Is the “House” More Important Than Bloodline? The Japanese View of Organizations Shared by Adoption, the Imperial Family, and Showa-Era Companies

The other day, I came across a fascinating historical discussion.

Japan has long had the idea of oie daiji: placing the preservation of the household, or “house,” above all else. In both samurai and merchant families, protecting the house that had continued for generations mattered more than any individual.

What makes this especially interesting is its relationship with bloodline.

Ordinarily, protecting a family would mean passing it on to your biological descendants. Yet Japanese history shows that this was not always the case.

A house supposedly existed to preserve a bloodline, but people would abandon the bloodline to preserve the house.

That reversal is fascinating.

The Survival of the House Mattered More Than Bloodline

In premodern Japan, the “house” was more than a family.

A samurai house had land and retainers, while a merchant house had a business and employees. If an incompetent head caused the house to collapse, many people would lose the foundation of their livelihoods.

Choosing a successor was therefore a serious matter.

As a parent, you would naturally want your own son to succeed you. But what if he lacked the necessary ability?

Samurai and merchant families in Japan commonly adopted a son or a mukoyoshi, a son-in-law adopted into the family. Even when a biological son existed, a more capable person might be chosen as the successor.

The lack of a blood relationship did not matter as long as the person could preserve the house.

A parent might not be pleased. But it was better to let a capable outsider take over than to entrust everything to an incompetent son and bring everyone down with him.

Preserving the house took priority over preserving one’s own line of descendants.

The organization called the house had become more important than the bloodline itself.

The Logic of “Survival” in the Imperial Family

Emperor Keitai is an intriguing figure when considering this issue.

Emperor Keitai, from whom the present imperial line is said to descend, was not a direct descendant of the preceding emperors. He is believed to have been brought in from a distant collateral branch.

Historians even debate whether he was genuinely related by blood to the earlier imperial line.

Because he took several daughters of the preceding emperor as consorts, some suspect that he was effectively an adopted son-in-law whose connection to the line was preserved formally.

I am not a historian, so while I find the question interesting, I will not attempt to argue it.

The important point is that when no direct heir existed, a successor was sought by tracing the bloodline far into a distant branch.

The legitimacy of bloodline mattered. But allowing the succession to end by insisting only on a direct descendant also had to be avoided.

This was different from the adoption practices of samurai families. Still, both reflect a shared idea: broadening the pool of possible successors in order to continue the succession.

Preserving the bloodline and preserving the institution are not always the same thing. The tension between them has probably appeared repeatedly throughout Japanese history.

Showa-Era Companies Were Another Kind of “House”

This discussion reminded me of Japanese companies during the Showa era.

When lifetime employment was considered normal, employees were loyal to their company, and the company took care of their lives. The organization came before the individual, and changing jobs could even be regarded as a betrayal.

Large companies provided corporate housing, and the husband’s rank within the company sometimes extended into neighborhood relationships among employees’ wives.

The company had entered even the private life of the household.

Samurai worked to preserve their lord’s house. Merchants worked to preserve their shop. Showa-era salarymen worked to preserve their company.

The eras and institutions were different, but the idea of placing the organization above the individual was remarkably similar.

And a company was not even a group connected by blood.

Yet it demanded family-like loyalty from its employees.

There was no blood relationship to begin with, but devoting one’s life to the company was treated as a virtue.

Perhaps this was the ultimate evolution of oie daiji.

Is the Organization for People, or Are People for the Organization?

There is a rational side to oie daiji.

By adopting a capable successor instead of insisting on bloodline, a house could survive. Removing an incompetent head could also protect the livelihoods of retainers and employees.

But although the house was originally supposed to exist so that people could live, at some point people began to exist for the sake of the house.

The same is true of companies.

A company was supposed to be a place where employees worked to support their lives. Instead, employees sacrificed their lives to keep the company alive.

An organization could be flexible enough to change its very bloodline in order to survive, yet strangely inflexible about how individuals were allowed to live.

Changing jobs and becoming independent are no longer unusual, and loyalty to companies has weakened.

I think that is perfectly fine.

Employees do not exist to preserve the company. The company exists so that employees can make a living.

Of course, if I had said this openly at a Showa-era company, my boss would surely have lectured me.

“What do you think this company is?”

I would like to answer:

“The place that pays my salary. Is there something else?”