Educating for the Next War
Maidhc Ó Cathail studies the government’s education reforms
Revision of Article 9 of the Japanese constitution is passionately resisted by those who fear the country’s remilitarization, but the government’s proposed amendment of the Fundamental Law of Education could be equally fatal to Japanese pacifism.
No less an authority than the chief founder of the Japanese army and Meiji Prime Minister, Yamagata Aritomo, thought that education, as a means of inculcating patriotism, was as essential as military preparation in the preservation of Japanese interests. And the wars that followed from the pursuit of those perceived
national interests were, as Horio Teruhisa has argued, the “logical and necessary outcome” of the Meiji educational system.
And now it seems that Japan’s rulers are hell-bent on repeating the sins of their grandfathers, by finally dumping the post-war democratic reforms in education, which successive governments have persistently attempted to subvert, and replacing them with something that disturbingly resembles the pre-war patriotic education regime, epitomized by the Imperial Rescript on Education (1890) which exhorted subjects: “should emergency arise, offer yourselves courageously to the State.”
An editorial in the conservative Yomiuri Shimbun on April 29, 2006 casually dismissed such concerns: “Looking back at Japan’s history as a pacifist country since the end of World War II, it no longer makes sense to drag up the spectre of pre-war Japan.” But with Koizumi’s provocative visits to Yasukuni; his successor, Abe Shinzo, threatening pre-emptive strikes against North Korea; and the strengthening military alliance with an imperialist United States, the spectre of pre-war Japan is increasingly haunting Asia.
Most media controversy surrounding the proposed amendment to the Fundamental Law of Education (1947) focused people’s attention on the inclusion of “patriotism.” The changes planned for Article 1 are, however, even more revealing of the government’s illiberal conception of education, and seem to indicate their desire to use it as a means to mobilize the nation for war yet again.
The authors of the existing Fundamental Law believed that citizens educated to think for themselves would be an effective bulwark against the re-emergence of a militaristic Japan, so Article 1 sets out the aim of education as the development of people “who shall love truth and justice, esteem individual value, respect labour, have a deep sense of responsibility, and be imbued with an independent spirit.”
Yet in the government’s bill, all these liberal values are replaced by a disconcertingly vague “necessary natural endowments.” Given the increasing rhetoric from LDP politicians about the need to restore “pre-war values”, isn’t it safe to assume that these “necessary natural endowments” might include unquestioning loyalty and selfless dedication to the state?
Far less credible are some of the reasons the government has given for educational reform. In a country whose schools are infamous for their conformity, the LDP blames Japan’s burgeoning social problems on the “excesses of individualism,” supposedly a legacy of the post-war education system, which is slyly derided as a foreign imposition. “We are still under the mind control of the occupiers,” says Abe Shinzo, appealing to chauvinist sentiment. But he has no such qualms about deepening military dependence on those same occupiers. And while liberalism may be a foreign concept to Japanese elitists, liberal ideas of education were debated here long before the Occupation.
To better understand the educational options open to Japan, Horio Teruhisa’s Educational Thought and Ideology in Modern Japan is an indispensable guide. Horio views the history of modern Japanese education as an ongoing struggle between two fundamentally opposed philosophies of education, which imply conflicting views on the proper relationship of the individual to the state: the conservative believes the purpose of schooling is to produce obedient citizens for the state; and the liberal counters that education should foster critical individuals, who ensure the state does the right thing. This tug-of-war for the minds of Japanese children can be traced to the debate over the aim of education exemplified by two prominent Meiji intellectuals and politicians, Mori Arinori and Fukuzawa Yukichi.
“Education,” according to Japan’s first Minister of Education Mori, “should not be undertaken in response to the demands of the child himself, but must be moved entirely by the direction of others.”
For such advocates of “enlightenment from above,” education (kyouiku) was to serve as a means of producing virtuous subjects (shinmin) who were primed to “willingly give their lives for the State.” Scholarship (gakumon) was to be the preserve of an elite who would be trained to govern these “educated” masses.
Fukuzawa (who is on the 10,000 yen bill), on the other hand, advocated “enlightenment from below.” In Fukuzawa’s thinking, there was no opposition between the needs of the state and the needs of the individual; on the contrary, a healthy state requires dissenting
citizens. In contrast with Mori’s paternalism, he believed that, “All of the citizens of the nation must join in political discussions and come to hold their own ideas on what constitutes good politics and good government.”
As it was in the late 1880s, Japan is once again at a political crossroads. And the educational choices before it now are remarkably similar to what they were then. If Japan reverts to the authoritarian path of Mori, a people “educated” not to question authority could be more easily led to war again. But if it chooses to wholeheartedly pursue the liberal educational vision of Fukuzawa, an independent-minded Japanese generation might finally be able to earn the trust of its neighbours and ensure peaceful coexistence in the region.
Revision of Article 9 of the Japanese constitution is passionately resisted by those who fear the country’s remilitarization, but the government’s proposed amendment of the Fundamental Law of Education could be equally fatal to Japanese pacifism.
No less an authority than the chief founder of the Japanese army and Meiji Prime Minister, Yamagata Aritomo, thought that education, as a means of inculcating patriotism, was as essential as military preparation in the preservation of Japanese interests. And the wars that followed from the pursuit of those perceived
national interests were, as Horio Teruhisa has argued, the “logical and necessary outcome” of the Meiji educational system.
And now it seems that Japan’s rulers are hell-bent on repeating the sins of their grandfathers, by finally dumping the post-war democratic reforms in education, which successive governments have persistently attempted to subvert, and replacing them with something that disturbingly resembles the pre-war patriotic education regime, epitomized by the Imperial Rescript on Education (1890) which exhorted subjects: “should emergency arise, offer yourselves courageously to the State.”
An editorial in the conservative Yomiuri Shimbun on April 29, 2006 casually dismissed such concerns: “Looking back at Japan’s history as a pacifist country since the end of World War II, it no longer makes sense to drag up the spectre of pre-war Japan.” But with Koizumi’s provocative visits to Yasukuni; his successor, Abe Shinzo, threatening pre-emptive strikes against North Korea; and the strengthening military alliance with an imperialist United States, the spectre of pre-war Japan is increasingly haunting Asia.
Most media controversy surrounding the proposed amendment to the Fundamental Law of Education (1947) focused people’s attention on the inclusion of “patriotism.” The changes planned for Article 1 are, however, even more revealing of the government’s illiberal conception of education, and seem to indicate their desire to use it as a means to mobilize the nation for war yet again.
The authors of the existing Fundamental Law believed that citizens educated to think for themselves would be an effective bulwark against the re-emergence of a militaristic Japan, so Article 1 sets out the aim of education as the development of people “who shall love truth and justice, esteem individual value, respect labour, have a deep sense of responsibility, and be imbued with an independent spirit.”
Yet in the government’s bill, all these liberal values are replaced by a disconcertingly vague “necessary natural endowments.” Given the increasing rhetoric from LDP politicians about the need to restore “pre-war values”, isn’t it safe to assume that these “necessary natural endowments” might include unquestioning loyalty and selfless dedication to the state?
Far less credible are some of the reasons the government has given for educational reform. In a country whose schools are infamous for their conformity, the LDP blames Japan’s burgeoning social problems on the “excesses of individualism,” supposedly a legacy of the post-war education system, which is slyly derided as a foreign imposition. “We are still under the mind control of the occupiers,” says Abe Shinzo, appealing to chauvinist sentiment. But he has no such qualms about deepening military dependence on those same occupiers. And while liberalism may be a foreign concept to Japanese elitists, liberal ideas of education were debated here long before the Occupation.
To better understand the educational options open to Japan, Horio Teruhisa’s Educational Thought and Ideology in Modern Japan is an indispensable guide. Horio views the history of modern Japanese education as an ongoing struggle between two fundamentally opposed philosophies of education, which imply conflicting views on the proper relationship of the individual to the state: the conservative believes the purpose of schooling is to produce obedient citizens for the state; and the liberal counters that education should foster critical individuals, who ensure the state does the right thing. This tug-of-war for the minds of Japanese children can be traced to the debate over the aim of education exemplified by two prominent Meiji intellectuals and politicians, Mori Arinori and Fukuzawa Yukichi.
“Education,” according to Japan’s first Minister of Education Mori, “should not be undertaken in response to the demands of the child himself, but must be moved entirely by the direction of others.”
For such advocates of “enlightenment from above,” education (kyouiku) was to serve as a means of producing virtuous subjects (shinmin) who were primed to “willingly give their lives for the State.” Scholarship (gakumon) was to be the preserve of an elite who would be trained to govern these “educated” masses.
Fukuzawa (who is on the 10,000 yen bill), on the other hand, advocated “enlightenment from below.” In Fukuzawa’s thinking, there was no opposition between the needs of the state and the needs of the individual; on the contrary, a healthy state requires dissenting
citizens. In contrast with Mori’s paternalism, he believed that, “All of the citizens of the nation must join in political discussions and come to hold their own ideas on what constitutes good politics and good government.”
As it was in the late 1880s, Japan is once again at a political crossroads. And the educational choices before it now are remarkably similar to what they were then. If Japan reverts to the authoritarian path of Mori, a people “educated” not to question authority could be more easily led to war again. But if it chooses to wholeheartedly pursue the liberal educational vision of Fukuzawa, an independent-minded Japanese generation might finally be able to earn the trust of its neighbours and ensure peaceful coexistence in the region.
posted by maidhc | 10:01 AM
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