Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Preface

Toward the end of last year, having some business that took me to Washington, I took the opportunity to visit Dr. Kelly after a long interval.

Speaking of Dr. Kelly, his name remains quite familiar in Japan's scientific community; he served as long-time chief of the science and technology division at the Economic and Scientific Section during the General Headquarters era.

Recently there appears to be strong reactionary criticism against various policies imposed on Japan by the General Headquarters during the occupation.
However, regarding natural sciences specifically, GHQ assistance seems to have greatly contributed to Japanese academia's rehabilitation.
One reason lay in excellent personnel selection—those involved in this field generally possessed admirable character.
They devoted themselves wholeheartedly to considering Japan's interests.

Dr. Kelly was, in a word, a man with the visage of a Puritan.
All those in that department at the time had their own dignity, not just Dr. Kelly.
Dr. Pledge, who was engaged in malaria prevention work in Taiwan at the time, was one of the most prominent examples.
I once chanced upon him on a train in Hokkaido.
Even during the occupation, he did not ride in the U.S. military's exclusive cars but instead chose to board regular trains.

I found myself becoming his ideal conversation partner and was compelled to keep him company for eight hours.
When we had run out of things to talk about, he made an unusual request of me.
It was a request to find him a picture of Japanese bamboo stilts.
He said that during his high school years, he had become deeply preoccupied with existential questions about life and resolved that after graduating university, he would enter what he considered society's most earnest profession.
In modern America, he had convinced himself that being a circus clown constituted the most serious occupation.
As part of his training to become a clown, he explained how one needed to master riding tall bamboo stilts - a skill he had reportedly devoted himself to practicing extensively during his high school years.
This was why he retained such an attachment to bamboo stilts.
The story proved so engaging that I had been absently murmuring agreement, but when he produced from his pocket a photograph of himself perched on those very stilts from that bygone era, I found myself genuinely startled.

This was but a single anecdote, but in any case, they were all somewhat eccentric. At the very least, they were people far removed from the concept of Yankees. The fact that Japan’s scientific community revived more rapidly than expected after the defeat was of course due to the diligence of young scientists, but behind this, I believe that the devoted care of these individuals also played a role. That a nation which suffered a complete defeat rare in world history—unconditional surrender—hosted the International Congress of Physics within a decade of its defeat is itself an event deserving of historical record. This is all the more remarkable when considering the handicap of being in the Orient.

Now, here arises a problem.
If post-defeat scientific progress had indeed been so remarkable, then following the slogan of "Rebuilding Japan through Science," one would expect people’s lives to have become somewhat easier—this is the question being posed.
Even though science had reached global standards, if a mere downpour resulted in floods causing ordinary people to endure extreme hardships, then ultimately science and national well-being would end up being rather distant from one another.

At this point lies a major problem imposed upon Japanese science.
One response interprets that since science is not something that becomes immediately useful, if we wait a little longer now, the nation’s production will eventually increase and the people’s livelihood will improve.
However, is that truly the case? It is necessary to consider this a bit more.

II. Dr. Kelly's "Zero Theory"

Shortly after the war ended, Dr. Kelly visited Riken—the Institute of Physical and Chemical Research that preceded today's Science Research Institute.
This was during those days when people carried potato sacks and climbed through train windows.
Still not fully emerged from their stupor, within the air raid-damaged institute, young researchers moved in disarray.

Gathering these people together, Dr. Kelly delivered an address.
"For Japan having lost its colonies, science alone remains as your path forward.
We shall extend whatever assistance we can, but you must devote science's full power to make this nation survive through its own resources."

After that, there was a discussion, during which the following question arose.
“We agree with the intent; we too, of course, intend to do so.”
“However, science, in its essence, lies in the pursuit of truth, and I believe research in pure science—divorced from objectives like ensuring the survival of the nation—is also necessary.”
“What percentage should we consider appropriate?” was the question.
Dr. Kelly’s response to this was a single word: “Zero.”

When I spoke of his Puritan visage, this is precisely what I meant—though by any measure, "Zero" was somewhat extreme.
In short, he was a man prone to obsession.
Having been in the General Headquarters and moreover involved in a department that analyzed statistics concerning Japan, he likely held a markedly pessimistic view of Japan’s future.
That anxiety surfaced now that the cocaine injection of the Korean War had worn off.

Dr. Kelly’s “Zero” theory could be interpreted in various ways.
American science was, at least until very recently, science aimed at practical applications.
Of course, there was basic research as well, but the majority of it appeared to have been basic research in the sense that “basic studies are necessary for true practical utility.”
That scientists raised in such a country would advise postwar Japanese scientists to pursue useful science one hundred percent was one plausible interpretation.

However, relying on that alone still risks rendering the discussion superficial.
The crux lies precisely in having stated "zero" rather than employing expressions like ten percent or one percent.
There lingers a certain air of desperation here, but if this stance stemmed solely from what might be termed Dr. Kelly's religious zeal, it would indeed prove fortunate for Japan.
Yet one cannot dismiss the possibility that Japan's national circumstances themselves were progressing toward such extremes—a trajectory that may have been prophetically foreseen.

Over the past six months, the various incidents that had shaken Japanese society—from the Shipbuilding Scandal to the Prime Minister’s summons and the farcical formation of new political parties—all gave an overwhelming sense of terminal decline.
The entire nation succumbing to such trends was hardly surprising; given the fact that the production obtainable from the remaining four islands could not sustain the current population approaching ninety million, one might well have thought it was simply heading where it must go.
Of course, this did not mean we approved of such incidents, but rather that it might be necessary to examine them from the perspective of viewing these as natural phenomena.

**III. Useful Science**

At this point, clarifying my position would make the following discussion clearer.
I placed importance on useful science; however, this did not begin after the country's defeat in the war.
This dated back to when I graduated from university and worked as an assistant to Professor Torahiko Terada.

Speaking of Professor Torahiko Terada, there are surprisingly many who believe he spent his entire career conducting what might be called "hobby physics"—a pursuit that wholly ignored practical applications, despite having an approach like Terada Physics named after him.
However, this was absolutely not the case; the professor had in fact placed great importance on usefulness.

This dates back to when I joined Professor Torahiko Terada’s laboratory at Riken immediately after graduating from university.
Whether it was my first year there or the next—in any case, this was some thirty years ago—I once attended a regular meeting of the Mathematical Physics Society with the Professor.
Among the three or four presentations given, one was by the current Osaka University Professor A.
At that time, Mr. A was our colleague serving as an assistant to Professor Hantaro Nagaoka when he presented a paper on the development of an atmospheric mercury lamp.

Until that time, mercury lamps had generally been vacuum-based, but Mr. A devised a mercury lamp that operated under atmospheric pressure.
It was an extremely simple device—merely a fused quartz tube bent into a U-shape—whose sole distinctive feature was that the area around the electrodes was slightly bulged into a small spherical shape, where the mercury’s pressure would automatically adjust.

After leaving the lecture hall, we all entered a café with the professor as usual and, while drinking coffee, began evaluating that day's presentations.
Various discussions emerged, but none of the young researchers mentioned Mr. A's lecture.
This was because they all regarded it as self-evident.
However, the professor finally remarked: "What do you all think? Among today's lectures, I was most impressed by Mr. A's presentation. That research constitutes useful science. Above all else, what matters most is practical utility."

Speaking of mercury lamps, in today's world where high-pressure mercury lamps have become standard, this mercury lamp of Mr. A's must be known to few people. However, research that could serve as such foundational work has proven useful indeed. It was only after entering this profession that I truly came to understand just how numerous were the studies that boasted flashy titles yet failed to become foundational work.

Such reasoning is something I can now formulate, but the professor's words—"The most important thing is usefulness"—have remained lodged in a corner of my mind ever since. And now that I have surpassed the age the professor was at that time, I feel I increasingly come to understand its meaning.

However, prior to the war, there remained considerable flexibility in how this phrase could be interpreted.
This was because the meaning of "useful" could be interpreted broadly in any number of ways.
Of course, if interpreted too broadly without limits, the meaning would be lost.
In the broadest sense, it would amount to research that adheres to the essence of nature.
No matter how trivial, if it is research that captures even a fragment of nature’s essence, it will eventually prove useful.

Since science is a discipline that discerns nature's essence and seeks the laws within it, research unaligned with nature cannot exist.
Yet in reality, numerous non-scientific studies donning scientific form exist, making their distinction exceedingly challenging.
Such research is frequently observed among studies conducted solely to produce papers or compile reports.
When research becomes a profession and degrees transform into a form of capital, the emergence of such tendencies becomes inevitable.
In nations like America where most research operates on commission, they say particular vigilance regarding this matter proves essential.

**IV. Useless Science**

Even in scientific research, there exist studies not grounded in nature, and for such research, the notion that they will "someday prove useful" cannot hold true.
That said, unless I provide a concrete example, the true meaning may not be fully grasped.

However, since using actual examples could lead to complications, let us instead devise a hypothetical scenario—one that could plausibly occur in reality.
For example, suppose there was a person who conducted research on the strength of human hair.
Suppose there were statistically regular changes in hair strength depending on age, type, and health condition.
If such patterns were understood, that research could become work capturing a glimpse of reality regarding human physiology.
Suppose then that the person who began such research measured the force required to pull and break many strands of hair and wrote a paper.

In such cases, there could be two types of such papers.
If researchers truly measured hair strength, that work would fall into the category of potentially useful science.
However, there could also be cases where they presented numerous numerical values without having actually measured true hair strength.

For instance, pulling hair requires grasping both ends by some method.
The simplest approach would involve creating a small vise-like device to clamp one end and pull—but clamp too loosely and the hair slips free; tighten excessively and that spot becomes prone to snapping.
In such research methodology matters most; leave clamping ambiguity unresolved while recklessly testing multiple hairs and you merely compile meaningless data points.

The results ended up measuring how hair weakens due to clamping methods, meaning this did not constitute an examination of hair's true nature. Therefore, such research would never prove useful—neither directly nor eventually.

To make research truly useful, one had to devote most efforts to skillfully securing hair without damage. However, studies about clamping methods didn't earn degrees, so when pressed to produce papers quickly, researchers inevitably couldn't linger on such "trivial details." Yet in truth, these very "trivial" points mattered most.

Such research was necessary not only for hair but also in fiber strength testing，and as a spinning nation，Japan found this research meaningful.
And by then，fiber strength testers that had resolved such drawbacks had been developed，so there was virtually no concern that such examples would appear in their original form.
However，examples similar to this existed in great numbers across various fields.
As research became increasingly professionalized，this tendency seemed to be growing stronger in every country.

In America, tens of thousands of research reports would be published annually, and in Japan, the number would reach into the thousands.
However, among such a vast number of papers, those that had a lifespan of even ten years seemed to amount to no more than a few percent.
The primary cause was that there were too many studies conducted as commercial ventures—that is, research done solely to produce reports.

**V. The People’s Expectations and Science**

I shall refrain from delving any further into useless science.
Nor do I need to.
As long as one knows that such things exist in considerable numbers, that suffices.

The next issue to consider was orthodox science—which was commendable in itself and might even be called the true path of science.
Science in its true form scrutinizes nature’s essence and discerns laws hidden within.
It does not exist for purposes like serving this or that.
Therefore one could not expect much contribution from it toward improving people’s material livelihood.
When possessing more elevated character and benefiting humanity however，it makes greater contributions by renewing outlooks on life and worldviews.

There was a common tendency to vaguely assume that thoroughly researching science in its true form—that is, pure science—would naturally yield practical effects and ease people's livelihoods.
This held true in the broadest sense, yet a considerable gap persisted between such expectations and the people's present-day hopes for science.
It seemed probable that because the meaning of "science" remained poorly disseminated, people were prone to either blindly believing it in some instances or disregarding it in others.

Even if such things were stated，they would somehow ring hollow，so giving an example would make this discussion easier to grasp. In that case，Hoyle’s new cosmology—published in Britain several years prior and provoking a major global response—would likely be the most appropriate example. Although it had already been translated and introduced in Japan，according to this new cosmology，we should consider that there existed many other stars in the same state as Earth. Now，if external conditions were identical，it was scientific to consider that similar organisms would emerge. To posit that Earth alone，as some special exception，witnessed the emergence of humankind was a perspective distinct from natural science.

Therefore, there would be absolutely no issue in assuming that such stars are inhabited by beings similar to humankind.
However, it is considered that the number of such stars, even within the universe as far as current astronomical knowledge reaches, amounts to approximately five hundred thousand.
All are located at extremely great distances, and for the majority, the light that left those stars during the era when humankind was created on Earth has yet to reach our planet.

Even if there existed Earth-like stars in those distant realms, inhabited by beings akin to humankind and possessing civilizations like ours, direct contact with Earth's humanity would never occur. However, were they to realize that besides Earth there still existed five hundred thousand other races of "humanity" who spent every waking moment frantically clamoring about war, peace, social advancement, and conflict, this would certainly necessitate a change in their outlook on life.

Therefore，through future advancements in science，when such a theory becomes verified and gains widespread acceptance，it will bring a new way of thinking to our humankind．And through this，were humankind to grow even slightly wiser，it would constitute the most significant contribution to human happiness．

In that sense，the development of science along these lines deserves wholehearted celebration．Yet however great this contribution may be for humanity，such science remains profoundly distant from what most people today expect from science．

The majority of people did not know science’s true nature.
They pinned their most immediate hopes—wanting rice rations increased by another twenty percent or hoping flood damage might be prevented—on science.
This might have been an overstatement，but I thought a considerable number of citizens held this view： “Japan’s scientific community had rapidly recovered since defeat，reportedly nearing global standards.
Though we’ve lost hope in politics，” they perhaps unconsciously believed deep down， “if we endure a while longer，science’s power will make our lives somewhat easier.”

That might have been dismissed in one breath as scientists' vanity.
Were that true，they could rest easy.
Yet when viewed through citizens' eyes，the situation felt alarmingly unstable.
The yield from these four islands demonstrably failed to sustain ninety million lives.
Science alone offered hope.
Distrusting scientists mattered little.
Should anyone claim Japan’s researchers had contributed negligibly to national survival，none could refute them.
Thus while distrust toward scientists proved unavoidable，trust in science remained imperative.
No alternative path for Japan’s existence could then be imagined.

By the way，the science being discussed there was actually somewhat different from science in its true form，such as Hoyle’s new cosmology cited as an example．It referred to science in the American and Soviet style—science useful for the state or nation—which，when viewed from the perspective of science’s true form，might have been considered a corruption．However，what the people now expected was this latter type of science．

**VI. Pure Science and National Strength**

When I stated things this way, there was a risk that science in its true form might be perceived as being taken lightly.
However, I had absolutely no such intention.
Speaking from my own tendencies, I too preferred what was called pure science - its disappearance would have felt truly lonely.
But in truth, there was no need for such concern; even if we encouraged useful science to some extent, it would have no effect on science in its true form.
That was an instinct bestowed upon a select few outstanding individuals; something as minor as non-encouragement posed no issue.
Even when persecuted, it continued growing vigorously.
The history of medieval science most clearly illustrates this point.

At this juncture, I am deeply apologetic for resorting to such an example, but as this is a citation made in goodwill, I ask for your forbearance.
Dr.Yukawa’s receipt of the Nobel Prize was an enterprise of such significance that it deserves special mention for instilling courage and confidence in postwar Japan.
It has also exerted an extremely positive influence on foreign countries.
Since this was a good opportunity, I added a brief note: in my previous work *World Within Japan*, I had written that there were currently as many as six young Japanese mathematicians and theoretical physicists at Princeton’s Institute for Advanced Study.
Then letters came from people in various quarters stating they had been greatly encouraged.
However, not long after I wrote that manuscript, one of them who came visiting from Princeton around Christmas said, “It’s not six. There are eight.”
“Before long, there will likely be nine,” he said.
This was truly auspicious news.

In this way, I believe that Dr. Yukawa’s Nobel Prize served as an underlying force enabling what might metaphorically be called the Japanese scientific forces’ occupation of one of America’s highest temples of science.
Even had the Ministry of Foreign Affairs spent one or two hundred million yen on propaganda, it could never have achieved such results.
Of course fundamentally, it was the genuine capability of Japan’s young scientists that made the difference—yet capability alone cannot move the world.
This speaks to another force that came into play.

However, that paper for which Dr. Yukawa received the Nobel Prize was written when he was an associate professor or lecturer at Osaka University.
I believe his monthly salary was probably around 133 yen.
As for research funds, one can imagine they amounted to something like two hundred or three hundred yen per year.
It might have been slightly more, but in any case, it remained at that level.
By any measure, these could not be called exceptionally favorable conditions.
Nevertheless, even under such circumstances, pure science flourished admirably.
The story of medieval Europe being too remote, I drew upon a familiar example.

However, in Dr. Yukawa’s case, beyond the monthly salary of 133 yen and annual research funds of 100 yen, there had been yet another significant factor at play.
This was a spiritual dimension—a time when Dr. Nishina returned to Japan from Europe bearing new quantum mechanics, and research in this field blossomed spectacularly here as well.
This was during the era when researchers like Dr. Dicke—now chair professor of physics at Johns Hopkins University—and Dr. Laporte of the University of Michigan came to the Institute of Physical and Chemical Research as young scholars, a period when Japan’s national strength stood at its peak.

Some may argue that national strength has no connection to theoretical physics, but to me there seemed to be a profoundly significant link between them at a fundamental level.
For science in its true form to develop properly, whether research funds amounted to a sparrow’s tear or not was no significant issue; what mattered far more was the nation’s strength—including the fortification of its spiritual resolve.
In this sense, what I called useful science—that is, science that enhanced national strength—did not come at the expense of pure science’s development; the two proved compatible.

VII. Japan's Current State and Science

At this juncture, I must write something disagreeable, but when observing scientific research in present-day Japan, one finds considerable instances that feel akin to daughters from bankrupt households practicing koto and flower arrangement.
Both koto and flower arrangement are inherently elegant pursuits, constituting essential cultural refinements when viewed in the broader context of life.
Yet when a household goes bankrupt and faces having no rice to eat tomorrow, more urgent priorities demand attention.
Japan in fact stood at such a brink—a nation receiving tomorrow’s rice from America.
Some remarked, “They gave us cornmeal meant for livestock,” but the surrender year saw global crop failures, requiring the United States and Britain to conserve 3.4 million tons of foodstuffs to relieve famine across “all former enemy nations.”
In America, authorities raised flour extraction rates and banned wheat use for alcoholic beverages.
Britain briefly instituted bread rationing.
I cannot speak to current conditions, but it remains certain they were not giving us food they had in surplus that was causing them trouble.

If one asks what is tragic in life, there is nothing as tragic as receiving food from others.
If the other party was cutting back on their own provisions to give it to us, it became all the more tragic.
Moreover, this was not a matter of the past but a problem that would continue to persist long into the future.
About half a year prior, a brief article had appeared in the Chicago Daily News stating that US military forces stationed in Japan spent dollars amounting to something like 760 million during the previous year, with a headline conveying the meaning of “They sure spent a lot!”
As for the total amount of food Japan imported last year, I have yet to come across exact figures, but I imagine it must be roughly on this scale.

As for how this amount of dollars came to Japan, I will refrain from making vulgar inquiries, but it is certain that most did not arrive through particularly honorable channels. In a nation importing food with such funds, scientists alone cannot remain comfortably ensconced behind academia's curtain. This becomes all the more evident when conducting research using taxes exacted under conditions so harsh they have driven families to joint suicide. To be sure, the national funds allocated to scientific research amount to mere trifles. Some might say taxes amounting to tens of times that sum—improperly expended—form the very foundation of today's corruption scandals. Yet scientists need not debase themselves by comparison with such individuals.

Regarding this issue, there remains one thing that still does not sit right with me.
This concerns an incident from about three years ago when I wrote an essay in a Tokyo newspaper titled, "Shouldn't scientists conducting research with taxpayers' money strive to contribute even slightly to the people's happiness?"
Then a scathing rebuttal appeared in another newspaper.
"Scholarship should not be pursued with such objectives."
"This opinion seeks to revive wartime scientific control and constitutes fascist ideology."
It was an opposing argument that stated, "This seeks to bind academic freedom."

For thirty years I had maintained the belief that scholarship must above all be useful, so this opposing argument proved rather difficult to comprehend.
I had always thought—and still remain convinced—that if one conducts research using taxpayers’ money, contributing to the people’s happiness should naturally be an obligation.
If that were to constrain academic freedom, conversely speaking, one might just as well conclude that academic freedom lies in not contributing to the people’s welfare.
While the converse may not necessarily hold true and thus might seem inconsequential, there was ample reason to fear that such misunderstandings could take root.
And it was precisely out of fear that this might conversely foster a climate constraining genuine academic freedom that I appended these remarks bordering on personal matters.

VIII. The Issue of Regional Adaptation

Up to that point,I had frequently emphasized utility,but now needed to clarify what constituted“useful science.”To elaborate would repeat my earlier Bungeishunju essay“National Independence.”Ultimately it meant conducting foundational research aligned with Japan’s regional conditions for national survival.I risked redundancy,but these principles remained immutable for me—there was no alternative.

In terms of regional adaptation, the most crucial aspect was the development of Japan’s underutilized or incompletely utilized resources.
This approach would ultimately circle back to that same old argument about snow being a resource, so I decided to refrain from pursuing it this time.
Regional adaptation did not mean identifying which ore at which mine was currently being discarded and trying to address them.
Of course, such issues were indeed included within this framework, but they constituted only a minor part of it.
The term "regional adaptation" needed to be interpreted more broadly, with the conceptual background necessarily encompassing Japan's national land.

From the sole perspective of truth-seeking, research on Siberian podzol and research on Hokkaido’s volcanic ash held equal standing. From the standpoint of atomic theory, there was nothing wrong with conducting research on elements scarcely present in Japan. Yet if both required equal effort, I would rather have them develop Hokkaido’s volcanic wastelands than transform Siberia into fertile fields. This was self-evident—adapting to regional conditions demanded no overcomplication.

About six months ago, there was an article in the newspaper stating that Dr. F.Y. of the Science Research Institute had announced that phosphorus ore slag contained radioactive elements and, while slightly uneconomical, held potential for refinement.
Even if the day arrived when atomic energy could be used for peaceful purposes, I believed importing the required elements would remain quite difficult.
There were countries that even kept secret the measurement results of uranium content in river water, so one should have understood just how hypersensitive they were.
Such substances were of course present in ultratrace amounts, and beyond pure scientific interest, they needed not be considered problematic.
Given this state of affairs, it was hard to imagine that they would readily sell elements and their ores to Japan at present.
Therefore, even if research on the peaceful use of atomic energy was completed in Japan, we still had to consider scenarios where there were no raw materials to put that research into practice.
In such cases, Dr. Y’s research would come into play.

Phosphorus ore was of course an imported product, but without it, Japanese agriculture could not be sustained.
Therefore these imports had to be absolutely secured, and there would likely be no country that prohibited them.
For destroying Japanese agriculture and causing tens of millions of Japanese to starve would be unconscionable on humanitarian grounds.
In this sense, extracting raw materials for atomic energy utilization from phosphorus ore slag could be called research aligned with regional conditions in the broadest interpretation.
Regional conditions might indeed be considered in this expansive scope.
In short, occasionally contemplating Japan's circumstances as the backdrop to one's research constituted work aligned with regional conditions.

IX. Ministry of Education’s Scientific Research Funds

Let me present one example where purpose, regional conditions, and basic research aligned well.
Admittedly there were many scientists in Japan conducting such research; however, since they remained somewhat removed from concrete circumstances, I will cite a story I heard last year from Dr.Kelly.
This referred to research on an algae called chlorella by Professor T of Tokyo University.

Dr. Kelly was currently in Washington, serving as director of the physics department at the National Science Association.
Though his formal ties with Japan should have been severed, he still devoted himself to considering Japan's affairs with heartfelt concern.
Having maintained a friendship with Professor T, he had been delighted to share news that research funds for this project had been granted by the Carnegie Foundation.

As Professor T’s chlorella research had been frequently reported in Japanese newspapers, there appeared little need for detailed explanation.
When properly cultivated, this green algae produced large quantities of protein, fat, and carbohydrates (starch), making it a potential new food source.
Moreover, in terms of solar energy utilization efficiency, it achieved results orders of magnitude beyond conventional crops.
Thus this research offered at least new hope regarding Japan’s food problem.
Furthermore, since Professor T’s investigation approached the subject from exceptionally fundamental principles, it seemed to have gained favorable recognition even among American scholars in related fields.
Consequently, research funds came to be allocated.

“Dr. T’s research is vital for Japan.”
“For America, it isn’t particularly necessary at present—(Note: America fears food overproduction)—but I believe there remains ample significance in providing research funds.”
“While the research funds from America may not be a huge amount, if you use this in Tokyo, Dr. T, you should be able to conduct your research with a bit more breathing room,” Dr. Kelly remarked in a tone as if his own brother had received a scholarship.
Because he knew Japan’s dire postwar circumstances, he understood how effectively even what America considered a small research grant could be used.

“Still,” Dr. Kelly said, reviving his old manner of speaking from when he had been in Japan. “The Ministry of Education’s scientific research budget—Japan must be allocating quite substantial sums these days, I imagine.”
“But they scattergun it—doling out pennies to everyone—so no research can reach practical implementation.”
“When it comes to your research, Dr. T, Japan should really be investing more funds.”
“The Ministry of Education needs to reconsider its approach,” he declared, sounding for all the world like a Japanese patriot himself.

“While not particularly necessary for America, it’s extremely vital for Japan”—given that statement, there was truly nothing left to say.
Moreover, he possessed such a thorough understanding of Japan’s current circumstances that it left us somewhat humbled.
However, being both an American and someone who had belonged to the elevated entity that was GHQ, he seemed to lack full understanding of the deeper nuances in local conditions.
In truth, if they were to place responsibility for this matter entirely on the Ministry of Education, the Ministry would be left with no recourse.

“That isn’t solely the Ministry of Education’s responsibility.”
“Within the Science Council of Japan, there’s a committee for allocating scientific research funds. The Ministry of Education is supposed to distribute them to individual researchers under its name as decided there.”
“At least up until last year or so, that was the case.”
“It’s a regrettable situation for the Ministry of Education.”

“So that’s how it’s structured?”
“I hadn’t realized.”

“You’re the ones who taught us this strange thing called democracy in the first place, so of course we’re all adhering to it strictly.”

Dr. Kelly was an extremely serious man, but he understood such jokes, which put us at ease.

The Ministry of Education’s scientific research funds were largely divided into amounts like 30,000 yen or 50,000 yen and distributed to researchers nationwide.
Under such circumstances, it was only natural that substantial research could not be conducted.
However, unlike America and other countries, this served as researchers’ sole source of research funding in Japan.
Moreover, amounts like 30,000 yen or 50,000 yen amounted to no more than 200 or 300 yen in terms of past currency values.
They spent that amount as their annual research funds and thereby barely managed to keep afloat.
This represented the bare minimum caloric intake required to barely sustain Japan’s cultural standards—quibbling over whether it was useful or not was sheer folly.

Therefore, in this case—since democracy proved acceptable—I believed some degree of scattergun allocation remained unavoidable. Prioritization might have been ideal, but merely organizing appearances while muddling through with superficial measures held no meaning. If Japan were to genuinely focus its scientific capabilities toward pioneering national progress through concentrated efforts—rather than skimming yet more funds from researchers barely surviving on “200 or 300 yen” annually—nothing substantive could emerge. Funding for such initiatives required separate consideration; however impoverished our government stood theoretically capable of managing at least that much.

X. The Issue of Scientists’ Preparedness

This view was unduly optimistic—to expect such understanding from the Japanese government remained fundamentally impossible. One might argue that even securing the current scientific research funds had demanded their utmost efforts. Regrettably, this assessment proved accurate. Yet here lay a crucial consideration.

The front pages of Japanese newspapers in those days consisted almost entirely of gloomy articles day after day.
If one gave even a moment’s thought to the nation’s future, it appeared utterly bleak, with no clue where to place hope.
In American newspapers, Japan’s right-wing resurgence was being reported with increasing frequency.
While there were many objective reports—a highly dangerous situation for Japan—the prevailing view seemed to be that if citizens became disillusioned with politics, it was only natural for them to fall into such tendencies.
Water flowing to lower ground was not a matter of good or bad but a natural phenomenon—there was simply no way to prevent this.
As the right-wing gained prominence, the left-wing grew increasingly radical.
That too was a natural phenomenon.
Thus came the sense that the entire nation was approaching a second abyss.
The first abyss—unconditional surrender without historical parallel—would no longer suffice alone.

In terms of universal education dissemination, the Japanese people stood among the top one or two in the world.
Regarding intellectual capacity too, they showed no marked inferiority when compared to citizens of any first-rate nation.
Politicians might always be targets of criticism, but being individuals elected by the citizens after all, they were by no means foolish enough to lack comprehension of matters at this scale.

Neither citizens nor policymakers could be considered severely inferior by global standards, even if not deemed first-rate.
Yet Japan had come to face today’s extremely unstable national conditions—less a human failing than a natural phenomenon.
This stemmed from the objective reality that these four islands could not yield sufficient resources to sustain ninety million people.
All problems arose from forcing survival in an unlivable environment; thus they were directly neither the people’s fault nor the policymakers’.
Therefore, whether the right-wing attempted revolution or the left-wing devised countermeasures—or more immediately, whether Yoshida’s cabinet collapsed, new parties formed, or Socialists formed governments—none could resolve the fundamental issue.
Political “civil strife” added nothing to production; rather, it frequently produced negative effects.
Hence, the more turmoil they stirred, the more severely the people’s livelihoods suffered.

I reiterated my single refrain: the only viable solution we could conceive of at present was to produce what the people needed to survive by harnessing both domestic resources and the solar energy bathing this nation. And for that—though it remained uncertain whether it could be achieved—the only hope lay in relying on the power of science. Moreover, that possibility could indeed be considered. Some might argue mere possibility proved insufficient, but in the case of a cancer patient certain to die without intervention, if surgery offered even a possibility of cure, it should have been attempted.

That something so perfectly clear failed to be addressed by either the state or its people struck me as most perplexing. Upon reflection, this might not have been strange at all—perhaps it was only natural. For human nature seems predisposed to forget what stands as both blindingly obvious and supremely vital.

And another reason, I felt, might lie in the attitude of the scientists themselves.
Rather than attitude, it might be better to call it preparedness.
If the preparedness of those undertaking the task was not properly in order, then even those making requests could not truly commit to it.

If a family went bankrupt, it was perfectly fine for the daughter to continue her flower arrangement lessons.
However, in that case, when she begged her father for lesson fees by arguing that flower arrangement constituted splendid art, it would prove rather ill-advised.
At this point, she ought to say she wanted to quickly obtain her license and teach neighborhood girls to help support the household finances even slightly.
Of course, merely saying so was insufficient; she needed to adopt that preparedness.
There was nothing to be ashamed of in using what should be considered cultural refinement as a means of earning.
Moreover, by arranging leftover flowers in a bucket, she could also provide comfort to the family wearied by reconstruction efforts.
Just because the family had gone bankrupt did not mean all children must push their father’s cart; it would be better for them to utilize their individual strengths.
However, in such cases, maintaining preparedness for family reconstruction was what mattered.

I consider Japan’s current situation—where young physicists and mathematicians are being actively invited abroad—to represent a profoundly positive development.
Taking America as an example， while Princeton’s case may appear extreme， significant numbers find placements at other universities.
At the University of Chicago alone， five individuals can readily be counted.
Though likening these scholars to itinerant flower arrangement instructors may seem deeply disrespectful， I maintain otherwise.
In Japan’s present circumstances， labor akin to cart-pushing remains urgently necessary—yet deploying such talents there strikes me as tragically wasteful.
For endeavors contributing most directly to human culture， funding should originate from humanity itself， with affluent nations bearing this responsibility.
From Japan’s vantage， should these individuals fully manifest their capabilities—demonstrating Japanese excellence—they would vitalize the Foreign Ministry’s budget and assume crucial roles in national reconstruction.

XI. Science for the Nation

All that being said, the crucial matter lay in cart-pushing work. This work directly contributed to the survival of the nation. How Japan should formally address this fell beyond the scope of this essay. That belonged to science administration—the duty of those entrusted with such responsibilities. Yet when considering how to implement such measures effectively, I held a definite opinion. In essence, the approach required first establishing clear objectives, then conducting organic comprehensive research through conferences designed to seek new knowledge, systematically advancing from foundational elements. By qualifying it as "organic comprehensive research," I meant that merely assembling experts from various fields under the pretext of "needing to compile multidisciplinary knowledge" did not constitute true synthesis. A "conference for seeking new knowledge" referred not to perfunctory briefings meant to forestall later objections, but to substantive gatherings. As for proceeding from foundational aspects—this meant beginning not with piecemeal dispensing of established knowledge in conference rooms, but with hands-on experiments and investigations that left participants grimy with mud or grease. In Japan, committees tended to be seen as bodies merely tabulating members' existing knowledge; their true importance emerged when they actively pursued unknown understanding through fundamentally different methods.

However, unless these three elements are unified into a cohesive whole, their true intent cannot be realized.
But since I already provided what some might consider excessive explanation in the latter half of my earlier work *The Nation’s Self-Reliance* (Shinchosha’s One Hour Library), I shall refrain from elaborating further here.

By the way, in that essay I wrote about idealistic visions, but upon reflection now, I recognize there had been a slight tendency toward premature conclusions.
In Japan's current circumstances, it seemed there were more fundamental priorities requiring attention before examining such methodologies.
That is to say, cultivating an intellectual climate regarding science's role in shaping the nation's future may have been the essential preliminary challenge needing resolution.

To foster momentum, one must first create an atmosphere, and there would be various means to achieve this.
When I say this, people might easily think of things like rousing public opinion or making recommendations to the government, but I have no intention of bringing up such formal discussions here.

There is no need to belabor the importance of science at this point.
Everyone has already reiterated that point to exhaustion; the problem lies in how science—which should be prioritized—invariably gets shunned when facing immediate concerns.
However one examines it, Japan’s future appears devoid of any firm foundation.
Both citizens and policymakers must grasp this reality with painful clarity.
Anyone not fundamentally foolish should comprehend this much: unless we produce life’s bare necessities, only two options remain—to exist as kept livestock or perish.
This constitutes a truth even elementary schoolchildren could grasp.

Now, as a way to break through this crisis—though indeed only as one possibility—there remained one method: to attempt employing the power of science.
That a drowning person will grasp at straws is a truth that has held through all ages.
Japan’s current policymakers must surely have been driven to grasp at straws.
Yet despite this, there was no discussion of attempting to apply even a single scientific approach to concrete problems.
Thus, one could not help but conclude that Japanese science was not even considered worth a straw.

Regarding this trend of disregarding or ignoring science, it was necessary to seriously consider its origins.

XII. The Climate of “Respect for Scholarship”

I do not wish to dismiss this issue with simplistic explanations like blaming policymakers’ low intelligence or the people’s lack of scientific mindset.
In truth, regrettably, that is indeed the case; however, I interpret it as having a different meaning from the literal wording.

I cannot speak for other countries, but if one compared Japan to America for instance, there seemed to be few nations where scholars were as "valued" by policymakers and "respected" by the public as in Japan.
It was often said that policymakers ignored scholars, but in truth they were merely keeping their distance; one could not help feeling they inwardly feared scholars. Some might have argued, "What is there to fear? They simply regard them as nuisances," but these two perspectives amounted to the same thing.

In America, general university professors were complete servants; at public universities, they were merely government civil servants, while at private universities, they were monthly salaried workers hired by management known as boards of trustees.
Just as Mitsubishi’s overarching management policies were a matter beyond the reach of a section chief at Mitsubishi, university professors were not permitted to utter a single word regarding their university’s management policies.
Moreover, no one even dreamed of such things.
They simply worked five days a week, eight hours each day, and received their monthly salary accordingly.
In cases like the McCarthyist whirlwind, if harm reached them, they protested—but this was no different even for janitors.
Of course, there may have been exceptional professors, but this discussion referred to the overwhelming majority—over ninety percent—of university professors.

When compared to such countries, there seemed to me few groups as intellectually privileged as Japanese scholars.
Some said it was Germany's old academic climate that had been imported—for us, this proved an exceptionally favorable import indeed.
There were those who cynically claimed that since they didn't provide living wages, they instead let scholars suck sugar-coated pacifiers called academic freedom and university autonomy—but I rejected this view.

The general public maintained a vague sense of reverence toward scholars and academic pursuits.
Though they couldn't quite articulate why, they operated under the assumption that scholars must be inherently superior.
This tendency wasn't confined to farmers with only elementary education; even among those who had received advanced schooling, this cultural current appeared strong.
When criticism swirled around a Science Council election years ago, one newspaper published a terse observation: "This election achieved just one thing."
"It revealed that scholars and Diet members become indistinguishable creatures when campaigning," the commentary stated.
Scholars had previously enjoyed higher social standing than politicians—a position that inspired both gratitude and profound discomfort.

When I wrote in this way, it might have been thought that I was being ironic or joking, but this was a serious discussion. The reason was that this climate of "respect for scholarship" permeating the general populace might in fact have been playing a role in diverting Japanese scientists from useful science.

The prevailing mood of “They’re doing some impressive research, though I don’t quite understand it”—when reversed—readily fostered a climate where studies appearing mundane yet vital for the nation’s future ended up being undervalued, however crucial they might be. Suppose there was a highly dedicated scientist who spent years researching charcoal stoves or kilns and managed to reduce fuel consumption by a certain percentage. Of course, economic and psychological aspects were also considered, with this being discussed as something intended for nationwide dissemination.

For government, citizens, and journalism alike to collectively value such research and universally acknowledge its worth—this seemed unlikely to occur under Japan’s then-current climate of “respect for scholarship,” a reality one could not help perceiving.

However, this research—if such a thing were achieved—would be an immensely significant undertaking for Japan.
As I have written before, according to a survey by the Resource Survey Committee, in recent years, the amount of timber used annually as fuel nationwide has reached 240 million koku.
This was a quantity nearly five times the annual growth amount.
Even in such a trivial problem that barely registered in people's awareness, there lay great anxiety for the future.
If a 10% saving could have been achieved, it would have been equivalent to increasing production by 3 million tons of high-quality coal.
That alone would have decreased the consumption of the nation’s wealth.
It would be fair to say that the nation’s wealth would increase.

Therefore, if such research were achieved, it should be recognized by the people as being on par with discoveries at the forefront of modern science, at the very least.
When I mentioned the charcoal stove here, it was merely one example; as for this particular problem alone, significant progress had been made in recent years through the utilization of diatomaceous earth and similar approaches.
However, there were countless problems of the same kind that remained almost entirely untouched.
Now, such problems were generally extremely difficult tasks.
In Japan, esteemed friend Dr.S—who should be regarded as a first-rate inventor—once remarked, “The most difficult task is inventing something as versatile as a wrapping cloth.” I could not help but feel that this was indeed true.

Japan’s climate of “respect for scholarship,” when considered in this light, could not be said to constitute an advantageous condition for effectively wielding science toward national benefit.
Were the entire nation to desire an easier livelihood tomorrow and contemplate harnessing scientific power as one element in resolving those challenges, would it not then become imperative to more fully recognize the value of science contributing to such ends?
When I spoke of cultivating such momentum, approaching from this vantage seemed indeed the most natural course.

XIII. Conclusion

The dark, dense cloud looming over Japan today originates from the objective fact that these four islands cannot produce enough to sustain their current population.
All problems hinge on this forced persistence in surviving where survival proves impossible.

This may be nothing but my groundless anxiety, but it seems necessary to examine this issue from such a perspective.
Next year we must again import about fifteen million koku of food—yet where do we place our hopes? The year after will be the same, and so too the following year.
Setting aside such problems, the entire country appears to be spinning idly.
When something spins this violently in empty space, generating heat becomes inevitable.

Over ninety percent of the people did not seem to have much interest in the kinds of incidents currently causing a stir in the newspapers. Rather than that, ensuring the reliable daily distribution of three gō of rice was likely a far more critical matter.

If the climate of respect for scholarship—long permeating these people—were to renew its substance by placing hopes on science for the nation’s survival, useful science would likely begin moving with greater vitality.

(November 1954 [Shōwa 29])