This article was published in Yasei hankyō on March 20, 1891.
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As the lamp flickers and the light begins to fade into darkness, I cast my gaze upon my own shadow and reflect on the annals of history, across all eras and every corner of the globe. I find that human existence is rife with profound injustice; the conflict between the Tokugawa regime and the followers of the Roman Catholic Church is but one such instance.
In the past, the Christians, bound by a cruel and unfortunate destiny, had no choice but to stand their ground. Consequently, they were crushed beneath the iron-fisted rule of the government; their fate became a target for the world’s scorn and loathing; and their bleached bones served only to fertilize the grass at the execution grounds. For three hundred years, they have remained without a single defender. They were born only to be slaughtered by persecution, and in death, they became a subject for mockery and derision. Is this not the ultimate tragedy, one that demands our deepest, most enduring lament? The fact that the Ikko sect, ostensibly a religious body, acted as an intermediary for Toyotomi Hideyoshi to bring about the downfall of the Shimazu clan was a manoeuvre so disgraceful for a religious organization that it ought to provoke nothing but utter revulsion. While professing to uphold the ‘Original Vow’ of Amida Buddha, which embraces all sentient beings without exception, they instead assisted in a scheme to destroy a sovereign domain and seize a family’s ancestral lands. I feel a profound sense of shame on behalf of the Ikko sect; furthermore, I lament that this act left a deep, indelible stain upon the otherwise straightforward and bold character of Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
It is also worth noting that it was precisely during the era of this ruler that the Roman Catholic Church first faced persecution in Japan. It is said that the Roman Catholics established ties with Western daimyo to plot treason, and that the Tokugawa regime suppressed them for this reason, a claim that has given rise to a myriad of suspicions and wild conjectures. As for those who harbor such notions, they are as numerous as the stars in the sky. Records indicate that in the past, a Japanese merchant vessel departed from Nagasaki in the tenth month of the latter part of the Kan’ei era, arriving in southern India by the third month of the tenth year of the same era, such was the nature of maritime travel at the time. Even if one were to dismiss the Roman Catholics as foolish, could they truly have been so ignorant as to believe that seeking military support from foreign nations was a viable course of action in that era? Furthermore, the projection of Japan’s power along the coasts of East Asia, dating back to the era of the so-called ‘wakō’ (pirates/traders) during the Ming dynasty, was not a recent development. To suggest that these Westerners, mere drifters arriving on our shores, could conspire against Japan is akin to an axe attempting to challenge a heavy carriage; it is absurd. In truth, the Tokugawa government was likely merely terrified by the slightest rustle of the wind or the cry of a crane, paralysed by groundless, phantom fears.
It is claimed that the Shogunate learned of this alleged Roman Catholic conspiracy through hearsay, a method akin to seeking evidence from the sworn enemies of the accused.
Historians have suggested that the arrival of Roman Catholics in Japan coincided with the fall of the Ouchi clan and the loss of the official tally-trade seals issued by the Ming dynasty. However, the devout Francis Xavier arrived in Japan in 1549, whereas the Ouchi clan fell in 1551. To understand the situation at that time, one must look at the state of China: it was the late Ming period, and governance had grown lax. With the threat of the Mongols along the northern borders, the military apparatus was in disarray, and frontier defence commands were ineffective. Consequently, China could no longer maintain its former monopoly on trade with Japan. This created an opening for the Spanish and Portuguese to begin navigating our coastal waters, a development that was not strictly contingent upon the loss of the official seals. Furthermore, even when the Qing dynasty had unified the realm and the Emperor Qianlong’s reign was at its zenith, no foreign traders arrived; it remains unclear whether this was because China intended to reclaim its monopoly on trade with Japan. Given that even the intricacies of contemporary diplomacy are difficult to discern, it is rash to make hasty assumptions about the past, such as the claim that the Tokugawa shogunate severed diplomatic ties out of concern over Christianity, without sufficient evidence. One cannot readily agree with the common view.
The Amakusa Uprising was a consequence of persecution; the Great Proscription of the Kan’ei era was so excessively harsh and severe that it ultimately led to this conflict, a truly lamentable state of affairs. Furthermore, the immediate cause of the unrest lay in the oppressive conduct and extortion practiced by the subordinates of the lord of Shimabara Castle and the magistrate of Tomioka; thus, the blame for precipitating the crisis must surely rest with those in power. Moreover, throughout the months-long siege, there is no record of any Spanish or Portuguese vessels arriving to assist the beleaguered people; instead, it is reported that ships fired their cannons from the sea, threatening those within the castle, a truly bizarre and shocking turn of events. As for the rights and wrongs of the matter, history itself will surely render a definitive judgment. If it is the duty of a ‘loyal subject’ to submit unconditionally, no matter how much one’s freedom of conscience is infringed upon, or how unreasonable the demands imposed, then perhaps the people of Amakusa were indeed ‘disloyal’. Yet, if it is a matter of human dignity to take up arms and assert one’s own rights when left with no other choice, then the people of Amakusa are, in truth, figures deserving of our profound sympathy.
During the early years of the Tokugawa regime, many Buddhist monks, such as the prelate Tenkai, participated in the inner circles of government. It is hardly surprising that they urged their lord to adopt a strategy for the eradication of Christianity; indeed, they succeeded in this objective. By instituting practices such as ‘sutra recitation at parishioners’ homes’ and establishing a system of temple-issued certificates of religious affiliation, they ultimately secured an exclusive monopoly for their own sect. Yet, this proved to be of no real benefit to them. As a consequence of this forced affiliation, they earned only the indifference of the common people. The cold, detached attitude toward religion that persists in the Japanese psyche to this day is, I believe, nothing more than the lingering, toxic legacy of these coerced conversions.
Some might argue that Roman Catholicism, by teaching allegiance to the Pope, is inherently detrimental to the feudal class structure, and that this is the reason the Tokugawa clan prohibited it. In a similar vein, the Ikkō doctrine, which emphasizes the invocation of Amida Buddha, was also perceived by people of that era as a philosophy that rejected the authority of both lord and father. Indeed, regardless of the specific sect, whether Shinto, Buddhist, or otherwise, if any such doctrine is taken to its logical extreme, it inevitably undermines the foundations of the feudal system. Yet, one must note that these doctrines are matters of personal faith; as abstract theories, they pose no inherent threat to the state.
If, however, the authorities were to insist on tracing the logical conclusions of these beliefs directly back to their premises, and then intervene based on that deduction, they would effectively be forcing people to stop seeing and stop thinking altogether. This is nothing less than an attempt to extinguish the human spirit entirely. If the feudal system can only be sustained by such a suppression of the human spirit, then it is the feudal system itself that destroys the human spirit. While this text is, in truth, nothing more than a modest, informal contribution, I am keenly aware that it may well give deep offense to those known as ‘scholars of National Learning’. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to express my thoughts on the matter. To sum it up in a single phrase: under any, and all, circumstances, religious persecution is an evil.
Midnight, January 22, 1891; written at Fukuroi, Tōtōmi Province.
