This article was published in two parts in the Kokumin shimbun on April 29 and May 1, 1894.
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(Draft of a speech delivered at a school in Yokohama)
In recent times, history and biography have become immensely popular, and it seems everyone has taken to writing history; consequently, the practice of ‘historical verification’ has come to be highly valued. I feel compelled to say a few words about this matter of verification. Broadly speaking, I believe there are two types of verification. Investigating isolated, individual details, such as whether a specific event did or did not occur, constitutes what might be called ‘lower-level’ verification; while this is certainly necessary, the scope of verification should not be limited to it. We must broaden the intent of our inquiry to address larger questions: What was the nature of the people’s lives? How did social customs and human sentiments evolve?
This form of historical inquiry is far broader in scope than the kind that merely debates whether Benkei was a real person, whether Kojima Takanori actually existed, or whether Kusunoki Masashige’s death in battle at Minatogawa was unavoidable; for this reason, it constitutes a ‘higher-level’ of historical inquiry. Of course, there is no clear-cut line distinguishing ‘lower’ inquiry from ‘higher’ inquiry, the terms are relative. We designate one approach as ‘higher’ and another as ‘lower’ by comparing the significance and depth of their respective objectives.
Nowadays, there is a prevailing obsession with historical documents; some historians seem to believe they cannot fulfill their professional calling unless they unearth such records. To be sure, collecting historical documents is necessary; even a mere scrap of paper or a fragment of a letter, provided it was penned by someone from the past, is undoubtedly a valuable historical resource. However, if the purpose of writing history is not merely to verify the factual accuracy of a single event or incident, but rather to depict the lives of the people or major societal transformations, then there is no need to labor so intensely over the scrutiny of historical documents; a wealth of other source material exists.
Collecting historical documents is an endeavor that requires both money and time. Even regarding the documents frequently cited by scholars such as Shigeno, Kume, and various university professors, though it may seem presumptuous to say so, it would have been exceedingly difficult for them to amass such collections using only their own personal funds and efforts; indeed, doing so within a single lifetime would be a near-impossible task. Consequently, if the collection of historical documents were an absolute prerequisite for being a historian, no one could ever become one. That, however, is a separate matter.
Someone recently came out with a ridiculous statement: that if one is to write a person’s biography, one must at the very least read their entire body of written work. I believe this person was a contributor to Kokumin no tomo, it is exactly the sort of absurd thing such a person would say. I have experience writing a biography of Sorai myself; if it were truly necessary to read every single one of a subject’s works before writing about them, I would never be able to write about Sorai, not even if I lived until my back was bent with age. No matter how quickly one reads, it would take five years, perhaps even longer, just to finish reading everything Sorai wrote. Furthermore, when writing about Sorai, one is inevitably compelled to discuss figures like Itō Jinsai and Muro Kyūsō as well; that means one would have to read their works, too. At that rate, one would have to be resurrected from the dead just to manage the task of writing about Sorai.
This may be a digression, but the sort of painstaking, trivial historical research exemplified by Ota Shokusan, obsessing over minutiae like whether it rained on a particular day, is a tedious affair. However, if the true purpose of history lies in examining the lives of the people and the great transformations of society, that is, in conducting high-level historical inquiry, then there is an abundance of material right before our eyes: poetry, novels, travelogues, the classics, anthologies, and even the historical accounts left by those who came before us.
Works such as the Genpei Seisuiki, Heike Monogatari, and Taiheiki have been heavily criticized for being filled with nothing but fabrications; yet, I believe they contain more truth than falsehood. Admittedly, as factual records of events, they may indeed consist largely of fabrications. However, when viewed as accounts of the lives, emotions, politics, and social interactions of the Japanese people, they capture the ‘truth’. For instance, if one reads even a few volumes of the Heike Monogatari, the reality of the Japanese people of that era vividly unfolds before one’s eyes. There is a passage describing the occasion when Heike no Makoto accompanied his lord, Tadamori, to the Imperial Palace for the Toyo-no-Akari banquet. Having heard that his lord, Bizen-no-kami, was to be ambushed that night, he remained there to witness the unfolding events, declaring that he could not possibly leave his master’s side.
Does this not clearly illustrate the relationship between a lord and his retainers, as well as that between court nobles and warriors?
Furthermore, accounts of Tadamori’s nightly visits to a beloved lady-in-waiting at the Retired Emperor’s palace shed light on the nature of court life and the relationships between men and women. Similarly, records describing how a certain official known as the Sakuramachi Chūnagon planted rows of cherry trees along the street and built a residence among them reveal the tastes and sensibilities of the people, the aesthetic preferences of the Japanese populace.
The account of the encounter between Hotoke and Gio reveals the nature of the ‘shirabyoshi’, a type of female entertainer. When Hotoke boldly made her way to the Rokuhara mansion, thinking, “I have mastered the arts of entertainment; why should I hesitate to present myself there?” the circumstances of that visit shed light on the social status held by ‘shirabyoshi. Here is the poem Hotoke and Gio recited together:
“When first I beheld you, it seemed a thousand years would pass, like the young pine by the pond. Upon the rocky isle, cranes gather and frolic. Hotoke was once an ordinary mortal; we, too, shall eventually become Buddhas. Though all possess the Buddha-nature within, the barrier that divides us is a truly sorrowful thing.”
A look at the ‘shirabyōshi’ reveals that they were figures of aristocratic stature, far removed from the geisha of today, and that their poems were nothing like the popular ditties of the present; one can also see how they were integrated into forms of entertainment influenced by Buddhism. These are but small details, yet do they not constitute excellent historical material? Do they not tell us far more than dry, trivial ancient documents? Please use this as a basis to gauge the true value of chronicles such as the Jōkyū-ki and the Taiheiki.
Next, let us consider travelogues, another excellent source of historical material. One such work is the Kaidōki (Record of the Sea Road) by Minamoto no Mitsuyuki, a chronicle dating back to 1224. It captures the era when the Hōjō clan of Kamakura was at the height of its power. Examining this text reveals fascinating details. For instance, in the passage describing the beach at Udo along the Tōkaidō, it states: “To the northeast of the beach lies a sacred mountain temple known as Mt. Fudaraku, featuring Zen quarters comprising over three hundred chambers.” Having lived in Suruga, I am well acquainted with the area; indeed, Mt. Fudaraku still exists today. Yet, of those Zen quarters, once boasting more than three hundred chambers, not a single one remains. Only the Niō-mon gate remains; everything else has vanished. To the southwest lies Udo Beach, a place with truly fine scenery.
However, this Udo Beach is now known as the Kunō Kaidō, a route used for pilgrimages to Mount Kunō, rather than the main Tōkaidō highway. This illustrates how the routes have changed over the ages. It is written: “Go to Yui-ga-hama, and you see countless boats drying their nets, reminiscent of the bay at Ōtsu.” “Beyond, the eaves stand side by side, no different from the crossing at Ōyodo.”
This reveals the true caliber of Yoritomo’s achievements. One cannot establish a capital without a keen understanding of geography. When Emperor Tenji established his capital in Shiga District, Omi Province, he was certainly motivated by a desire to utilize the waterways of Lake Biwa. Similarly, when Taira no Kiyomori (the Chancellor) planned to relocate the capital to Fukuhara, his aim was to secure a strategic hub for maritime traffic and thereby control the southwest. Yoritomo was a hero in his own right; if he intended to establish his hegemony in Kamakura, he naturally required a certain strategic vision. Yet, as you know, Kamakura is a remarkably cramped location, hemmed in by mountains on three sides and open to the land on only one. He would never have chosen to settle there had there not been the prospect of developing a port at Yuigahama to facilitate the transport of goods.
Therefore, one cannot fully grasp the magnitude of Yoritomo’s achievements without understanding the nature of Yuigahama as a port at that time. This travelogue also contains the passage: “I stayed at the Kambara post station and lay down upon a sedge mat.” This illustrates the hardships of travel in those days. In the section describing the crossing of the Fuji River, it is written: “Since the human heart is more treacherous than these waters, I rely on an old horse to make the crossing … for the old horse knows well the true nature of the riverbed.” This refers to a practice from the past: when crossing a swift current, travelers would first lead a horse onto the boat to test the waters; a horse, guided by natural instinct, would resist if it sensed danger. Humans utilized this instinct, essentially borrowing the horse’s wisdom. It is a fascinating detail that reveals the foresight of the ancients.
This travelogue also offers insight into the lives of farmers:
“Farmers stand side by side tilling the fresh fields; the sound of their voices rises like the cries of wild geese passing overhead. By the stream outside, the wind stirs the willows along the bank, ruffling the feathers of the egrets. Near the woven bamboo fence, ‘ran-ka’ flowers bloom in quiet beauty, and the mountain cuckoo sings.”
Reading passages such as this reveals that there is no great difference between the farmers of the past and those of today. “When the fourth month arrives, the season for tilling the mountain paddies, even the young children, who should be playing, are out in the mud, helping with the work.”
Can you not vividly picture the scene of these country children?
If you travel about one and a half a mile west from Shizuoka, past the post station known as Mariko-juku and a short distance into the winding hills, you will find a temple called Saio-ken. It is recorded that the renga poet Sōchō was the first to reside there; this was during the Daiei era of the Ashikaga period. The temple houses many writings penned by Sōchō himself, all of which serve as valuable historical source material. Among these writings is an account regarding the construction of Kakegawa Castle. It is recorded that “at that time, construction work as underway; a moat spanning six or seven hundred yards was being dug around the outer castle, and an earthen rampart was being raised, much like that of the inner citadel… creating a moat between the castle proper and the outer area.” This reveals the methods of castle construction used at the time. Furthermore, the frequent mention of ‘masterless samurai’ and ‘young men’ in this person’s travelogue indicates a drastic shift in social conditions compared to the era of Mitsuyuki’s Kaidō no Ki (Record of the Coastal Road). There is also a passage describing merchants passing before the gate, market women and traders calling out “Eggplants for sale! White radishes for sale!” as they walked by.
This scene captures the reality of commoner commerce at the time with the vividness of a photograph.
It is also recorded that Utsu-no-yama is famous for its ‘ten dumplings’, a specialty that exists to this day. There is also mention of taking the waters, specifically saltwater baths, at Okitsu; while this practice was discontinued for a time, the area has recently been developed into a seaside resort, attracting visitors such as the Crown Prince and flourishing greatly. Such details reveal the changes in lifestyle between the past and the present, do they not? (April 29)
Next, we have historical fiction and dramatic tales; these, too, serve as excellent historical source material. Reading The Tale of Genji, for instance, allows one to understand how the court nobility, with their effete, licentious, and overly sentimental ways, eventually came to lose control of the realm to the warrior class.
One can see what the lives of the aristocracy were like in those days. Works such as the plays written by Chikamatsu serve as the most precise ‘photographs’ of the Genroku era. Reading them makes us feel as though we have placed ourselves in that society and are witnessing it firsthand. Let me offer a few examples. First, consider the currency. Understanding how money circulated at the time is crucial to understanding the lives of the people. Unfortunately, such details rarely appear in standard historical records or biographies, but they become clear when one looks at Chikamatsu’s plays. Since the Kamigata region calculated in silver while the Kanto region used copper coins, and Chikamatsu’s plays naturally depict the Kamigata area, the financial calculations in them are based on silver.
There is a saying: “Even a merchant possessing a fortune of a thousand kan cannot foresee a momentary loss.” Judging by this phrase, a person with a fortune of a thousand kan would have to be considered a wealthy magnate of that era. As for the actual value of a thousand kan, we find a reference in another of Chikamatsu’s works: “A hundred mon of coin, what is the price? Ten kan worth? The market rate is thirteen.” This indicates that the value of coinage was not fixed; in that specific instance, the parties agreed to exchange one kan of coin for thirteen units of silver, though elsewhere, in a scene depicting high market prices, we see a figure of nearly twenty ryō for two kan.
There is a record stating that, at this rate, one kan of copper coins was equivalent to one ryō of silver. Since one ryō equaled sixteen momme, the exchange rate was sixteen momme of silver to one kan of coins. While the earlier rate was thirteen momme of silver to one kan of coins, the later rate reflects a rise in the value of the coins.
Merchants must surely have been troubled by these fluctuations in the relative values of silver and copper. To illustrate, if thirteen momme of silver equaled one kan of coins, then one thousand kan of silver would amount to less than eighty kan of coins, yet that sum represented a substantial fortune at the time. Such details are essential for understanding the evolution of daily life among the Japanese people; however, one finds no such material in conventional historical accounts. It is truly remarkable, then, to discover this information in sources such as puppet-theatre manuscripts.
The puppet-theatre manuscripts of Chikamatsu’s works also vividly portray the pride of the warriors. For instance, regarding the warriors of Satsuma, the text reads:
“By the custom of my land, once the sword is drawn and the scabbard smashed, it is never sheathed again; to die is the true mark of a Satsuma warrior.”
“To be bested by an outsider means returning home only to face execution.”
Reading passages such as these, one can almost visualize the bearing of the Satsuma warriors, men of such fierce resolve that their very sleeves and arms seemed to embody their spirit.
Since today’s talk is about history, and not specifically about Chikamatsu, I will leave the subject of Chikamatsu there; however, I trust this suffices to show you that even works of historical fiction serve as excellent historical source material. Tokutomi Soho recently published a piece in the Kokumin shimbun arguing that the novel Suikoden (Water Margin) is a superior source for Chinese history, suggesting that one can truly understand China through that novel, and I fully share his view. Works of fiction often capture historical truth more authentically than official histories do.
Next, we come to poetry; since poetry gives expression to the sentiments of the people, it is naturally excellent source material. To discuss this at length would take too much time, so I shall not go into it today.
Viewed in this light, there is actually an abundance of historical material, almost an overwhelming amount. The history and evolution of the Japanese people are fully embodied within this material. Of course, unearthing ancient documents to investigate specific facts is a worthy endeavor, but the purpose of history is not limited to the mere investigation of facts. Observing the broad trajectory of how this nation has grown and developed is also the task of the historian.
It is precisely the historian who can benefit the world and serve society in this way. Moreover, making such observations requires neither an official history bureau nor vast sums of money; one can find ample source material in books readily available to the general public. I would like to conclude this speech by briefly discussing the ability to discern these materials and create history anew, that is, the power of observation known as historical insight or historical talent. While this naturally depends in part on innate talent, the first step is to cultivate the faculty of attention. Although attentiveness is essential to any field of study, it is of particular importance in history.
I was once deeply impressed by the writing Taguchi Ukichi in this regard.
It concerns the instance where Taguchi, having noticed a remark in Sentetsu-dan (Tales of Past Sages) about how Zhu Shunshui valued money, went on to discuss the currencies of China and Japan. This is a detail one would likely overlook without a keen eye for monetary matters. If a student of history truly cultivates such attentiveness, anything can become historical material; however, this kind of attentiveness is not something that can be easily developed merely by resolving to pay attention.
To understand what aspects of history warrant our attention, one must venture into the real world and observe the nature of human beings, grasping how they work, act, tempt, and inflict suffering. Without this insight into human nature, one cannot discern where to focus one’s attention when studying history. Therefore, a truly illuminating history cannot be written by someone who remains confined to their study; if one merely reads books without understanding the realities of the world, the history one writes becomes a dead history.
The reason Arai Hakuseki was such an excellent historian is, ultimately, that he possessed practical knowledge of politics. Grote’s History of Greece is compelling because Grote himself was actively involved in political affairs; the same holds true for the appeal of Macaulay’s historical writings. Viewed in this light, history ceases to be a mere tale of the past; it becomes a living narrative of the present. This is precisely what is meant by the saying, ‘Evaluating the old to understand the new.’ (May. 1)
