This article was published in the journal Hakukai Zasshi on August 20, 1888.
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Rai San’yō’s devotion to the Imperial House was profound, so much so that he received a commendation from the Imperial Court, and it is a matter of public consensus that he was a loyal subject of the Throne. Were he to return from the grave, he would surely rejoice at the Imperial favour bestowed upon him.
In a letter to Lord Shirakawa, he wrote: “I seek nothing from the present day; yet I do not seek nothing from a thousand years hence.” Did he, then, have his sights set on the future from the very beginning? Regardless, the fact that he was a loyal subject of the Imperial House does not mean he was disloyal to the Tokugawa clan. Having learned of his life and studied his writings, I recognize that he was, in fact, a loyal subject of the Tokugawa as well.
Could it be that he was disloyal to the Tokugawa? To put it another way, did he perhaps desire the downfall of the Tokugawa, the very power that maintained peace and stability at the time?
If that were the case, I could not regard him as a loyal subject of the Imperial House; rather, I would have to say that he was merely an instigator of chaos in the realm.
After the Ashikaga clan lost its grip on power and the realm fell into great turmoil, who was it that swept away the rival warlords and allowed the common people to once again live under a stable, orderly rule? Who was it that upheld the dignity of the Imperial House while shielding the populace, vulnerable as helpless infants, from becoming mere sacrifices to the ambitions of power-hungry heroes? It was the Oda, the Toyotomi, and the Tokugawa clans. The Tokugawa, in particular, inherited the achievements of their predecessors and demonstrated profound foresight regarding the future of the nation; they successfully quelled dangerous, volatile conditions and secured the well-being of the masses. How could anyone with a genuine commitment to the governance of the state fail to be moved by such painstaking efforts and ingenious strategy? Those who would criticize the Tokugawa for monopolizing supreme authority, while merely paying lip service to the Imperial Court, simply fail to grasp the realities of the situation at that time. Following an era defined by the fragmentation of power among competing warlords, the Tokugawa clan brought the various regional lords under control, established a system of order, and effectively pacified the realm. However, since these feudal lords were, in effect, independent sovereigns from the outset, the Tokugawa clan could not govern them without resorting to power, political maneuvering, and even underhanded tactics or force; they could not rely solely on moral principle. In an age where everyone acted like Cao Cao or Sima Yi, usurpers and schemers, how could one possibly emulate the virtuous statesmanship of figures like Yi Yin or the Duke of Zhou?
Thus, even if the political strategy of the Tokugawa clan was not entirely free from moral flaws, it was a necessary expedient, a pragmatic course of action, dictated by the circumstances of the time. Had the Tokugawa clan not existed, the realm would have known no peace; it would have been a world of endless usurpation, with no hope for stability. The nation would have once again plunged into the tragic depths of chaos and fragmentation. In such a scenario, what would have become of the Imperial House? How could the common people have found any security? One is reminded of the verse: ‘Do you not know? Even the skylark that rises high above the capital must eventually descend.’ Reflecting upon the eras of the Ōnin and Tenshō conflicts, I cannot help but shudder; a cold sweat breaks out upon my brow. Therefore, I say this: those who wish for the downfall of the Tokugawa clan are, in truth, no loyal subjects of the Imperial House.
There exists clear evidence that he was a loyal retainer of the Tokugawa clan. His grasp of history was profound; one might even say his insight rivalled that of Arai Hakuseki. His approach to history did not consist merely of minute analysis or the comparison of trivial details; rather, his primary intent was to derive lessons from the past that could be applied to the practical governance of the nation.
In a letter accompanying the submission of his Unofficial History of Japan to Lord Shirakawa, he wrote:
“In this overview, I have examined the circumstances of success and failure, the rise and fall of various figures, and the evidence of their loyalty or treachery, focusing on the most significant and clear-cut aspects. As for exhaustive research, meticulous investigation, and the minute dissection of every detail, that is a task for others; it is not something within my own capacity.”
In a reply to Koga Hakkei, he writes:
“When the ancients authored books, they did so out of an irrepressible inner necessity. Works and deeds naturally possess varying degrees of weight; yours carry great weight, while mine are of lesser significance.”
Furthermore, in a self-composed inscription for his own portrait, he writes:
“Weak and infirm, I lie confined to a single room, yet my mind concerns itself with the gains and losses of three hundred generations. I do not concern myself with my own private affairs but worry about the affairs of others and of the state.”
He also wrote:
“This mouth of mine cannot manage even to eat the leftovers and cold scraps, yet these hands wish to take up the wild vegetables and endure the cold.”
These passages are sufficient to reveal his true intent. His discussions on contemporary affairs, comprising twenty-eight essays derived from the core ideas he cultivated through years of research, truly reflect the fervour of his passionate heart. In essence, his major work is the Unofficial History of Japan and Political Record, and these twenty-eight essays represent its very quintessence. The subjects he addresses, such as the nature of power, authority, and strategic opportunity, are treated with great breadth. Whether discussing the principles governing the rise and fall of nations, such as the theory of adapting strategy to prevailing circumstances, the distribution of power, the strategic arrangement of domains of varying sizes, or the cultivation of national spirit, all these ideas align remarkably well with the foundational vision of the Tokugawa progenitors.
Had the leaders of that era possessed the discernment to grasp these arguments, they would have found in them a blueprint to ensure the stability and enduring weight of the Tokugawa regime. Furthermore, his analyses, ranging from currency issues and the corruption of the judicial system to civil administration, internal security, urban planning, land productivity, border defence, and military technology, all addressed the most urgent needs of the time, each handled with profound insight and meticulous care. Alas, could such a vision have been conceived had his heart not been truly loyal to his era? Could it have been brought forth had his purpose not been the welfare of the common people? This is why I consider him a loyal retainer of the Tokugawa house. Otherwise, why would he have allowed a man who had once served as a senior elder of the Tokugawa house to regard him as a trusted friend? Why, upon that man’s death, would he have composed a commemorative eulogy for him (the Eulogy for Lord Shirakawa)? And why would he have spoken of him so respectfully and at such length in his own writings?
These facts demonstrate that my argument is not unfounded.
If this be the case, then it cannot be said that Sanyō’s devotion to the Imperial House was lacking simply because he served the Tokugawa clan with loyalty. San’yō was, by nature, deeply troubled by the encroachment upon imperial authority. He channelled his extraordinary literary talent into depicting the loyalty of Kusunoki Masashige and the heroic righteousness of Nitta Yoshisada, thereby giving vent to his own inner sentiments. Yet, recognizing the irresistible pressures of the era, he sought to uphold the Tokugawa regime, and, through it, to safeguard the Imperial authority itself. He hoped that the Tokugawa, by wielding their power to maintain peace and stability, would also foster reverence for the Imperial House; he even aspired to lead the Tokugawa to reflect upon the fact that their own grip on political power was, in truth, merely an expedient, a temporary measure.
To recklessly resist the de facto sovereign of the time, inviting only one’s own ruin, is the act of a ‘rebellious subject or traitorous son’ akin to a man, driven by mere impulsive rage, attempting to challenge a formidable, entrenched power with nothing but his bare hands. Such acts are the work of mere agents of chaotic destruction; could Rai San’yō possibly be one who would commit them?
