Teaching as Sōgorō

Brian Wei

            Traditional admiration does not commonly come in tears—or in tattered fusumas and frosty weather. It did, quite frankly, for Tsukioka Yoshitoshi. In “The Tale of Sakura Sõgo”, a large size woodblock print diptych from 1885, Yoshitoshi depicts the legend that embodies the peasant uprisings of the Tokugawa period. He embellished the presumably mass-marketed diptych in dull hues with a pinch of resplendent colors, linearity, and a pyramid subject formation. The piece centers on Sakura Sõgorõ, the lionized peasant martyr who sacrificed himself for the welfare of his community.[1] In the house during a gentle snowfall, the wife, child in her grasp, weeps on the floor as the standing Sõgorõ reassures the two pleading children.[2] Were children permitted to impudently prevent his decision? Like how the children attempt to delay the martyr’s departure, “The Tale of Sakura Sõgo” suggests the reconciliation of tradition in times of vast changes.

            It is imperative to note that this print was made during the Meiji period, a period of remarkable changes that uprooted the long-entrenched political, social, economic and cultural establishments. The emperor’s nominal restoration to power resulted in the rise of ambitious and talented men—motivated by the Tokugawa’s military and economic weakness, political divisions, and a social hierarchy that was blind to men of ability—who sought to craft a new form of national power.[3] The new government abolished all daimyō domains and offered the feudal lords and samurai a yearly stipend.

With such context to comprehend the meanings of the aesthetics, we can interpret that Yoshitoshi intended to depict the sacrifices of the daimyo and samurai as an honorable fate to accept. Sõgorõ’s resolute expression and embracing posture suggest that he holds his sacrifice as a catalyst for peace. In correlation, the sacrifice of the status of the samurai, who were financial burdens, during the Meiji period was much needed to build a nation of prominence.[4] Understanding that the Meiji period was branded with upheavals and modern advancements, we see that the diptych corresponds neatly with the period as they are both synonymous with the rectification of the government, whether or not it was repaired from above or below.

            In its own right, the print offers the viewers insight into the revolutions of the society. The artist’s choice to depict a peasant man standing while the other subjects are visibly beneath him represents Japan’s hunger for talented leaders to rise from all classes in a new merit-based society. Skill was regarded highly rather than the nobility of one’s birth. To further emphasize this idea, the child’s attention to Sõgorõ‘s swords in the setting of a slightly dilapidated room attests to the notion that ability extends to all niches of society. Although the intersection of limiting lines connotes a stifling enclosure, the opened door testifies to the rampant opportunities of Meiji society. The depiction of the crying wife echoes the Tokugawa ideal of filial relations and the current society’s longing to stabilize itself by holding onto tradition while it is on an express track to modernization. The reason why the wife may be crying, however, might justifiably be unclear. Is it simply that she is mourning her husband’s death? Or is she weeping the injustices of a defective society? Personal accounts of the Tokugawa household are necessary to ascertain the answer. Indeed, Yoshitoshi masterfully produced a multilayered piece that harbors the tensions of the Tokugawa era’s transition to an uncertain and strangely enticing new world.