with all sorts of colleges and institutions in their most advanced order are after all like their naked friends in far-away Asia or Africa. . . . . We Orientals will insist in future not to believe whatever high philosophy on love or peace or humanity the western scholars and theologians might write. . . . . I have.been losing for some long time my own respect towards the West and her own civilization. Having much dissatisfaction with the western life, I returned to a country whose immediate, most important determination should be a refusal to the western invasion.1

Not the least significant aspect of the foregoing statement is the attitude of mind which prompted the writer to go out of his way to inform the Westerners of his opinion of them. An occasion had arisen when it was possible for the Japanese to assume an attitude of superiority and point out an apparent failure of western civilization. The expression of his views through the medium of the Japanese press was not sufficient for his purpose. His mind could only be relieved by sending back to the countries he had just visited his repudiation of their institutions.

While Noguchi's statement may be considerably discounted because of his well-known propensity for radical opinions along various lines, similar antiforeign articles have been published by the Japanese newspaper press with such frequency during the last few years that they can hardly be regarded merely as the rabid utterances of sensation-mongers. To a far

1 Noguchi, Y., "The Downfall of Western Civilization," the Nation, Oct. 8, 1914, p. 432.

greater extent than is usually realized, they represent the development of a public opinion that openly expresses itself, regardless of what may be the official attitude of the government. When delicate situations have arisen with foreign nations, the calm, dispassionate statements of official Japan have frequently been contradicted by chauvinistic sentiments published by certain newspapers, which are widely quoted abroad. Japanese leaders try to counteract the influence of these anti-foreign utterances by stating that they are merely emanations from an irresponsible jingo press. The truth is, however, that they do represent the feelings of a portion of the Japanese people and that they exercise no little influence on the molding of public opinion throughout the nation.

The Japanese newspapers have, in general, a marked tendency to be sensational and to indulge in frank statements quite at variance with oriental reserve. The third page of the average Japanese newspaper in its reports of scandals and unsavory gossip puts to shame even the yellowest of American journals. It may be that the newspaper is too new an institution in Japan to be subject to their ancient code, and so is regarded as a legitimate safety valve for their pentup emotions. At any rate the frank editorial expressions directed against the actions of foreign powers, their threats of war because of real or fancied insults from abroad, and their sharp criticism of the government when it shows any signs of weakness in its foreign policy possess a real significance for those

who wish to understand the attitude of the Japanese nation and make it a fair assumption that the old anti-foreign sentiment still exists in spite of all official assurance of friendliness for the West.

TH

CHAPTER III

THE CLOSING OF THE OPEN DOOR

HE following striking statement by Yamato Ichihashi gives one reason for our changed attitude toward Japan, and contains more than one element of truth:

There existed, and still does exist, a group of men and women in America who liked or like Japan because Japan was or is so fundamentally different from all other countries of the world. To these people charm and strangeness are inseparable qualities in Japan. The Mt. Fuji is charming, but only because she is strangely unique among the mountains of the world. Nikko is charming, but because there nature and art are brought into harmony strangely unrealized in the West. . . .

But more strange is the author of these strange and, therefore, charming arts. He is so unwestern, therefore so unhuman, that is to say, beyond the comprehension of western minds. Nevertheless he is charming because he is strange; indeed every act of his is strange and his surrounding is fantastic. The blacksmith squats at his anvil. The carpenter pulls his plane and saw. The Japanese speak backwards, read backwards, and write backwards. Surely they are a strange folk. And this was or is the world of unreality in which Lafcadio Hearn and his curio friends refused or refuse to face reality. The vision was so enchanting. The Westerner thus sought in Japan, as did the Chinese in legendary days, to enjoy a life nowhere else to be enjoyed. Of course they liked this Japan. But to their utter astonishment, not to say their dis

appointment, these strange, unhuman Japanese gradually took on human shape and the still worse human mind. They began to learn to speak, to read, and to write à la Occident, if necessary. The blacksmith squats or stands, as the occasion demands. The carpenter pulls or pushes, according to the kind of tool he uses. The art of gardening is not forgot. Curios are still produced, not so much now by mysterious hands, but by horrible western machinery, the very destroyer of art. So in addition to netsuke, medicine chests, and thousands of other "little grand" things, even much-despised dreadnaughts, floating toys of civilized men, are being manufactured by the once unhuman, incomprehensible Japanese. The speed of telegraphy is now valued in Japan as in the West. Sedan chairs disappeared, but railroads traverse the Empire from end to end. Picturesque native junks are no more. Instead, stately, indeed palatial steamers plow the ocean. The flag of the Rising Sun now disgraces several ports of Europe and America by its presence.

Thatched roofs are fast being eliminated. Dwellings are now bricked and stoned. The ding-ding-ding of street cars and the toot-toot-toot of automobiles have shattered the music of Japanese urban silence. It is beyond repair. Not a few have cast away their footgear so strange, and barbarous western shoes now cover their dainty feet. Many now fail to pray at Asakusa Shrine. But then these go to Christian churches, hideous constructions devoid of art and-in brief, curio Japan is no more, or at least it is not Japan complete. Her strangeness has disappeared; with it her charm. Japan is the skeleton of a beauty. And now she is conspicuously human. She is too common. Of course nobody likes her now. But who can help it?1

1 Ichihashi, Yamato, "Japan Liked and Disliked," New York Japan Review, Aug., 1913, pp. 109-10.