It is an historical commonplace that the renewal of Western diplomatic contact with Japan, after the Tokugawa seclusion, seriously disturbed the Japanese political system, and contributed to the Meiji Restoration. Undoubtedly foreign demands for commercial and diplomatic privileges, combined with the presence of warships and military garrisons, cut sharply into the minds of all politically conscious Japanese, and added to the bitterness of internal conflict. But in the past numerous historians have gone much further than these general statements, and drawn far more specific conclusions about the policies and impact of Britain in these crucial years.

One of the interesting questions concerning the Meiji Restoration of 1868 is the degree to which the Western-oriented intellectuals of Japan compromised their scholarly curiosity about European civilization by serving the pre-Restoration Tokugawa government and its successor, the Meiji oligarchy. In what ways might their duties as civil servants colour their objectivity in studying the newly found academic disciplines of the West? What tensions did late Tokugawa and early Meiji scholar-bureaucrats perceive between their investigations of European knowledge and their service in a partisan regime? An examination of the career of Nishi Amane (1829–1897), who was an important scholar of Western philosophy as well as a bureaucrat in both the Tokugawa and Meiji governments, casts some light on the problem of the intellectual as public servant in early modern Japan. This study will concentrate on three important events in Nishi's life: his decision to flee his feudal clan in order to study the West in 1854; his refusal to join the Restoration movement in 1868; and his defence of the idea that scholars could serve the new state without compromising their objectivity in 1874.

Some people would no doubt be surprised to learn of a man like Kaiseki Sata who in the early days of Meiji zealously asserted that ‘every expedience is an evil and every inexpedience a benefit’, and that umbrellas, lamps, railways, steamships and other similar innovations could only be harmful. But others whose personal knowledge and experience of such things as the noise and polluted air of big cities, the growing toll of road accidents and the horrors of the atomic bomb have convinced them that too much so-called civilization does not secure human happiness might be more inclined to sympathize with him. In fact, Sata merely represented the feelings of men in the street, by no means small in number, who, accustomed to the traditional way of life under the Shogunate, were either implicitly or explicitly opposed to the new government or at least unable to adapt themselves to the new way of life which made its appearance so suddenly. To Sata anything brought in from abroad seemed harmful, for he feared that innovations might lead to the impoverishment of those who lived by traditional trades and so land the whole nation in misery. He never ceased to write and lecture on this topic, and even went as far as to petition the government to stop the importation, and discourage the use, of any foreign commodity whatsoever. However, because his influence was extremely small compared with that of the notorious motto 'Civilization and Culture', and because his attitude was seen as a mere feudal reaction to what was inevitable, his was after all a voice crying in the wilderness1.

To an Englishman of my generation, whose schooling took place during the 1920–30s, the practice of comparing Japan with Britain has long been a commonplace. School geography lessons on Japan invariably began with a reference to the temperate offshore island kingdom of eastern Asia as the ‘Britain of the East’, and this theme was often elaborated to include the characterization of Osaka and Kobe respectively as the Manchester and Liverpool of Japan. But following the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in 1931 the climate of opinion began to change, and so did the analogy. In 1936, Freda Utley, in a book which attracted widespread interest, observed:

Although the real Japan comes a little closer to being the Prussia of Asia than the Britain of Asia, it is fundamentally unlike all these romantic pictures, and in so far as it resembles another country, that country is Russia under the tyranny of the Tsars.