents’ bodies harbored disease, its poison invariably passed to their descendants—a fact widely known—we must declare that a married couple’s malady formed the root of all familial afflictions.
If tangible diseases behaved thus, then intangible moral principles must also behave thus—this was truly an easily observable principle, and none should have harbored doubt regarding this.
Sickly parents did not bear healthy children; in an immoral household, virtuous children were not seen.
Whether tangible or intangible, the principle remained one and the same.
If by some strange error an immoral household were to produce filial children and siblings living in harmonious fellowship, this would be a rare anomaly in the human world—something one must not have expected to occur with any regularity.
There might well have been those in society who stubbornly clung to such hopes, but their thoughtlessness differed not from expecting ailing parents to bear healthy, thriving children—this lay beyond my comprehension.
The ancients’ saying stated that filial piety was the root of all virtues.
Filial piety was among the most crucial moral principles in human life, and though I myself firmly valued it, even in the order of creation and procreation one had first to form a married couple before parent-child relations arose. Thus filial virtue emerged secondarily, and we must never have forgotten that preceding it lay the moral principles of married couples.
Therefore even if we provisionally accepted the ancients’ saying that filial piety was the root of all virtues, we must nevertheless have asserted that the very foundation generating this filial virtue was conceived in the moral heart of married couples.
The relationship between men and women was a matter of utmost importance in human life.

When a married couple resided in a home and parent-child and sibling relationships were formed, they came to recognize the essential need for moral principles in these relationships, and as each family member cultivated these principles, the household’s happiness grew ever more harmonious and ever more joyful.
That was household morality—yet humanity’s procreative bonds did not cease with a single family. As descendants multiplied generation upon generation—though their origin lay in one pair of spouses—over hundreds and thousands of years, they would ultimately form an entire nation and society.
When society was formed, there arose the relationship of friends, the relationship between elders and youths, and—since governing society’s masses necessitated a government—the relationship between government and people emerged. In its structure, some systems established the distinction of ruler and subject while others lacked such titles; yet ultimately, these all amounted to the relationship between those who governed and those who were governed, differing only in minor details.
Since people dwelt within such a vast society where various relationships existed between one person and another, and between one ethnic group and another, there had to be moral principles to uphold in each of these relationships.
That is to say, there were crucial precepts such as trust between friends, order between elders and youths, and righteousness between ruler and subject or between governors and the governed.
This was what we called public morality.
That is to say, what we defined as public morality—being unrelated to family and essential for broad social interaction—naturally differed in its emphasized aspects from household morality when compared, because their spheres of operation were distinct.

For instance, something like the right to private property stood as the most crucial principle in public life—those who violated it were not only deemed immoral but were also harshly condemned by dispassionate law; yet stepping back into the household, matters became remarkably lenient, with few disputes over private ownership arising between spouses and parent-child.
Within the household, affection was valued and family members prized mutual kindness above all; even when errors or lapses in courtesy occurred, these were not condemned. Yet outside the home, even mistakes were not easily forgiven—let alone discourtesy, which constituted an immorality that harmed others’ honor and could not escape society’s censure.
To sum up, it might be said that public morality prioritized reason, while private morality prioritized human compassion.
Hence arose the distinction between public and private morality; since their boundary was clear, in methods of instruction too, we had to distinguish between priority and foundation.

For example, if one arranged Chinese-style moral terms—such as affection, reverence, filial piety, loyalty, propriety, integrity, and honesty—and scrutinized their boundary between public and private, affection, reverence, and filial piety would have been the essence of private morality, while loyalty, propriety, integrity, and honesty would have belonged to the domain of public morality.
It had to be said that although articles such as loyalty and trust were indeed practiced within the household, they became enveloped in the atmosphere of affection, reverence, and filial piety, unable to manifest in distinct form.
Though their practice appeared irregular, they resided solely in the spirit’s point of sincerity, thereby attaining happiness and harmony without deficiency.
However, public morality outside the home—tending as it did to prioritize reason—was not without the flaw of descending into cold-heartedness.
What was most lamentable was that even though some had argued that perfect honesty could not coexist with perfect affection, this might well have been an extreme articulation of the circumstances at hand.
When moral theorists of all ages lamented people’s shallow virtue and declared that sincerity remained unattained, their arguments might have been muddled—failing to distinguish between public and private morality—yet if one discerned their true intent, it became clear they meant this: public morality’s operation lacked sufficient emotional depth to match the completeness of private virtue.
Therefore, if they now sought the beauty of public morality, it was precisely the method of first cultivating private morality to deepen human compassion, developing sincerity and earnestness, and thereby solidifying the foundation of public morality that had been of paramount importance.
That was to say, residing at home with their family, they mutually showed affection and respect to fulfill life’s deepest emotions; through every word and deed being nothing but sincerity, they formed these habits—habits that then developed and manifested in their public conduct, thereby perfecting the beauty of public morality.
The ancients said, “Loyal retainers emerge from the households of filial children,” and this was by no means accidental.
Loyalty belonged to public morality and filial piety to private morality; when the latter was cultivated, even should the former wish not to be admirable, it could not help but become so.

However, my grievance with moral theorists of all ages and cultures—Japanese and Chinese—was that their doctrines failed, first and foremost, to draw a distinction between private and public morality.
Secondly, even if we granted that an implicit distinction existed without being explicitly stated, because their methods of instruction failed to clarify priorities—at times expounding on private morality and at others advocating public morality without specifying which should come first or last—they led junior scholars astray.
Moreover, their doctrines’ guiding principles not only tended to conflate moral instruction with political theory, prioritizing politics, but—since the moral principles involved here inherently belonged to public morality—there were even instances where private morality was relegated to secondary importance and public morality prioritized instead.
For example, virtues such as loyalty and honesty—though they were political virtues of great importance—when taught by prioritizing this public morality while neglecting the private morality of household life, amounted to public morality with shallow roots; I could not guarantee its stability at times.

Fundamentally, to maintain a nation’s society and pursue its prosperity and happiness, that society’s public must possess public morality.
To render public morality robust, one must take as its foundation the cultivation of private morality.
That is to say, the nation’s foundation lies in the home.
Those who gather good families form a good nation, and the source from which national power arises exists solely in the home—there should be no doubt about this.
And indeed, that household’s private morality consists of such principles as parents and children gathering harmoniously and showing mutual affection—parents being deeply benevolent while children are profoundly filial, brothers and sisters assisting one another to alleviate their parents’ physical and mental burdens—and the very cause enabling this private morality to flourish lies in none other than the beauty of affectionate reverence permeating between the married couple who form the family’s origin.

Throughout all ages and across the world, there have been no small number of unfortunate incidents such as discord between parents and children or siblings quarreling; while those directly involved are undoubtedly at fault, if we advance one step further to inquire into the root cause, it lies in the parents having neglected their marital relationship.
If we extend our scrutiny further back, even beyond the grandparents who are the parents of those parents, to great-grandparents and ancestors, none can escape guilt.
As stated in the previous section, the moral corruption of the human heart is no different from bodily illness: just as the power of viral poison can inherit across four or five generations, so too must the power of immorality transmit harm through four or five generations.
Therefore, the foundation of public morality lies in a household’s private morality, and the elemental source of that private morality is conceived within the marital relationship—this is clear as day. As this is what I unwaveringly affirm, the relationship between both sexes stands as the great foundation of nation-building and the origin of prosperity or calamity—a truth beyond all dispute.
Today, the form of us Japanese people is none other than the legacy of Izanagi and Izanami, the two deities; moreover, the private and public morality by which we maintain society must be understood to originate from the inherited virtue of affection and reverence practiced between this divine couple.

The virtue of affectionate reverence between husband and wife forms the great foundation of all virtues across time and space—a truth beyond dispute whose essentials I had previously outlined, leaving no room for dissent among my readers.
That I specifically chose the character for “reverence” here was no arbitrary decision.
As men and women unite through physical intimacy, no marital union—however constituted—can exist without transient affection.
Yet while this aligns with humanity’s animal nature as biological beings, what elevates us above beasts to become stewards of creation lies precisely in combining such affection with reverential sincerity.
To state this plainly: a couple’s unrestrained mutual fondness alone fails to distinguish them from animals.
Only when spouses advance to treating each other with conscientious care do we glimpse true human dignity.
This constitutes reverence’s essence.

Therefore reverence and affection constitute marital virtues—when inquiring how to cultivate these moral principles and implement them in modern practice, it went without saying that spouses must share interests and partake in both joys and sorrows; moreover should hardship befall either partner’s body or mind they had to devise means of sharing that suffering to humanity’s fullest capacity.

How much less permissible became imposing upon one’s spouse what oneself rejected?

Such acts were utterly inconceivable—throughout all matters they must never abandon empathy’s principle; though physically two distinct beings they had to comprehend themselves as one united entity—only then could marital ethics be fully realized.

Thus while cohabitation was deemed human happiness incarnate this union fundamentally comprised two strangers joined together—hearts might align yet physical circumstances need not mirror one another.

Each spouse maintained distinct relatives and friends whose associated joys/sorrows lay beyond mutual knowledge—yet being one entity they inevitably shared these sentiments.

Nor could they expect identical preferences regarding daily necessities—clothing food shelter—but must mutually endure without indulging personal tastes.

Should illness strike one partner—though physically unfelt by the other—they nursed this suffering as their own with maximal effort.

Not uncommon were wives tending husbands through five-year strokes till death or husbands personally administering medicine to rheumatic wives seven years while managing households—even exhausting family fortunes thereby.

From these points, cohabiting as a married couple is by no means an amusing thing.
If one remains single, interactions with relatives and friends involve only one party, free from extra worries; necessities like clothing, food, and shelter can be managed according to personal preference without hardship; even illness concerns only oneself, sparing one from anxiety over another’s ailment. Yet solely due to pledging matrimony, one’s life appears to double its hardships—a single person undertaking duties meant for two might seem disadvantageous. However, in the human world, loss and gain, suffering and joy invariably accompany one another by nature; what vulgar parlance calls “pure profit” cannot exist.
Therefore, when a married couple resides together and shares hardships mutually, though on one hand this may resemble double the hardship, in exchange for that hardship, they share a single person’s joy between them—thereby doubling the joy—so ultimately there is no net loss; rather, joys and sorrows mutually offset each other, and on average, one should understand that there remains a surplus of happiness.

Therefore, a married couple residing together should by no means invariably bathe in constant pleasure alone; though they might enjoy surplus happiness through balancing joys and sorrows, one must resolve that in this impermanent human world of flourishing and decay, misfortunes where one suffered solely under hardships were inevitable. And so, when we inquired whether polygamy or polyandry truly aligned with natural law, or whether they constituted harmless conveniences for human affairs and temporary exigencies—I had to resolutely answer no.
When Heaven produced humans, it did so in equal numbers of men and women; since humanity itself was propagated from a single pair of spouses, whether we appealed to life's origins or examined current demographic ratios, polygamy and polyandry could not be permitted.
If we then considered the exigencies of human affairs and temporary conveniences—treating the world’s span as brief, human life as confined to a single generation, and seeing no issue in letting the present world be entirely toyed with by those alive today—polygamy and polyandry might indeed have served as useful conveniences.
Given the multitude of worldly affairs, there were instances where a married couple had to live apart temporarily; illnesses and calamities too were not infrequent.
In these circumstances—whether engaging not merely with a single spouse but with one husband taking multiple wives or one wife taking multiple husbands—such acts might have seemed indispensable to human sentiment beyond mere stone-like rigidity, even advantageous as temporary expedients. Yet this stemmed from a self-serving bias that sought so-called “pure profit” by fixating solely on pleasure while ignoring life’s inherent balance of joys and sorrows. It not only harmed present society but was also impermissible when considering future generations’ welfare.

When men and women once commit this transgression, they have already violated the great moral principle of marriage, forgotten the way of forbearance, and caused emotional anguish; thus, the sincerity of their mutual reverence and affection must inevitably be severed from that moment onward. Even if one might maintain an outward appearance of propriety due to various circumstances, a single flaw will harm the radiance of flawless jade, extinguishing their household’s brightness; once a root of calamity takes hold, it erupts as discord between parent and child, transforms into strife among siblings, and when considering the nation’s future, this household’s immorality proliferates through generations until it ultimately weakens the very foundation of societal public morality. Therefore, I declare: Though one may accept laws permitting polygamy and polyandry as playthings for the present generation alone, if we regard this nation as an eternal entity and hold the current generation accountable to posterity, I cannot permit trading matters of grave importance for future generations against transient expediency.

The relationship between both sexes was one of utmost magnitude and gravity, and when a man and woman pledged to cohabit as husband and wife, this had been hailed as humanity’s great moral principle—the foundation of all societal blessings and the wellspring of all misfortunes. As I had already made clear in my previous arguments, when we examined actual instances throughout history and across the world to determine which sex more frequently neglected this relationship and violated this great principle, we invariably concluded that it was men.

Among the nations of Western civilization too, none had been entirely free from this; yet even within that context, Japan stood as the most extreme example—a truth discernible from its age-old custom of never prohibiting polygamy.

As for whether men and women in Western civilized nations were truly pure, they were by no means so; indeed, when taken to extremes, there were many instances of profound impurity. Yet their sentiment of abhorring and despising such impurity *as* impurity had been far more intense than that of the Japanese people, and the rigor of public opinion in this regard remained beyond comparison with Japan.

Therefore, when men of those Western nations committed immoral acts, they did so fully aware of their immorality—as if defying public opinion in secret—and thus these deeds belonged entirely to humanity’s great secrets: unspoken by any, unheard by any. Regardless of factual occurrence, outward propriety alone was maintained, not yet reaching ruin. Yet the misfortune lay in our Japan’s old customs: though the origins of this matter could not be clearly ascertained today, our national character since ancient times had valued family bloodlines—to such an extent that laws were enacted to extinguish house names lacking heirs. Driven by an urgent need to produce children and finding no method more expedient than polygamy for achieving this aim, it was here that the custom of keeping concubines appeared to have taken root.

Setting aside debates about natural law, those compelled by customs prioritizing family lineage to reluctantly resort to keeping concubines might appear not wholly unreasonable—indeed, this might even have seemed forgivable as a singular national principle. Yet the ills born from this practice for future generations were truly beyond what pen and paper could ever fully convey.

Human desires were inherently difficult to suppress as it was, but given that here we had the convenient doctrine of succession of descendants and so forth, what act could possibly remain uncommitted once this principle was expanded?
It became permissible to divorce wives, permissible to keep concubines; if one concubine proved insufficient, two were permissible; even exchanging and replacing two or three concubines at will, as one pleased, became likewise permissible.
Over the long years of societal changes, the doctrine of succession not only came to be used as a mere pretext but was itself swiftly forgotten; a single man associating with multiple women took on the appearance of a privilege bestowed upon males, culminating in today’s era of unregulated marital practices. This extended beyond being merely a misfortune for individual households—its calamity reached the entire nation, as household private morality first became disordered, harming the public morality of social interactions, until even the great foundation of nation-building could not avoid being shaken.
Therefore, Japanese men today whose private conduct remains unrectified are not merely criminals against their own descendants; as members of society, they cannot escape guilt before both the present world and future generations.

Due to the master’s lack of rectitude in private conduct—stirring up turmoil within the household, causing the family’s anguish, thereby hindering the development of their private morality, giving rise to unfilial children, and creating siblings devoid of fraternal affection—these were inevitable consequences, hardly surprising. Yet what demanded utmost pity was how the household fermented the pernicious custom of Male Superiority/Female Inferiority, thereby instilling in descendants a disposition toward tyranny and servility.

Though men’s immoral conduct had become so commonplace that none found it strange, in humanity’s innate heart there could be no one who boasted of such self-committed depravity as a human virtue.

No—a hundred men were a hundred men, a thousand men were a thousand men; all carried this shame deep in their hearts.

Inwardly ashamed yet outwardly feigning arrogance, they carried on as if unrestrained and indifferent, forcibly consoling themselves; but as flawed beings of common parlance, they could never dwell in untroubled ease.

Even amidst living, eating, and gathering harmoniously with their family, should a forbidden subject be broached, the resulting displeasure defied comparison.

When an innocent child asked why they shared the same father but had different mothers, or raised doubts and pressed with questions like “Why does our household have one father and two or three mothers while neighboring households have only two parents?”—even that iron-faced father found himself speechless, left only to either remain silent with a cold smile or divert the conversation elsewhere.

That was to say—this was their own weakness—a child’s single word, sharp as a dagger’s edge, pierced their heart.

Since this weakness already existed, they had no choice but to perpetually devise means to defend against it.

As for what this strategy entailed: day and night, the master had to strictly regulate his words and deeds, regard family members as strangers, compel his wives, concubines, children and grandchildren to serve him as slaves would a lord—ensuring they neither approached the household’s supreme authority nor touched upon its taboos. In common parlance, this meant never displeasing one’s “lord and master” while clarifying distinctions of rank and status. As for forbidden matters of private conduct—not even hinting at them in speech—it became imperative to cultivate a household culture where understanding flowed through glances alone. This single strategy constituted nothing less than a breastwork defending against exposure of private immorality.

Generally, things necessary in human affairs often came about without being specifically sought—indeed, even defensive measures against private misconduct showed no trace of any household master having invented and implemented them at any particular time. Yet in today’s reality, masters whose private conduct remained unrectified inevitably maintained a strictly formal exterior in their household’s public image; meanwhile, among family members bound by blood, interactions naturally resembled those between strangers—each hiding something and failing to open up to one another.
Or again: even in households where domestic order had collapsed into unregulated chaos—parents, children, wives, and concubines acting with mutual disregard and lawlessness—the master invariably proved especially short-tempered and tyrannical, inevitably feared by all under his roof.
This arose from practical necessity: for were they to slacken in household discipline even slightly, or were the master to lack the tyrannical force of a short temper, they would risk exposure of their immoral weaknesses.
There were those in society who claimed that the master of a certain household paid no heed to his private conduct and neglected household duties—or that his wives and concubines lived together in a most improper manner—yet asserted that the principal wife remained chaste, the lord impartial, and the concubine exceedingly docile, and that never had any discord arisen within the household. These were nothing more than rumors based on appearances and hearsay.
The absence of such turmoil arose solely from the strictness of household laws and the master’s domineering authority; to put it figuratively, it differed not from a repressive government under which no riots occurred.
It simply did not rupture on the surface.
This inner reality harbored mutual turmoil—stormy waves—within their hearts.
Therefore, the structure of Male Superiority/Female Inferiority—the master’s oppression and family members’ servility—constituted an indispensable necessity for immoral households; since day and night they reared younger generations within this system, one had also to envision what would become of these children in later years.
It was precisely these whom I pitied.
Though the world was vast and families numerous, let it be known that the happiness found in a household where husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters mutually revered one another with sincere affection—concealing nothing in shadow or light as they prayed for each other’s well-being, expressed respect even in moments of discourtesy, yielded to one another as if in competition, and maintained perpetual harmony as serene as springtime regardless of wealth—was a joy unattainable in immoral households.

When a person of virtue lives in this world, they must have something they believe in and hold dear themselves.
That is to say, it refers to relying on qualities beyond oneself—attributes others cannot attain—whether exceptional talent, extraordinary wealth, or any other trait that constitutes personal gravitas and serves as grounds for self-assurance and dignity. Yet among these, the foremost reliance must be placed on flourishing private morality—the principle of being blameless even in the secrecy of one’s chamber. For those who cultivate such moral principles without shame within their households and act unapologetically beyond them, regardless of wealth or talent, there is none who does not recognize their own worth and thereby attain self-belief.
This is what is called the status of a person of virtue.
This is what is referred to as “dignity” in Western terms.
Fundamentally, when we inquire why those who cultivate their private morality develop an air of self-assured dignity—as though occupying an elevated position in the world—it is because they endure hardships others cannot bear and achieve what others cannot accomplish.
For example, if a student studies through the night, regardless of whether their academic skills advance, that very act of diligence alone should suffice for them to believe in and respect themselves.
If a temple monk rises early each morning, chants sutras, endures coarse clothing and simple meals, and does not shrink from the hardships of heat and cold, though these acts bear no immediate relation to worldly gains or losses, his spirit will develop a dignified air of looking down upon the mundane world solely through confronting such adversities.
When all people under heaven greedily pursue wealth, to be alone in moderation; in a society where deceit is practiced, to be alone in honesty; in a frivolous and heartless world, to be alone in compassion—each of these is an exceptional discipline and an essential element of self-assurance and dignity.
For a student’s diligent study and a monk’s austere regimen of sleep and meals constitute physical pain, while virtues such as frugality, honesty, and compassion represent mental endurance—that is to say, they too are forms of hardship when viewed from another perspective.

Thus, even within the practice of valuing private morality, to strictly regulate interactions between the sexes, uphold purity from start to finish, and act without shame before heaven and earth required this: though life was long and filled with a thousand and one circumstances, one had to suppress their impulses—at times defying even others’ countenances—and remain sober while all the world was drunk, advancing resolutely without glancing left or right. This was no trivial discipline.

It was an ordeal befitting flesh-and-blood humans; once one had cultivated this discipline and looked back upon the mundane world, they found it filled with an air of corruption so foul as to be unbearable.

As for the ignorant and immoral lower classes—that was one matter—but even among sections deemed the wealthy and noble upper class or scholars, there were many things one could not bear to mention.

Precisely because they believed it was for the sake of human dignity and societal decorum that none dared speak of this openly—yet in truth, there were even those who forgot their status as spiritual beings and became mere slaves to animalistic desires.

If one resided in a position of purity and blamelessness, how could they gaze upon this corrupt and ugly world without developing a mind that distinguished themselves from it? They deemed it beneath them to associate with others based merely on the extent of their wealth or the depth of their learning. How much more so when it came to distinguishing purity from impurity in the relationship between men and women—the great foundation of human ethics and the source of a hundred virtues. They could not help but view other abominations beneath them.

That is to say, it elevated our spirit to the lofty heights of self-assurance and dignity; once the spirit became resolute, its influence did not confine itself to the realm of human ethics alone—it manifested as dynamism in social interactions, grace in verbal exchanges, and overflowed with vast vital energy, leaving nothing in the external world capable of intimidating them. They might have appeared to engage in witty banter and moved freely without restraint, yet left not a single stain of impurity in their wake, maintaining such abundant composure that they caused no anguish to others' sensibilities. For the pinnacle of purity and blamelessness paradoxically became boundless magnanimity—one that accommodated the countless impurities of this fleeting world without hindrance. Contrast this with those immoral men of society who, when not indulging in depravity alone in the shadows, held gatherings with their ilk—boasting of lavish revelry and calling it pleasure—where they caroused recklessly with wine and women, carrying themselves with smug satisfaction. Yet when misfortune brought them before the eyes and ears of virtuous persons, these flawed beings instantly shrank, their faces paling as they cowered behind others, displaying servile shame akin to moles exposed to sunlight—a sight that could not be spoken of in the same breath.

In recent times, alongside what society called the progress of civilization and enlightenment, academic and artistic skills had also advanced, producing notable figures in younger society. Moreover, even among the older generation, there were those who delighted in enlightened theories and sought to implement their principles—a development that appeared worthy of celebration. However, just as enlightenment progressed, so too did the lack of regulation in private conduct advance simultaneously. These individuals now committed acts of immorality that would never have been permitted even in the feudal era—an age they themselves derided as uncivilized barbarism—and there remained none among them who did not stay shamelessly unashamed.
It might be said that as civilization progressed, people committed crimes that would shame barbarians.
What possible effect could academic and artistic skills have?
I would rather have associated with unlearned and unskilled people than desired to join forces with intellectual monsters in maintaining our society and building our nation.
Fundamentally, that our Japanese nation had maintained an independent society for several thousand years and intended to transmit it for tens of thousands of years to come was due to the essential elements that inherently made this possible.
That was to say, it was the public morality of society, and the foundation of that public morality lay in the private morality of the household.
What kind of frivolous youth dared to use civilization as a pretext to harm the great foundation of nation-building?
Our morality originated from thousands of years and had a firm foundation.
How could we allow you to easily shake this?
The world was vast; I was not without virtuous friends.
[They were] ones who vigilantly observed your every action without the slightest pretense and desired to beat the drum and condemn your sins.

The principle that human society distinguishes between public and private rights—that one must first secure private rights before addressing public rights—is something I have previously written about in *Jiji Shinpo* ("On Private Rights," published from October 6th to 12th last year). However, though the circumstances giving rise to this concept of private rights are manifold, it must be understood that its foremost cause resides in the heart that believes in and esteems itself.

That is to say, by establishing one’s moral principles in a state of perfect flawlessness—where the dignity of one’s person surpasses even that of a jade disc—and by feeling that violating these principles would be akin to marring a luminous jade with blemishes, one must remain vigilant without a moment’s negligence, shrewdly guarding oneself until fully securing private rights.

Therefore, while protecting private rights may now appear purely a legal matter with no connection to moral principles, the very intention to protect them originates from an aversion to marring one’s flawless self—so if one harbors guilt upon self-reflection, this intention can never fully develop.

For the individual is inherently flawed, and since their spirit has already withered, they cannot avoid compromising when faced with critical tests of principle.

That is to say, as an inherent rule governing human psychology, there exists no logic by which one can bend true intentions in one direction while extending them in another.

Though cultivating private morality to achieve purity and asserting private rights without compromise may seem distinct, their fundamental elements are identical—private morality and rights being interrelated, with morality constituting the essence of rights.

If we test this against history: men of virtue who protect their rights like iron—unyielding to authority or wealth—are invariably gentle and compassionate within their homes.

Thus, public righteousness must prove itself through domestic virtue.

In any circumstance, I have yet to hear of dissolute youths who neglect their homes ever upholding principles for private rights.

Observing current affairs discreetly, political debates had grown increasingly heated regarding the transfer of public authority—namely, political power—with those seeking to protect it and those aiming to seize it appearing to contend fervently. While this was entirely natural, as citizens of a civilized nation possessed the right to engage in national governance and might thus contend for it, as previously stated, to safeguard and obtain this public political authority, one had to first secure their private rights. Moreover, the principle that solidifying these private rights required cultivating private morality was already evident. Yet when we inquired into what manner of people today’s Japanese politicians were and the state of their private morality, though externally they all appeared to be of middling or higher caliber, they were not exclusively virtuous gentlemen.

Though there were those whose knowledge and experience approached Western-style civilization, their lack of exceptional virtue when it came to moral education was something I found deeply regrettable.

Civilized scholars, ingenious in craftiness, occasionally adopted the so-called “unrestrained openness” of literary and Confucian circles for their own convenience; while committing rash, frivolous, and outrageous acts of immorality, they loudly proclaimed that “a gentleman does not dwell on trivial matters,” seeking to use this as a pretext to conceal their misconduct.

Setting aside for now the question of what exactly the Chinese-style term “unrestrained openness” (*rairakuraku*) signified, in today’s context, *rairaku* and immoral conduct differed only in their written characters while sharing the same essence. Elders proclaimed this “unrestrained openness” as the moral principle of politicians, setting examples for the youth to emulate—until it formed a pervasive trend across political society. Far from tarnishing one’s reputation, immorality now appeared to demand both the utmost *rairaku* and the utmost depravity to sufficiently overwhelm others.

Fundamentally, the lack of regulation in private conduct differed in nature from legal offenses such as shamelessness and was not something to be immediately condemned.
Moreover, since these were matters people disliked speaking of or hearing about, they tended to form customs imperceptibly during times of ignorance; once a generation passed and another followed, these customs became as though inherent to the people of that era, reaching a point beyond redemption.
In ancient times, even as our imperial court gradually declined, the court officials in power neglected to regulate their private conduct and disparaged personal virtue; by belittling it internally, they forgot the greater principles of public morality externally, ultimately losing both their individual private rights and the public rights beyond their households.
Therefore, even if today’s politicians were zealous in governance—not merely for their own transient wealth and status but precisely out of an intent to open a path for expanding the people’s private rights and extending public rights for the sake of the nation and future generations—leaving behind precedents ill-suited to future political society would surely have been against their true intentions.
If, upon examining their true intentions, they found no satisfaction—even if there was no legal accountability—why did they not reflect and refrain from such conduct today?
They defiled their own precious bodies—bodies so vital they should have been beyond reproach—turning a single stain into a lifelong weakness. Bereft of the acuity to attend to any private virtues, as though their spirits had been paralyzed and their vigor to defend private rights extinguished, they drifted aimlessly through the world. Yet in matters of principle, they grew fervent over what should rightly have been called the trivialities of governance—political affairs and debates. Impolitely though I must say it, I could not help but judge them as those who chased after trifles while ignorant of fundamentals.

Moreover, as the nation's morality advanced overall, discussions on conduct grew ever more astute. It was no longer a matter for future generations to debate—if one was deemed guilty of immoral conduct, they would find no tolerance in contemporary society as a rule.

Observe this: Sir Charles Dilke, the renowned British politician, had been expelled from political society due to a scandal of impropriety deemed highly questionable (some argue it was a completely baseless injustice).
I naturally held no personal connection to Sir Charles Dilke and thus did not deeply rejoice or grieve over his fortunes; I merely discerned the general moral climate of British political society through this single incident.
That political society could indeed be called pure and unblemished, leaving not a single stain of impurity.
Only thus might it merit being named a nation's political society.
The unyielding spirit—yielding neither to private interests nor bending to public compromise—cultivated Private Morality and Private Rights within, which then manifested outwardly as Public Morality and Public Rights; thus did the nation's order stand solemn and majestic, its lingering radiance illuminating all directions—no mere accident of chance.
I desired first to make the moral principles of our political society like Britain's before engaging in actual governance and political discourse.

To open relations with foreign countries and uphold the dignity of an independent nation, both substantive and formal efforts proved indispensable.
Endeavors such as striving to augment the resources for enriching the nation through industry, commerce, and trade; advancing the path of scholarship and education to illuminate humanistic enlightenment; and strengthening naval and military forces to fortify national defense—these stood as direct and essential practical measures. However, as interactions between domestic and foreign peoples grew exceedingly complex and frequent, and as foreigners seeking to comprehend the circumstances of our Japanese nation found it no easy task, it became critically important to open a path for them to recognize our true character—regardless of an action’s scale or significance—even if this entailed superficial displays belonging to the realm of the superfluous; we had to first demonstrate these forms.
That was to say, demonstrating and expounding on such matters as the state of our nation’s clothing, food, housing, customs, and religion—at times even deliberately embellishing their external appearances to maintain decorum—constituted precisely this.
For instance, in those days’ reality, when foreigners visited our homes, we first made various preparations to entertain them as honored guests, worrying above all that nothing appeared unsightly—this remained but human nature.
Moreover, scaling this up to urban and rural roads and bridges, public buildings, and other structures, there indeed existed instances where their appearance was adorned beyond practical use.
In recent times, social interactions in places like Tokyo had become increasingly active—to the point of finally inviting criticism of undue extravagance—likely containing some element of concern for appearances vis-à-vis foreigners.
While it might have seemed like nothing more than useless pretense to dismissively criticize this, since making others recognize our true nature was exceedingly difficult, if we considered it an expedient means of guiding them from superficiality to substance, it could not be entirely condemned.
Setting aside for now debates over their truth or necessity, the spirit with which our Japanese people valued foreign relations—never treating them lightly—and strove with all our might to uphold our nation’s dignity stood truly evident, and this patriotic fervor could be said to manifest in tangible deeds.

Yet the circumstance that defied satisfactory explanation despite my years of observation was this: while my countrymen exerted themselves tirelessly in diplomacy—not only pursuing national wealth, strength, and civilization in practice but even striving to emulate Western-style civilization and enlightenment down to external appearances and superficial decorations, embracing it with single-minded admiration—they utterly abandoned enlightened principles when it came to the matter of private conduct, complacently adhering to purely Asiatic old customs as though Western standards held no place in their vision.

Fundamentally, Westerners remained ignorant of our Japan’s circumstances, and not a few tended to hold grossly mistaken views.

Above all, being adherents of Christianity, upon encountering those who did not share their creed, they dismissed any thorough examination or inquiry and uniformly labeled them as heathens, harboring an ineffable sense of aversion—a circumstance most regrettable, as this frequently obstructed mutual goodwill. For my part, I never neglected to offer explanations.

Though there were Japanese people who had entered Christianity and others who had not yet done so, this distinction of adherence or non-adherence remained merely a matter of religious ceremony; the Japanese Empire was by no means an immoral nation, nor were Christian nations the sole moral ones. Having established a society over several millennia with clear human order and maintained independence in the East, how could we have achieved this without foundational national morality? Had one argued exhaustively that Christian doctrine was indeed beautiful and essential for nation-building—and that Japan might thus have unnamed Christians beyond those bearing the label—such reasoning would not inherently have lacked persuasive clarity. Yet when their critiques turned to matters of gender relations, attacking with utmost vehemence that Japanese men were permitted polygamy without censure—unprosecuted not only by law but unrestrained by custom—so much so that even those called masters of respectable upper-class households openly committed this disgrace without shame, thereby corrupting the great principles of domestic life and spawning innumerable evils: lax marital oversight, reckless marriages and divorces, parent-child estrangement, sibling quarrels, and ultimately Japan’s lack of true families; that without families there could be no nation; that Japan had yet to become a proper state—when confronted with such attacks, I too had not been unaware of foreigners’ misguided assumptions, nor did I deny that our moral customs had deteriorated to this extent or that all our families were as they claimed. Yet beyond foreigners’ sight had lain morality and families whose admirable customs would have made many Western civilized people blush; I might have elaborated on how these governed households and sustained society, citing evidence—but faced with their frontal assault wielding that era’s undeniable proofs, I had reluctantly been compelled to concede a point.

That it had come to pass—Westerners wielding the very means to despise us, thereby denying us equal regard—stood as a millennial regret, an eternal matter we must never forget.

And yet—who bore responsibility for this throughout the Japanese Empire? None but frivolous men who neglected to regulate their private conduct.
From this single consideration alone—to fret over foreigners’ perceptions by straining to maintain domestic decorum during their visits, adorning urban and rural facades, or flaunting opulence in social customs—proved utterly futile labor that abandoned contempt’s true root while chasing trivialities.
To draw analogy—within some towering mansion’s lavish banquet spread with mountain-sea delicacies; amidst wine-pool extravagance and meat-grove excess; amid zither-and-flute revelries exhausting all beauty to entertain guests—there sat the host alone, stripped naked.
Could guests—bound by thick courtesy—esteem such a household?
Though hospitality’s rites seemed solemn enough to merit gratitude—given their host’s pitiable state—even while avoiding overt breach of guest-host decorum—they would inevitably sneer privately and nurture contempt.
This was labor without merit—expenditure without gain.
Thus though Japan’s dealings with civilized foreign nations—public or private—often miscarried through multiple causes—our men’s moral contempt formed a chief cause among them—so any awakening to this truth demanded immediate error’s correction.
In today’s world—what person lives who does not love their land?
To sit on thorns or taste gall for country’s sake—this was human nature’s common course.
Regulating private conduct required no extraordinary hardship.
Where once such admonishment concerned only personal rectitude—now it bore grave weight upon national honor’s scales.
Those mindful of self and country had no choice but profound self-reflection.

As this installment of *Nihon Danshi Ron* ("On Japanese Men") had been lengthy—directly condemning men’s conduct without the slightest concession, its arguments sealed tight as a waterlogged vessel—the countless flawed men in society found themselves ambushed at their weakest point, with no avenue of escape. Inwardly, they protested: *True, the lack of regulation in private conduct might be deemed unsightly—but it was neither fraud nor shamelessness! Moreover, our own circumstances naturally involved matters unfit for public discussion. Must he rebuke us so harshly?* Yet despite this flicker of resentment, they possessed no retort and thus writhed in profound discomfort.

Though I was not unaware of this, if one were to ask what, as present-day Japanese people, should be considered paramount for our current contentment and the happiness of future generations, it would be none other than upholding the dignity of independence and ensuring Japan’s illustrious name endured eternally.

And it should be nothing less than the deepest sincerity proper to the Japanese people to adopt anything that offered even the slightest benefit in upholding this dignity and illustrious name, while seeking to eliminate anything that would harm them.

In absolute theory, when the nature of good and evil in the human world remained unresolved even after exhaustive debate, it was all the more difficult to conclusively judge whether monogamy or polygamy was righteous or corrupt in matters of private conduct between men and women. Yet based on experiments since the dawn of creation and in accordance with today’s civilizational principles, polygamy did not equal monogamy in virtue—whether for the private good of a household or the public good of a nation.

Moreover, in today’s world—an era when all were swept by the winds of Western civilization and could not resist them—the civilized ethos abhorred polygamy, and this rejection had proven splendidly effective. It was now most suited to establishing households and nations in our time, while those who defied it would inevitably suffer irreparable harm. With this truth already evident, setting aside theoretical debates over right and wrong, it stood as an imperative that the people of a nation must never disregard—for the sake of their country and their own households. This was precisely why I would make not the slightest concession, no matter what circumstances I encountered.

Moreover, there were those who crafted theories and styled themselves as people of Western civilization—yet their private conduct between men and women was by no means pure; though appearances might be maintained, if one circled to inspect their interiors from behind, there were many things unbearable in their ugliness—and were there none who argued that this alone did not suffice to condemn solely the Japanese?
This was an argument circulated among our country’s upper classes—particularly those who styled themselves as Westernizers—yet it amounted to nothing more than a wholly impotent pretext.
Fundamentally, if one considered the average person’s vitality, it was exceedingly weak; thus, it was not uncommon for them to easily succumb to hardships and suffer defeat—such was human nature.
Yet maintaining clean private conduct without a trace of shame posed no small challenge for those lacking vigor—precisely why Western men and women, being neither unfeeling stones nor paragons of strength, found that when their society’s hidden corners were exposed by what was vulgarly called muckraking journalism, countless scandals and disgraceful acts emerged too numerous to list.
I had personally heard accounts from those Westerners and seen in their books and newspapers that such scandals were hardly rare—yet even so—what must Japanese men have thought upon witnessing these immoral acts and disgraceful affairs in Western society?
Did they deem this ugliness or beauty?
What I desired to ascertain lay solely in this one point: their judgment of what constituted ugliness or beauty.

Though Japanese men might be thick-skinned, what their eyes perceived as ugly remained ugly, and what they perceived as beautiful had to be beautiful.
Having already discerned between ugliness and beauty, why then did they not cast aside the ugly and embrace the beautiful?
Ugliness and beauty inherently resided within oneself and could not be connected in the slightest to external factors.
If indeed there were beauty within one's own being, the ugliness and beauty filling the world outside could not measure the weight of one's virtue.
Or conversely, should one have harbored even a single speck of ugliness within themselves, even had there existed those emitting infinite ugliness across the world, that ugliness could neither have purified one's own disgrace nor warranted forgiveness.
Therefore, if one witnessed immoral conduct still flourishing in civilized Western nations' societies, they should have considered it fortunate material for self-reflection; yet to craft self-serving arguments—using others' wrongdoing as excuses to pardon one's own misdeeds—was something I would never permit.
To illustrate this with an immediate analogy: whether one harmed virtue through immoral conduct or harmed their body through contact with cholera's poison, the nature of the damage proved equally grave.
Yet now, amidst this cholera epidemic, how were we to protect ourselves?
If all people under heaven became infected with the virus, if the epidemic had become a global phenomenon with Western nations likewise affected—then with no leisure left to tend even to our own well-being—could there truly have been those abandoning themselves to spreading this poison far and wide, sharing disease, suffering, life and death with the world's people?
Not only had I never encountered such individuals, but as the epidemic grew increasingly rampant, people's self-disciplinary methods became ever more meticulous—this layering of caution upon caution being humanity's timeless nature across eras and civilizations.
It went without saying that neither body nor spirit should be treated lightly or heavily; the current lack of regulation in private conduct destroyed human ethics' great foundation and first corrupted the spirit.
People feared bodily viruses with intense dread, yet committed spirit-corrupting immorality themselves under pretext of societal complicity, seeking guilt's absolution.
This absurdity reached equal extremity.
Therefore though Western-style advocates read European/American publications to probe hidden ugliness—publicizing such finds while cloaking their shame through such contrivances—they needed know their tactics would find no path to evade my pen's scrutiny.

The lack of discipline in Japanese men’s private conduct was not only already detestable in its reality but further compounded by age-old customs that had long failed to recognize ugliness as ugliness or feel shame for it. At its worst, they labeled their own reckless and disorderly behavior as “unrestrained openness,” harboring pride in their shamelessness even as they blushed—a conduct society permitted without question. In upper-class circles, such men were praised as “refined talents,” as though adding distinction to their character, while among lower-class commoners, vulgar sayings like “romance is a man’s duty” proliferated without restraint. This had not arisen overnight.

This custom had taken root during our nation’s era of literary refinement and courtly weakness, with phrases like “a jeweled cup without a bottom” remaining proverbial even today. In the subsequent age of warrior rule, preoccupied with military affairs abroad and lacking leisure to cultivate domestic ethics, Confucianism flourished under Tokugawa governance—yet following Chinese precedents, it not only failed to condemn the moral rightness or depravity of private conduct but degenerated into ornamental rhetoric by the Bunka and Bunsei eras, prioritizing indulgence and audacity. In places like the three metropolises, Confucian literati formed dens that might as well have been called lairs for immoral practitioners—a corrupt tradition that persisted even after the Tokugawa regime collapsed into Meiji’s new world. The ethos of rakish license endured undiminished: Western-style scholars, though studying matters entirely outside Confucian traditions—and even without entering the gates of Western religious or moral systems—discovered through contact with foreigners, listening to their speech, reading their books, and observing their customs that surface appearances alone starkly differed from Japan’s reality. They awakened profoundly, resolved to reform themselves, and ought to have discarded Confucian-flavored debauchery to align with gentlemanly propriety. Yet despite adopting Western manners in all speech and action, many retained purely old-Japanese essences in their private conduct.

It was that they, constrained by the general customs of society, had lost the clarity to recognize ugliness as ugliness; one might critique this not as a sin of deliberate creation by the conscious mind, but rather as the folly of committing evil without awareness.

From this perspective, they should not have been condemned but rather pitied.

When a certain foreign dignitary visited last year, these self-styled Tokyo gentlemen busied themselves with preparations, gathering geisha from across the prefecture as part of their flawlessly courteous reception to stage lavish song-and-dance performances for the guest’s entertainment—an affair reportedly met with great satisfaction. Yet in truth, most of these geisha were women of immoral conduct who routinely defiled themselves with unspeakable acts alongside their artistic performances, being little better than common prostitutes and thus wholly unworthy to appear before persons of high station.
In Western nations’ high society, such women are naturally held in contempt; even in our Japan, were one to entertain feudal-era lords with geisha performances as done today, they would surely protest this impropriety.
Thus it proved fortunate the dignitary remained ignorant of these geishas’ true nature—had they learned the facts behind this hospitality, their satisfaction would have turned to outrage at such disrespectful impropriety.
Yet this stemmed not from those gentlemen knowingly committing rudeness, but rather their habitual dismissal of moral conduct between men and women as trivial matters—delighting solely in geishas’ flowery beauty while blurring all distinction between morally bankrupt women and chaste ladies of good families, thereby stumbling into grave error.
I refrain from censuring those individuals directly, instead mourning our customs’ laxity and the public’s moral obtuseness.
In essence, today’s gentlemen—scholars and ignoramuses alike—while maintaining noble words and deeds overall, prove shockingly base in matters of personal conduct; vulgar wisdom might dub them “menials unfit for polite company.”
Their rushing between pleasure quarters to carouse in brothels, summoning geisha who flit between villas and mistresses’ banquets—all this passes for normal social practice; indeed, crucial negotiations supposedly require liquor and courtesans’ company to foster mutual goodwill among discussants.
Utterly repugnant and rightly deemed grotesque.

Though condemning centuries-old customs might have seemed a futile exercise, today’s Japan was no longer merely the Japan within Japan itself, but a Japan situated within a civilized world facing all nations. Therefore, any who valued Japan’s honor among its scholars could not fail to take heed.
Allow me to present an example and put to them this question.
When you hired geisha as usual at your so-called grand banquets, drank wine, and conversed triumphantly—this went without saying—but even at intimate gatherings with relatives, friends, and men and women in harmony, who but you were the ones scattering cups and dishes in disarray the moment the party grew mildly lively?
Such disarray might yet have been excused as a banquet’s diversion—even deemed amusing—but when those present inevitably formed small clusters, their talk straying to matters of the pleasure quarters, it became unbearable to hear.
What, precisely, did they discuss and laugh about? What questions did they pose and answer in their incessant chitter-chatter about the pleasure quarters?
What manner of discourse did they form by intermingling such bizarre and vulgar language—calling things “special items” and “handsome men,” “pleasure” and “blunders”?
The dreariness of drunken brawls, though naturally detestable, could not compare to the hidden ugliness of pleasure-quarter talk.
If there had been among foreigners someone supremely skilled in Japanese—one who could comprehend not only the meaning of conversation but even the subtle nuances of speech—or if there had been a Japanese person so adept in foreign languages that they could render any Japanese utterance into another tongue without the slightest error, and if such interpreters had translated your discussions from first to last without omission for gentlemen and ladies of Western civilized nations—making them hear these words and read their transcriptions—what verdict would those gentlemen and ladies have delivered?
Without considering any circumstances, out of sheer astonishment, they would have boldly declared Japanese gentlemen to be menials unworthy of presentation and left it at that.
Having been subjected to such criticism, did you truly feel no shame?

Though gentlemen scholars of Western nations conversed freely at their gatherings, whether any among them dared to spout vulgarities as you did remained beyond my knowledge.
Though these vulgarities were unheard of in civilized society, you persisted in uttering them without restraint, insisting on reassuring yourselves that foreigners remained ignorant of Japan’s affairs. Yet as stated earlier, today’s Japan was a Japan facing the world—and those who recognized a nation’s honor as its lifeblood could not remain silent about your conduct.
Though it might seem trivial, to provide a nearby example: readers were likely aware of the Western-style comic stories occasionally published in the *Jiji Shinpō*, where English text accompanied translations.
These writings were extracted from Western newspapers and the like, and as they did not necessarily select articles based on their ugliness or beauty, there might occasionally be outlandish ramblings and bold statements; however, concerning disgraceful tales of private conduct in human life—what was vulgarly called “base matters”—not a single word of such could be found.
The reason for this was not that translators took care to deliberately avoid them, but rather that such disgraceful stories could not be found within the original texts.
If we were to set aside Western original texts and attempt to replace them with Japanese-style comic stories, what sort of things would we obtain were we to collect their varieties?
The subject matter inevitably delved into the realm of the physical, with seven or eight out of ten such instances being unsightly and unpleasant to hear.
After all, this should have been seen as evidence that our civilization had yet to rid itself of vulgarity.
Now, while the vulgarity of these Japanese-style rakugo and comic tales—particularly those circulating among the lower classes—might yet be pardoned, when those who styled themselves as dignified upper-class gentlemen-scholars both committed vulgarity themselves and spoke of vulgar matters, emitting foul odors to the world, this constituted an inexcusable crime against the moral principles expected of gentlemen-scholars who served as national exemplars.

The essence of this essay, as stated at the outset of its opening section, began with the aim of rectifying Japanese men’s conduct, curbing their excessive arrogance, and achieving equilibrium in the status of both sexes—asserting that the foundation of human morality lay within the marital bond. Though moral theorists had debated merits and flaws through concepts like self-love and universal benevolence, their failure to distinguish between private and public morality led them to misprioritize moral cultivation. Private morality was the mother of public morality, its roots embedded in the great ethic of matrimony; yet throughout history, it had invariably been men who violated this ethic—and Japan stood as the most egregious example. Polygamy must never be tolerated: those who committed such disgraceful acts not only brewed misfortune for their households and bequeathed calamity to descendants but also, through unregulated private conduct, emitted scandals across all nations—rendering themselves criminals who tarnished their country’s reputation. Thus, the essay’s critique directed itself solely at men, without addressing women’s status.

When comparing the women of our nation to men, their status proved entirely distinct; while their authority in domestic affairs might be one matter, all external social interactions became monopolized by men, rendering women’s presence as though nonexistent.

Particularly when men committed the disgraceful act of polygamy, causing women emotional anguish—this constituted not only an extreme form of self-indulgence but also the height of selfish partiality and personal desire, leaving no room for further debate.

I had long listened to society’s moral theorists and observed how many casually overlooked this crucial point as if dismissing it unworthy of inquiry—not only privately questioning this but reaching such disdain for their ignorance that I now openly scorned it—and it was not that I lacked designs to vigorously elevate women’s status to rival men’s.

Through and through, maintaining the current relationship by contrasting present-day women with present-day men remained something I utterly refused to accept; yet when shifting perspective to consider one aspect, inherent qualities such as highness and lowness, strength and weakness, largeness and smallness stood as relative relations rather than absolute principles.

It was precisely because high things existed that low things could exist; precisely because there was strength and greatness that smallness and weakness held meaning.

Therefore, even if we declared women’s status low now, should we lower men’s status to align them in parallel, equality of power between the sexes might be said to prevail.

Alternatively, were women left unchanged while men’s status sank further still, women’s rights would emerge declared particularly high.

This was precisely why I had directed my critique solely at men.

However, here—following the old school of Chinese learning—there existed doctrines specifically established for women.
Among the many texts recording this principle, the book commonly known in our country as *Greater Learning for Women* presented the essentials of women’s education; however, its pages contained not infrequent instances of impropriety and elements defying comprehension.
For example, arguments founded on vague spiritual theories—such as deeming women’s innate nature inferior to men’s, declaring women “passive by nature” while equating passivity with obscurity—deserved to be called absurd and baseless. Yet beyond this, the text largely consisted of emphatic admonishments directed at women.
I once jokingly likened the ancients’ teachings to shop signs hung in merchant houses—a metaphor capturing this notion. While taking *Greater Learning for Women*’s dense and severe text at face value and attempting to follow its extremes would prove utterly impractical in reality, viewing its precepts as educational doctrine involved no inherent contradiction. The principles would hold considerable merit if—rather than reproaching women alone—men too were brought within these teachings’ scope and compelled to exercise restraint.

For example, even if the main purport of such texts advises against jealousy, it becomes problematic precisely because they single out women for censure; yet as a maxim for both sexes to uphold, it would be beyond dispute.
Moreover, even injunctions such as “Do not engage in deceitful loquacity” and “Do not go out idly”—when either sex exceeds these bounds—were not praiseworthy.
Do not be led astray by shamans and mediums; dress according to one’s station; do not behave indecently with young men—these injunctions were most commendable.
Moreover, the injunction that women should revere their husbands as masters was problematic solely because it established this principle unilaterally from the women’s side.
Since designating [one] as “master” represented the ultimate expression of reverence, if men had directed themselves toward women—ensuring that within the marital bond they not only fulfilled all courtesies and inwardly cherished their spouses but also at times interacted with them through rituals befitting service to a lord—then even the phrase “regarding one’s husband as master” would have presented no issue.
Therefore, though my arguments for elevating women’s status overflowed as though bursting from a full stomach—and though I was not without means to achieve this—I deferred that discussion to another day. My present purpose lay in leaving women’s current status as it stood, preserving *Greater Learning for Women* largely intact without discarding it entirely, and instead compelling men to adhere to this text’s principles—thereby rectifying their conduct and maintaining both sexes in parallel equilibrium.

Now, to explain why this was so: since women’s low status derived from their position relative to men’s, any attempt to elevate them inevitably first brought to mind the notion of making contemporary women resemble contemporary men.

If women were to become like men—halting at distinctions of intellectual vigor’s depth and strength while prioritizing spiritual refinement—this would have been commendable provided even women in authority stayed within these bounds. Yet since civilization often enters through tangible forms, women’s education too had to prioritize externals first: reforming dress to adopt civilized fashions, expanding social interactions to study civilized practices, and single-mindedly mimicking foreign women’s conduct to affect liveliness. But by flaunting superficial adornments, they risked forgetting inner substance; their contrived vivacity gradually decayed into impropriety, while pretense ultimately impoverished households. It became imperative to ensure they did not discard inherited virtues before grasping Western civilization’s essence.

While these transitional evils were partly unavoidable, what proved intolerable was their reaching extremes where modern women might emulate male behavior—learning from Japanese men’s conduct itself. How could one respond?

Though Japanese conduct lacked refinement, what had preserved it thus far—veiling its ugliness while occasionally emitting glimmers of integrity that spared society’s honor—was none other than respectable households’ women.

Even today regarding private morality alone, Japanese women not only faced Western counterparts unashamed but often surpassed them—excelling where others failed, enduring what others could not—shaming many through comparison.

Acknowledged by Japanese and foreigners alike, this stood as Great Japan’s rightful national pride.

Had Japanese men’s misconduct gone unchecked while respectable households lacked women’s austere virtue these years, our society would have plunged into darkness; that this was avoided remained solely virtuous women’s gift.

Yet today, having not yet obtained ropes to restrain men’s recklessness, they first seek to lure these respectable women and children into tangible civilization—could this truly be without peril?
They say changing one’s environment alters aspirations.
To guide women and children—whose spirits remain unsteady—into tangible civilization is to transform their very foundation.
Once their foundation transforms, how might their aspirations shift?
Consider this proximate analogy: were today’s women and girls made to emulate their husbands’ and male relatives’ conduct, what ought we do?
Were one to paint this scenario in men’s minds—their wives and daughters precisely mirroring them, frolicking in shaded groves while they themselves reveled in pleasure quarters; wives vanishing tonight to unknown locales just as they returned home disgraced past midnight—even these supposedly “unrestrained” men would not only burn with shame but shudder in dread, recognizing this as catastrophic for public morality.
Yet as women and children’s aspirations—lured by this tangible yet soulless civilization—gradually shift toward liveliness, we must ensure this imagined tableau never materializes—is this not utterly terrifying?
Men’s immorality already constitutes Japan’s fount of calamity; compounding it with women’s immorality would redouble national misfortune.
The unrestrained spectacle of depravity in men’s society blazes like wildfire.
Moral education’s urgent task lies solely in abandoning all else to first extinguish these flames.
Elevating women’s status resembles constructing our nation’s first unprecedented edifice—a vision I fundamentally share and dare count myself among its pioneers—yet while engulfed in battling this all-consuming conflagration, we still lack respite for new construction.
Therefore henceforth, to my pen’s utmost capacity, I shall join readers in practicing these firefighting methods—first securing women’s position before gradually commencing improvements.