HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG, Editor of Foreign Affairs
EVEN a first visitor to Japan does not remain oblivious for long of the tensions concealed beneath the smooth surface of Japanese reticence and politeness. Lafcadio Hearn wrote a half-century ago that "the Japanese lives not by thought, by emotion, but by duty." The classical Japanese rules of obligation and duty, with their emphasis on codified tradition rather than individual decision, have been shaken deeply in the past ten years; but they still are potent, and the effort to live up to them in the new conditions created by Japan's first major defeat in history and first foreign occupation produces strains of its own. Little by little you come to feel that you are among a people possessing immense powers of self-control and at the same time existing singly and collectively close to the breaking point.
The breaking point comes when the obligations conflict. This is something which always threatens, for they pervade every phase of life--duty to the Emperor and the nation, to one's parents, to one's teachers, to one's reputation. When the conflict is irreconcilable there is a real nervous crisis. For the individual it may end in suicide; this does not as with us indicate despair but such a high degree of self-discipline and courage as to be in itself an act of virtue. For the nation, the only honorable exit from what seems a humiliating situation will not be national suicide, of course, but still an act of national desperation, a throw of the dice for revenge and glory unlimited or for ruin. This manner of paying the people's debt to Emperor and country may be imposed on the civilian authorities by fanatical nationalists in the armed forces, as in Manchuria in 1931, or it may be by choice of the dominant governing clique, as in the secret dispatch of the Japanese fleet to Pearl Harbor in 1941 while Ambassadors Kurusu and Nomura were still negotiating with Secretary Hull...
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During Asia's economic crisis, U.S. policy toward Japan is based on disdain for its overweening bureaucrats. But Japan is hardly unique. Bureaucracies dominate most countries; it is the United States that is the exception. Such elites can hold power for decades, despite repeated blunders, because even developed countries fear social disintegration without their leadership. In Japan, where society's stability takes precedence over the economy, the bureaucrats' caution, bred by past traumas, is not as foolish as many Westerners think. Defending the bureaucrats is wiser than trashing them.
THE defeat of August 1945 has rocked Japanese life and institutions to their foundations. Never in two thousand years have the Japanese people suffered such a collapse. The dislocation has been far greater than anyone could have imagined at the time of the surrender, and we are still in the midst of a revolution. No one in Japan dreamed that the surrender would lead to the proclamation of popular sovereignty and to such a change in the position of the Emperor; the one thing that the government and the majority of the people earnestly desired was to preserve the Throne intact.
For a nation whose founding is lost in the mists of antiquity, Japan is in many respects a very new country. Last year we celebrated the hundredth anniversary of the Meiji Restoration, which marked our entry into the modern world. This year the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which I am honored to head, observed its centennial. By contrast, the United States, which is in every respect a young nation, possesses a number of institutions that are far older than many of Japan's. The Department of State, for example, is only a dozen years short of its bicentennial, and Harvard University, with its 333-year old history, is more than three times the age of my own alma mater, Tokyo University, now in its ninety-second year.

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