Japanese Philosophy and Empire: The Dangers of Taking Tanabe Hajime out of Context

Tanabe Hajime (1885-1962) was a member of the Kyoto School, an intellectual network of Japanese philosophers in the early 20th century who sought to piece together the best parts of Western thought (particularly Kant and Hegel) with Japanese intellectual tradition.1 His earlier works are characterised by strong imperialist and nationalist rhetoric, some of which he revised and renounced in his later work with the ‘Philosophy as Metanoetics’ in 1945 when he turned to studying religious philosophy in a public cry of repentance.2

American philosopher James Heisig claims that Tanabe’s philosophy should be regarded as a ‘world-class philosophy’.3 He argues that Tanabe’s framework can and should be applied outside of the historical context in which it was created.4 While this may be valuable from a philosopher’s perspective, from a historical standpoint, grounding Tanabe’s work in the hyper-nationalist and cosmopolitan context he was writing in is vital because it demonstrates how outside sociopolitical factors and aspects of Western and Japanese intellectual tradition shaped his worldview (which was then used to justify nationalist expansion). Removing Tanabe’s philosophy from its historical context diminishes its lasting impact on Japan’s imperial legacy and precludes the opportunity for important discussions around colonialism.

Tanabe used principles in ‘Logic of the Specific’, ‘The Logic of National Existence’, and ‘Death and Life’ to rationalise nationalism and the supreme importance of the state, relying on the unchallenged assumption that the nation is the fundamental unit by which society should be organised. ‘In ‘Logic of the Specific’, Tanabe adopts Linnean taxonomy terminology to classify individuals’ social belonging: the species (shu) represents each nationality, and the genus (rui) represents the totality of the international world.5 He also proposes the idea of Japan as a ‘supreme archetype’, a blueprint which should be emulated by other nation-states to become ‘enlightened’.6 This emphasis on the moral, cultural, and intellectual superiority of Japan follows the trend among nationalist Japanese intellectuals to justify colonialism.7 Additionally, in ‘The Logic of National Existence’, Tanabe positions the concept of the nation-state as the ‘prototype of existence’, which further legitimizes the authority and prominence of the Japanese empire.8 In his 1943 lecture ‘Death and Life’, Tanabe encourages his audience to sacrifice their lives for the state and concludes that ‘self-sacrifice for the state’ is essentially a return to individual freedom in ‘The Logic of National Existence’.9 Tanabe’s fixation with nationhood is understandable when considering that for him, the lives and deaths of Japanese people depended on the survival or demise of the nation.10 Far from remaining in the abstract realm, Kim argues that Kyoto philosophers were utilised by the imperial regime to exert force over colonial subjects in the way citizens were subject to military conscription.11
However, Tanabe’s interpretation of his own philosophical framework is inconsistent at times, seemingly swayed by changes in public sentiment and contemporary politics. In ‘A Clarification of the Logic of the Specific’ (1935), he defends against accusations that the ‘logic of the specific’ promotes ‘extreme’ and ‘totalitarian’ nationalism.12 However, as aforementioned, later in 1943 he rationalises individual sacrifice (to the point of death) for the state, so his original work cannot be seen as apolitical. Later in 1945, Tanabe publicly apologises for being complicit in imperial expansion in ‘Philosophy as Metanoetics’, moving away from nationalist rhetoric. He explains his failure to speak out against expansionist policies as partly due to the possibility of creating conflict and division among the Japanese people.13 When considering his back-and-forth views, it is questionable as to whether or not Tanabe’s repentance in ‘Ethics of Metanoia’ is sincere or motivated by self-preservation after his original views became unpopular.

It is difficult to separate Tanabe’s philosophical framework from external factors and from Tanabe as a complex individual. However, it is important to recognise that while Tanabe’s writings partly developed as a way for him to process and react to the traumatic and uncertainty of wartime Japan and may be valuable as a world philosophy, they were also used by the nation to justify colonial violence.

  1. Robert Edgar Carter, “The Kyoto School: An Introduction,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, in Bret W. Davis (ed.), unpaginated, (2019 [↩]
  2. James W. Heisig, Thomas P. Kasulis, and John C. Maraldo, Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, (University of Hawaii Press, 2011), 688. [↩]
  3. James W. Heisig, “Tanabe’s Logic of the Specific and the Critique of the Global Village,” in The Eastern Buddhist 28, no. 2 (1995), 198, http://www.jstor.org/stable/44362096. [↩]
  4. Ibid., 202. [↩]
  5. Heisig, Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, 670. [↩]
  6. Ibid. [↩]
  7. Vladimir Tikhonov, Social Darwinism and nationalism in Korea: the beginnings (1880s-1910s): “survival” as an ideology of Korean modernity, (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 10. [↩]
  8. Heisig, Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, 683 [↩]
  9. John Namjun Kim, ‘The Temporality of Empire: The Imperial Cosmopolitanism of Miki Kiyoshi and Tanabe Hajime’, in Pan-Asianism in modern Japanese history: colonialism, regionalism and borders, in Sven Saaler et al., (London: Routledge, 2007), 210; Naoki Sakai, “Ethnicity and Species: On the Philosophy of the Multiethnic State and Japanese Imperialism,” in Confronting Capital and Empire: Rethinking Kyoto School Philosophy, in Viren Murthy et al. (eds.), (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 153. [↩]
  10. Heisig, Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, 683. [↩]
  11. Kim, “The Temporality of Empire,” 195. [↩]
  12. Heisig, Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, 679. [↩]
  13. Ibid., 689. [↩]

The Cold War and Cosmopolitanism

Yan Xishan, former premier for the Republic of China, authored a treatise on the establishment of a Cosmopolitan International government for the purpose of ending war globally. This proposal is titled How to Prevent Warfare and Establish the Foundation of World Unity and was dedicated to the Moral Re-Armament World Assembly. Yan Xishan believed that these American based moral reformists would share his cosmopolitan vision for the betterment of the world. The M.R.A World Assembly maintained a similar world view to Xishan in that they detested communism, but were dissatisfied with the inequality of the capitalist system.1 This shared belief reflects the broader global political tension at the time of publication in 1952. The context of the Korean War and the escalation of the nuclear arms race between the United States and Russia acts as a backdrop of Yan Xishan’s cosmopolitan solution to the problem of dissatisfaction with both capitalism and communism. When conflict had implications for the globe, a universal solution was necessary.

Yan Xishan’s proposition for a Cosmopolitan Internal system of government echoes the ideas of K’ang Yu-wei, a late Qing scholar who originated the idea of Ta T’ung Shu or the Great Unity. K’ang Yu-wei’s cosmopolitan vision called for the abolition of the nation state, the family, religion, and all divisions which create suffering.2 Similar to Xishan, K’ang’s worldview is largely influenced by Confucianism. Both align with Mencius’s idea that human nature is inherently good and can be perfected through the cultivation of the individual.3 This perfection of man serves as the basis for the effective establishment of a cosmopolitan world. 

Yan Xishan diverges from K’ang Yu-wei in his reference for establishing his cosmopolitan utopia. Rather than turn towards the United States or Germany as a framework for the unification of states as K’ang does, Xishan turns inwards toward China for a solution. This is likely due to Xishan’s familiarity with American imperial aggression and the destructive consequences of both World Wars. Xishan uses the Golden Mean as the foundation of world unity and rejects American and German models in the process.4 This is a direct recollection of foundational Confucian principles, and the use of Chinese intellectual tradition to establish a new world order outside the confines of Western thought. 

Yan Xishan’s worldview cites conflicting economic interests as the causes of disorder in the world. His proposal largely focuses on economic solutions for the cessation of suffering and the problem of capitalist and communist conflict. He cites the inability of communists and capitalists to find economic harmony as a source of global conflict.5 Yan Xishan’s fear of the spontaneous outbreak of World War III is clearly informed by the proximity and uncertainty of the Korean war.6 For Xishan, Cosmopolitanism is not only a solution to the suffering of the individual, but the ending of the Cold War and the threat of further nuclear destruction in East Asia. In his eyes, the Cosmopolitan solution would ultimately bring peace to the world by establishing a disarmed government, removing the fear of mass nuclear destruction from the equation.  

  1. Boobbyer, Philip. ‘5 Strategy and Organization’. The Spiritual Vision of Frank Buchman, University Park, USA: Penn State University Press, 2013, pp. 110-111 [↩]
  2. Kang, Youwei, and Laurence G Thompson. Ta t’ung Shu: The One-World Philosophy of K’ang Yu-Wei. London: Routledge, 2005. p. 37 [↩]
  3. Ibid., p. 46 [↩]
  4. Yan, Xishan. How to Prevent Warfare and Establish Foundation of World Unity, pamphlet, p. 38 [↩]
  5. Ibid., p. 7 [↩]
  6. Ibid., 5 [↩]

The Paradox of Peace: Japan’s Evolving Identity from 1919-1964

       After Japan’s invasion of Manchuria in 1933 and withdrawing from the League of Nations in 1933, the world believed Japan to be rejecting internationalism.¹ The believed rejection of internationalism by Japan was proven to be false as Japan developed the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, a pan-Asian conglomerate with the aim to promote an anti-colonialism from the West.²  From the interwar years through the postwar decades, Japan’s engagement with the world was full of contradictions torn between universal ideals and imperial ambitions. As historians Jessamyn Abel, Tomoko Akami, and Mark Lincicome each show, Japan’s global identity was never simply nationalist or internationalist. It was a constant negotiation between empire and moral legitimacy.

       The three historians all attempt to understand how Japan builds its identity within the global sphere. Abel focuses on the “international minimum” which was Japan’s way of maintaining a baseline of global participation even during times of war.³ The main example of this baseline was the bid from Japan to host the 1940 Tokyo Olympics. Abel frames the Tokyo Olympics as a gesture of goodwill to the international community even though at the time Japan’s imperialism was spreading over Asia. Japan projected an image of peace and enlightenment while simultaneously expanding its empire. The display of Japanese culture on a global scale such as the Kokusai Bunka Shinkoukai sponsoring art and education abroad helped to show that Japan is a key component to bridge the East and the West. Abel concludes that Japan rebranded itself throughout time by using culture as a front to project the image of peace while still expanding the nation’s imperialism throughout Asia.⁴ This use of culture illustrates how Japan reshaped its identity to fit any ideology that the moment required in order to build an identity with the West.

       While Abel traces cultural diplomacy, Tomoko Akami examines international engagement that was meant to foster peace but emphasized global tension. In 1925, The Institute of Pacific Relations (IPR) was created to foster a dialogue between nations around the Pacific Rim.⁵ Japan joined early and eagerly sent scholars and diplomats to discuss trade, diplomacy, and governance. As Japan’s imperialism grew throughout the 1930s, tension grew between the countries and came to a head at the 1926 Yosemite Conference. Japanese representatives defended the nation’s expansions in China stating the expansion as a need for modernization yet this argument illustrates how Japan combined imperialism and internationalism. Akami states, Japan’s participation was a performance of legitimacy as it sought to appear as a civilized and cooperative power, even while defying Western norms.⁶ The IPR revealed how internationalism could reinforce imperial hierarchies rather than dissolve them which illustrates that Japan’s identity in the international stage was centered around imperialism and fake facades of modernization according to Akami.

       Similarly to Abel and Akami, Mark Lincicome uncovers how Japan’s schools and universities became ideal for shaping “international” citizens and uses education as a global identity. After World War I, international education was promoted and students were taught to value peace, cultural understanding, and global citizenship.⁷ But by the 1930s, these ideals were absorbed into the state’s nationalist mission. Under imperial rule, the “global citizen” became an imperial subject who represented Japan’s cultural superiority abroad and brought “civilization” to colonized Asia.⁵ Lincicome’s insight illustrates how Japan used education as another front to cover imperialistic colonization of Asia similar to Akami’s view on Japan’s modernization. The very language of peace and world citizenship that Japan used after 1945 had imperial roots and ideals didn’t vanish; they simply rebranded just as seen in Abel’s view on Japan using culture to project ideals of peace. 

       Throughout the three works, all of the historians portray an image of Japan that ties its identity to facades of peace and global cooperation. Abel’s Japan uses culture to maintain international visibility and a connection with the West even after Japan left the League of Nations. Akami illustrates how Japan uses opportunities of international cooperation and discussion to put on a false image of peace and cooperation between countries. Lincicome combines the two views into one by illustrating how Japan uses education as a part of culture to enforce global ideals that serve the nation. Abel, Akami, and Lincicome remind us that nations rarely reinvent themselves from scratch. They evolve through the reinterpretation of old ideals. Japan’s imperial past was not erased by defeat: it was rewritten through the language of internationalism.

  1. The Japanese Embassy to the State. September 24, 1931.
  2. Beasley, W. G. “The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.” In Japanese Imperialism 1894–1945, 233-50. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991.
  3. Abel, Jessamyn R. The International Minimum: Creativity and Contradiction in Japan’s Global Engagement, 1933–1964. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2015. Introduction.
  4. Abel, Jessamyn R. Chapter 3, “Cultural Diplomacy for Peace and War,” pp. 81–107.
  5. Akami, Tomoko. Internationalizing the Pacific: The United States, Japan and the Institute of Pacific Relations in War and Peace, 1919–1945. London: Routledge, 2002. Introduction, pp. 1–16.
  6. Akami, Tomoko. Chapter 8, “The IPR and the Sino-Japanese War, 1936–9,” pp. 200–239.
  7. Lincicome, Mark Elwood. Imperial Subjects as Global Citizens: Nationalism, Internationalism, and Education in Japan. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009. Chapters 3–4.



The Birth of the Japan’s Cooperative Movement: Shinagawa, Hirata, and Cooperative Credit Society Law Bill

During the Meiji era, Viscount Shinagawa Yajirō and Count Hirata Tosuke studied European cooperative models, particularly the Schulze-Delitzsch and Raiffeisen systems, as a means to address Japan’s rural economic challenges. Confronted with widespread tenant indebtedness, falling agricultural incomes, and increasing commercialization, they sought to adapt these foreign models to support farmers through affordable credit and collective cooperation. Their efforts culminated in the establishment of Japan’s first comprehensive cooperative law in 1900.1

During the 1870s and 1880s, Yajirō and Tosuke travelled to Germany and studied social and economic systems. What captured their attention were the Schulze-Delitzsch and Raiffeisen models of savings and credit cooperatives. The Schulze-Delitzsch model, developed by Hermann Schulze-Delitzsch, sought to protect “the independence of our lower-middle-class tradespeople” against “the monstrous development of big industry,” and advocated for credit, warehousing, producing, marketing, and consumer cooperatives.2 F.W. Raiffeisen developed his own version – one that crucially extended the concept of cooperatives to rural and farming communities and one that encouraged a single cooperative for each village.3

Shinagawa and Hirata recognized that similar institutions could benefit Japan’s countryside. By the mid-1880s, about 70% of the working population was employed in agriculture, with the sector making 40% of the nation’s gross national product.4 Farmers faced a decrease in net agricultural income of 17 to 22% caused by the new land tax as well as frequent fluctuations in rice prices.5 Japan, like Germany, also saw an increase in commercialisation. Tenants typically paid rent in kind for rice land, with rates fixed annually based on expected harvests and adjusted only if yields dropped below 10%. Increasingly during the Meiji period (1868-1912), tenants began to supply their own capital borrowing from landlords and hiring additional labour.6 Amidst this context, Viscount Shinagawa and Count Hirata recognised that the Raiffeisen and Schulze-Delitzsch cooperative models could be introduced, to supply cheaper credit to farmers.7

In 1891, as Shinagawa became Minister of the Interior and Hirata joined the Legislative Bureau, the pair drafted a Cooperative Credit Society Bill based on the German models. The bill was proposed to the Second Imperial Diet in 1891 but failed to be enacted when the Lower House was dissolved after a budget crisis. Six years later, the same bill was presented to the Tenth Imperial Diet as the First Industrial Cooperative Bill. Again, although deliberated, the bill was shelved when the Diet session ended early.8

This process was accompanied by a heavy campaign of propaganda led by Shinagawa and Hirata advertising the benefits of cooperative societies. Ogata argues that there was much collaboration between Shinagawa and Hirata, and the Hotokusha, an altruistic mutual savings and credit society founded in 1843.8 The drafters formed two pioneer societies in 1892 in Kakegawa and Mitsuke in Shikzuoka Prefecture, a stronghold of the Hotokusha. The propaganda campaign was also helped by Mr. Fukuzumi, and the pioneer societies were organized by Mr. Okada and Mr. Ito, all of whom were leading spirits of the Hotokusha Movement. Ogata also cites evidence of a meeting between Hirata and Mr Fukuzumi to integrate the German system of credit cooperatives with “the high moral and ethical principle of the Hotokusha.”9

According to Fisher, the bill was criticised on two main grounds. The first was its perceived foreignness.10 An ‘almost exact imitation’ of the German Co-operative Law, more native organisations like the Hotokusha found the law alien from their system (which functioned more as a charitable social institution).8 The second reason was the failure of many of the credit societies’ new ventures, which Fisher accords as unsurprising given the lack of competent and trustworthy management.

By 1896, however, official surveys recorded 101 credit societies; two years later, 144 societies with over 21,000 members and assets exceeding 922,000 yen were in operation. Around this time, the forerunners of marketing and purchasing cooperatives also appeared, helping farmers collectively buy seeds, fertilizers, tools and machinery. 

Recognizing this momentum, the government decided to provide a comprehensive legal framework for cooperative activity. In 1897, a new bill, this time sponsored by the Department of Agriculture and Commerce, was presented to the House of Peers. Drawing inspiration from both the Rochdale consumer cooperative model in Britain and the German Raiffeisen credit model, the proposed law covered multiple types of cooperatives: credit, purchasing, marketing, and production cooperatives, which could manage shared equipment, hospitals, or kitchens. The law was finally enacted in March 1900.  

Hirata worked for the 1900 bill as a member of the House of Peers, and Shinagawa witnessed the bill turn into law just a few days before his death. 8

  1. G.M. Fisher, ‘The Cooperative Movement in Japan’, Pacific Affairs, 11:4 (1938). [↩]
  2. H. Schulze-Delitzsch, Assoziationsbuch fiir deutsche Handwerker und Arbeiter (Leipzig, 1853), p. 56. [↩]
  3. B. Fairbairn, ‘The Rise and Fall of Consumer Cooperation in Germany ‘ in E. Furlough and C. Strikwerda (eds) Consumers against Capitalism? Consumer Cooperation in Europe, North America, and Japan, 1840-1990 (Oxford, 1999), pp 270-273. [↩]
  4. B.R. Tomlinson, ‘Rural Society and Agricultural Development in Japan, 1870–1920: An Overview,’ Rural History 6:1 (1995), p. 46. [↩]
  5. Ibid, pp. 49, 51. [↩]
  6. M.V. Madane, Agricultural Cooperatives in Japan: The Dynamics of Their Development (International Co-operative Alliance, 1990), p. 54. [↩]
  7. Fisher, ‘The Cooperative Movement in Japan’, p. 479. [↩]
  8. Ibid. [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
  9. K. Ogata, The Co-operative Movement in Japan, (London, 1923), p. 46. [↩]
  10. Fisher, ‘The Cooperative Movement in Japan’, p. 479. [↩]

Esperanto: Linguistic Constructions of the International

In an increasingly globalized world, transnational communication is a given. The mechanics of transnational communication however, were not as straightforward when the international community first began organising. Early efforts to enable this communication were centred around the language Esperanto – the most widespread planned or artificial language.1 Iacobelli and Leary explore Esperanto to argue that language is central to transnational activity.2

A global outlook and a tendency towards expansion characterised early 20th c. Japan.3 This extended to the broader population beyond just people in power. The Esperanto community in Japan reflected this tendency. Rhetoric in Japan was centred around the notion of a new international order, one where Japan would the correct the material civilisation of the West with the spiritual civilisation of the East.4 Thus, Esperanto as a medium for construction of the international was a compelling force. Japanese notions of the international hinged on an interaction between East and West, guided by Japan at the forefront.5 I will be arguing that an interrogation of Esperanto reveals the challenges characterising this vision for the international.

There has been increasing academic recognition of the use of Esperanto in Asia.6 Decentring the study of Esperanto from Europe is useful to undermine the universal nature of terms like ‘the international’ and ‘global’. Though Esperanto was conceived as a medium for international communication, it is a language of European intellectual and cultural origin, drawing from European languages for much of its semantic and structural content.7

Esperanto gained a large following in Japan.5 The largest Esperanto speaking community outside of Europe was in Japan.5 Critiques of Japanese constructions of modernity like Takeuchi Yoshimi argue that with time, Japanese notions of modernization were increasingly equated with Europeanisation.8The frictions of Esperanto reveal the challenges of extricating modernity from European hegemony.

These challenges shaped interactions across Japanese society. The Japanese Esperanto community shifts the focus of Esperanto as an international language away from halls of power. The Esperanto speaking community transcended the world of diplomats and policy-makers. Ordinary people were also increasingly interested in engaging with the world beyond national borders – in ‘thinking and feeling beyond the nation’.9

Tracing the Japanese Esperanto community highlights a large network of actors engaging with the language.10 Motivations for doing so ranged from pragmatism to idealism.5 For some, it reflected attempts to master a European language to gain access to a wide array of disciplines. For others religious and political views (across the political spectrum), motivated a desire to engage with the international and work towards a fairer, more equal world.5

Iacobelli and Leary emphasise the need to recognise and acknowledge the difficulties involved in transnational communication — the frictions of language creating obstacles to expressing the higher level meanings these encounters sought to express.5 It raises the question of how successfully Japanese thinkers were able to synthesise East and West, to translate the Eastern spirituality they heralded into terms that could speak to the scientific frameworks of the West, and to transform Western structures of modern welfare and political control within Eastern contexts.11

Was Esperanto a sufficient medium shape the international order through transnational engagement? I believe the Japanese community of Esperanto revealed attempts to construct agency within the international for actors who were previously merely subjects of the international. The difficulties of transnational communication revealed by the use of Esperanto however, reflect a failure to transcend the existing hierarchies and power structures of the Western dominated international order.

  1. A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906-28, in Pedro Iacobelli and Danton Leary (ed.), Transnational Japan as History: Empire, Migration,
    and Social Movements (Basingstoke, 2015), pp. 167-185, pp. 167-168. [↩]
  2. Ibid., p.167. [↩]
  3. Prasenjit Duara, Sovereignty and Authenticity: Manchukuo and the East Asian Modern (Lanham, 2004 [↩]
  4. Ibid., p.104. [↩]
  5. Ibid. [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
  6. Iacobelli and Leary, A Language for Asia?, p.168. [↩]
  7. Ibid., p.167. [↩]
  8. Takeuchi Yoshimi, What Is Modernity?: Writings of Takeuchi Yoshimi (New York, 2005), p. 47. [↩]
  9. Ibid., p.168. [↩]
  10. Ibid. p.169. [↩]
  11. Prasenjit, Sovereignty and Authenticity, p.104, 114. [↩]

Vasiliy Eroshenko: Esperanto as a Tool for Thriving with a Disability

Born in what is now Ukraine in 1890, Vasiliy Eroshenko was an important figure in the history of blind activism in Japan. His story is one that has close ties with the Japanese Esperanto movement. After a bout of measles left him blind at a young age, Eroshenko learned about how people of other countries lived by listening to his sighted friends read him books about foreign nations.1 He was advised to learn Esperanto and study music in England but shortly after decided to move to Japan at age twenty-four to train as a masseuse (a common viable career option for the blind).2 The Tokyo Eroshenko lived and studied in (between 1914 and 1921) was a hub of transnational activity, a vibrant mixture of foreign and Japanese students, creatives, missionaries, and activists.3 Although not all individuals in Eroshenko’s circle were Esperantists and he was a part of a variety of groups; Esperanto provided the means by which Eroshenko, a blind, disabled man, was able to form a strong support network, make meaningful connections, find fulfilment through activism, pursue his interests, and support himself.

First, Eroshenko’s knowledge of Esperanto allowed him to communicate and find community, which is vital when navigating a new space. Tanabe Kunio (a fellow Esperantist and graduate of the Tokyo School for the Blind) recalls that Eroshenko ‘received every possible assistance from Japanese Esperanto scholars’, who guided him through the streets and helped him find an apartment.4 Eroshenko also made use of this support network when traveling to Siam, Burma, and India after the breakout of the Russian Revolution made his position as a foreigner in Asia uncertain.5 Because of Esperanto’s association with leftist radical politics, Eroshenko was arrested and deported out of Japan. Although they were unsuccessful, his friends did appeal and campaign for his release.6

Besides the practical benefits of having a support network, Eroshenko’s involvement in Esperanto also allowed him to form meaningful connections, befriending individuals who had similar values and lived experiences. For example, one of his good friends, the playwright Akita Ujaku, helped him with his writing and introduced him to a network of other creatives and members of the intelligentsia.7;8 In a Soviet radio broadcast about Esperanto, Akita shares a story that mirrors Eroshenko’s, saying that once he [Akita] made Esperanto friends and teachers in Moscow, he ‘“was able to use their linguistic aid to enter the real life of Moscow…I was able to make contact with workers’ daily lives, home, factory, and club lives”’.9 Eroshenko too benefited from this linguistic aid.

Additionally, Eroshenko’s connections and Esperanto skillset allowed him to pursue his intellectual interests and find fulfilment through activism. His connection with Esperanto and subsequent friendship with Akita led him to develop his talent for writing.8 Akita translated Eroshenko’s Esperanto writings into Japanese and provided him with cultural information when the two saw plays together. As for his activism, Eroshenko was part of the Japanese Congress for the Blind (an advocacy group), taught music and Esperanto courses to blind students, and later helped teach and organise schools for the blind among other activities.10 It can be reasonably said that without knowing Esperanto upon his arrival to Japan, he would have had much more difficulty gaining a footing and thus contributing to the blind activist cause there.

Eroshenko was also able to make a living teaching Esperanto. For instance, he taught at the Tokyo Public School for the Blind and was invited by an Esperantist to take up a position lecturing at Waseda University.11 After his deportation, he was able to make ends meet teaching Esperanto in China.5 Also, Akita helped edit and popularise Eroshenko’s fairy tales to improve his financial situation.12

The popularity and use of Esperanto as a lingua franca amongst intelligentsia and radical groups in Japan is a common thread throughout Eroshenko’s interactions in Japan. Eroshenko faced multiple layers of social oppression as a blind man, living through persecution, multiple arrests, deportation, and living in a foreign land. However, he was able to utilise existing Esperanto networks in East Asia to support himself financially, physically, and emotionally. Language in the early twentieth century was an integral feature of both transnational activity and of Eroshenko’s individual life.

  1. Julia V. Patlan, “On Tanabe Kunio’s Article ‘Familiarizing with the Achievements, Learning from Our Pioneers. Vasiliy Yeroshenko: Staying in Japan and His Friends,’” in Вісник Університету Ім. А. Нобеля. Серія Філологічні Науки 1, no. 17 (Alfred Nobel University: Dnipro, 2019), 107, https://doi.org/10.32342/2523-4463-2019-0-16-10. [↩]
  2. Patlan, “On Tanabe Kunio’s Article,” 107-108. [↩]
  3. Ian Rapley, “A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906–28,” in Transnational Japan As History, Pedro Iacobelli, Danton Leary, and Shinnosuke Takahashi (ed.), (United States: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 173, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-137-56879-3_8. [↩]
  4. Patlan, “On Tanabe Kunio’s Article,” 108. [↩]
  5. Rapley, “A Language for Asia?” 175. [↩] [↩]
  6. Ibid. [↩]
  7. Ibid, 173. [↩]
  8. Patlan, “On Tanabe Kunio’s Article,” 111. [↩] [↩]
  9. Rapley, “A Language for Asia?” 181. [↩]
  10. Ibid, 112. [↩]
  11. Ibid, 114. [↩]
  12. Patlan, “On Tanabe Kunio’s Article,” 115. [↩]

The Worldist Tongue: Esperanto as Anti-Imperial Ideology in Early Twentieth-Century East Asia

In the early twentieth century, Esperanto, the “planned” language created by Ludovic Zamenhof in 1887, found a surprising stronghold. Beyond its European origins, it was in Japan, and later China, where the language flourished, forming the largest Esperanto community outside Europe by the 1930s.1 Conventional history often dismisses Esperanto as a noble but failed utopian project, especially when compared to the global ascent of English.2 However, this view misses its more profound significance. In East Asia, Esperanto was not a failure but a powerful ideological force. This was a manifestation of a homegrown philosophy known as “worldism” (sekai shugi), which is the belief in a political order that transcended the nation-state and centred on a global community of common people. This philosophy directly challenged the foundations of the Western world order.3

Esperanto’s rise coincided with an era of burgeoning nationalism and a simultaneous search for internationalist ideals. East Asian intellectuals developed a profound critique of the prevailing system, arguing that true peace could never be achieved through the competitive framework of nation-states.4  Thinkers like Japan’s Kōtoku Shūsui and China’s Kang Youwei envisioned a political order built around heimin (“the common people”) as a global, transnational community. For them, Esperanto was not an “international language” (kokusaigo) for state diplomacy, but a “world language” (sekaigo) for the people.5 This distinction was crucial. By embracing Esperanto, Japanese activists, for instance, were engaging in a form of anti-imperial resistance, rejecting their country’s participation in a Western-dominated system.

A key to Esperanto’s appeal was its perceived cultural neutrality. It was viewed as a blank slate, functioning as a transnational medium without the baggage of a specific national history or civilisation.6  This allowed it to become a powerful symbol that could amplify the diversity and equality of all local cultures.7 So more than just a tool for communication, Esperanto represented an ideology of world unification. This vision resonated perfectly with existing East Asian utopian projects. Kang Youwei’s The One-World Philosophy (Ta T’ung Shu), for example, had already called for a universal language.8 Meanwhile, Chinese anarchists in Tokyo saw Esperanto not as a replacement for their “unmodern” language, but as a framework to promote Chinese culture on a global stage.9 The language was successful because it could be seamlessly integrated into local visions of a unified world.

The movement was inherently grassroots, spreading through informal networks rather than state sponsorship. A diverse mix of intellectuals, artists, and ordinary citizens studied it in coffee shops and rural homes, often in evening classes.10 This created a unique space for transnational connection. A notable example is the Russian writer Vasily Eroshenko, a blind Esperantist who gained celebrity status in Japan. His blindness was symbolically interpreted as also being an inability to see racial hierarchies, allowing him to transcend national boundaries and live integrated within Japanese society.11 His influence extended to China, where he later lectured, inspiring figures like the playwright Akita Ujaku, who found that only Esperanto could convey the true meaning of universal brotherhood.12

Despite its non-state origins, authorities viewed Esperanto as “subversive”, and it was indeed used for political struggle, such as in Chinese anti-Japanese propaganda.13 The movement’s enduring coherence came from a continuous, deeply felt desire among its participants to make “concrete connection[s] with the wider world”.14

Therefore, the true importance of Esperanto in early 20th-century East Asia lies not in its linguistic reach, but in its ideological power. It gave tangible form to a comprehensive “worldist” vision. Esperanto was a vehicle for peace and global unity based on individual agency and cultural equality. It stood as a powerful, indigenous alternative to the Western geopolitical paradigm, rejecting a system defined by state sovereignty and a linguistic hierarchy that mirrored imperial power imbalances.

 

 

  1. Rapley, Ian, ‘A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906-28’, in Iacobelli, P, et al., (eds.), Transnational Japan as History, (2016), p.167 [↩]
  2. Kim, Young S., ‘Constructing a Global Identity: The Role of Esperanto’ in Boli, John and Thomas, George M., Constructing World Culture: International Non-Governmental Organisations since 1875, (1999), p.148 [↩]
  3. Konishi, Sho, ‘Translingual World Order: Language Without Culture in Post-Russo-Japanese War Japan’, The Journal of Asian Studies, 72: 1 (2013), p.92 [↩]
  4. Ibid, p.99 [↩]
  5. Ibid, p.94 [↩]
  6. Ibid, p.100 [↩]
  7. Ibid, p.93 [↩]
  8. Ibid, p.96 [↩]
  9. Ibid, p.103 [↩]
  10. Ibid, p.91-92 [↩]
  11. Ibid, p.108 [↩]
  12. Ibid, p.106 [↩]
  13. Ibid, p.107 [↩]
  14. Rapley, Ian ‘A Language for Asia?’, p.182 [↩]

Religion or Propaganda: The Red Swastika Society and the Conflict between Nationalism and Imperialism in Manchuria

The Red Swastika Society was founded in early twentieth century China as a philanthropic faith-based organization. However, with the encroaching Japanese militarism in Manchuria, the society was constantly drifting between being persecuted by the ruling authorities and being utilized by them for political purposes. So, to what extent did this organization actually partake in propagandistic politics? Although both Chinese nationalists and Japanese imperialists manipulated the Red Swastika Society to promote their ideals, the founding principles of the society, the persecution by the KMT, and the confusion of its classification under the Manchukuo regime all demonstrate the failure to successfully apply this organization as political propaganda.

In 1922, the Red Swastika Society was officially approved as a legitimate association with the goal of advancing social welfare and world peace. Its founding principles included ‘promoting moral virtue’ and ‘no involvement in partisan politics’.1 As a philanthropic group, the society desired a universal humanitarianism; they wanted to transcend national borders in the name of altruism. For instance, the Red Swastika Society held offices in Paris, London, and Tokyo—showcasing its international quality.2 Motivating certain ideologies would divide the organization from its original purpose. Therefore, at least in the beginning, the Red Swastika Society had little interest in politics.

Furthermore, the persecution of redemptive societies by both the KMT and the Japanese imperialists highlights their distrust of superstitious organizations—including the Red Swastika Society. Ultimately, this distrust hindered these authorities’ usage of the Red Swatika Society as propaganda. The Red Swastika Society is recognized as a redemptive society, which is a term for the religious organizations popularized in China during the early twentieth century. These religious organizations often followed local religions rather than the major groups like Buddhism and Christianity. For example, the Red Swastika Society combined Daoism and Buddhism practices.3 Along with its goal of transcending national boundaries, the superstitious character of the society marked it as a target of KMT’s persecution. The KMT focused on Chinese nationalism and modernity. So, the KMT was critical of superstitious religions, which conflicted with their idea of modernity; they were also threatened by the society’s challenge to nationalism. Therefore, the KMT banned redemptive societies in 1928.4 Although the Red Swastika Society was permitted to operate in the 1930s, this underlying distrust made it difficult for the two groups to work together. Thus, the Red Swastika Society was not completely politicized by the KMT.

While the Japanese imperialists had more success in transforming the Red Swastika Society into a propagandistic tool, they still faced difficulties due to their own troubles understanding how to treat the society. In 1932, Japan set up a puppet government (Manchukuo) in Manchuria. Unlike the KMT, the Manchukuo government sought to convert redemptive societies into jiaohua organizations by minimizing their religious qualities and emphasizing their welfare focus—rather than trying to simply eradicate the groups.5 This goal of transformation influenced the government’s classification of the Red Swastika Society, consequently causing it to be separated into three different categories. First acknowledging the society as a similar religion, the Japanese officials desired to restrict it for fear of encouraging political apathy.6 In this way, the society was treated as it was under the KMT rule. However, the Japanese realized that a manipulation of the society would benefit them. The second classification of the Red Swastika Society as a solely philanthropic entity, without religious connections, demonstrated the early changes to the society. By removing superstitious aspects of the society, the Manchukuo government could mold the society to promote their ideology. The third classification was as a moral suasion organization. With this classification, the society was overseen by the Union Society.7 The Union Society assisted the Manchukuo government in public security. Hence, the Red Swastika Society reinforced imperialist propaganda under the authority of the Union Society. These three different classifications of the Red Swastika Society exemplify how the Manchukuo government could not cohesively decide on a singular strategy for handling the society. This indecision weakened the society’s application as propaganda, for two of the three classifications understood it in non-political terms. Therefore, it was difficult to reconcile these conceptualizations and portray the society as motivating imperialism. Consequently, the Red Swastika Society did not interact with propagandistic politics to the extent in which it could have.

  1. Jiang Sun, ‘The Predicament of a Redemptive Religion: The Red Swastika Society Under the Rule of Manchukuo’, Journal of Modern Chinese History, 7: 1 (2013), p. 110. [↩]
  2. Prasenjit Duara, Sovereignty and Authenticity: Manchukuo and the East Asian Modern (Lanham, 2003), p. 105. [↩]
  3. Sun, ‘The Predicament of a Redemptive Religion’, p. 108. [↩]
  4. Duara, Sovereignty and Authenticity, p. 109. [↩]
  5. Ibid., p. 115. [↩]
  6. Sun, ‘The Predicament of a Redemptive Religion’, p. 117. [↩]
  7. Ibid., p. 122. [↩]

Nichiren’s Teachings in Modern Contexts – Tanaka Chigaku and Sōka Gakkai’s Misapplications of Nichirenism

The teachings of the thirteenth-century Buddhist thinker Nichiren inspired numerous twentieth-century intellectuals, who drew on his steadfast belief in the all-encompassing Lotus Sūtra to advance their contemporary agendas. However, their application of Nichiren’s teachings to modern contexts led to reworkings of their core principles and revealed inconsistencies with the Buddhist Dharma, which stemmed from Nichiren’s disloyal relationship with the Buddhist Dharma and that which he preached.

Nichiren believed that he was born in the ‘Final Dharma age’ prophesized by the Buddha, which meant that only the Lotus Sūtra could lead to Buddhahood.1 He regarded Japan as an ideal place to be born, as it had ‘an affinity for the Lotus Sūtra’, and sought to extend the teachings of it ‘worldwide’.2 However, in Nichiren’s time, Japanese expansion was unrealistic as they posed no ‘threat to other countries’.3 Moreover, Christine Naylor argues that many of his teachings opposed Buddhist principles, since Nichiren understood that ‘false teachings’ were leading the world to disaster, and could not ‘promise peace to his followers in this life’.4 Because of this opposition, he believed Japan and the world’s reluctance to follow solely the Lotus Sūtra had resulted in this ruin. Furthermore, Nichiren’s contradictions undoubtedly led to more difficulty in modern interpretations. For example, he initially believed the Japanese kamis protected the ‘devotees of the Lotus Sūtra’, but then ‘threaten[ed] them with punishment’ once he convinced himself they had betrayed him.5 Finally, adding to interpretation confusion, Naylor contends that the misunderstandings partially derive from Nichiren not following ‘the first of Śākyamuni’s precepts, which forbids the taking of life’, as he ‘sanctioned both secular and religious wars’.6

Tanaka Chigaku’s utilization of Nichirenism for imperialist Japan reworked its core principles as they were not intended for the modern context in which Tanaka employed them. As Japan struggled ‘to assume a place among the world’s powers’ during the Meiji era, Tanaka looked to Nichiren’s argument for Japan to globally spread the Lotus Sūtra as a means for expansion.7 Jacqueline Stone argues that Tanaka was possibly the ‘first person in modern Nichiren Buddhist history’ to believe that the worldwide spread of Nichirenism and the kaidan was truly achievable.8 Nichiren, confined to the contexts of his time, had not even thought such a thing to be genuinely realistic.

The major contrasts between Nichiren and Tanaka become apparent when considering the relationships of their principles with the imperial family. Where Nichiren disrespected both Amaterasu and Hachiman, a ‘tantamount irreverence to the emperor’, Tanaka connected Nichirenism with Shinto nationalism, making him ‘indissolubly linked to the modern imperial state.9 Nichiren’s principles opposed the imperial family, whereas Tanaka’s supported them. Moreover, Naylor argues that Tanaka read Nichiren’s passages out of context, which led him to believe Nichiren was ‘an ardent believer of the imperial system’, citing the confusion.10 The fact that Nichiren’s principles support Japanese imperialism ‘only if torn out of context’ supports the notion that Tanaka’s ‘loyalty was to Japan and the emperor, not to Buddhism’.11 Ultimately, the ‘tangled strands of [Nichiren’s] personality and ideas’ made his writings difficult to interpret and even more difficult to appropriately apply to modern contexts.12

Sōka Gakkai, a lay Nichiren Buddhist organization, in the postwar era interpreted Nichiren’s concept of kaidan not from an imperial perspective, but instead from a modern perspective within the limitations of the postwar parliamentary constitutional monarchy. Its second president, Toda Jōsei, believed it was the organization’s responsibility to prevent the ‘sufferings epitomized by the recent war’ from repeating through the supposed peace preached by Nichiren.13 Similar to Tanaka, the third president, Ikeda Daisaku, sought a true nationwide acceptance of Nichirenism and the Lotus Sūtra; he believed this could be achieved if two-thirds of the country supported Sōka Gakkai.14 However, despite these efforts, its core message of peace contradicts Nichiren’s teachings, as seen earlier in this post. Thus, both the imperialist and militaristic interpretations by Tanaka, and the peaceful interpretations by Sōka Gakkai, ultimately fail to understand Nichiren’s teachings, as they are nearly impossible to apply to modern contexts.

  1. Jacqueline I. Stone, ‘By Imperial Edict and Shogunal Decree’, in Steven Heinen and Charles S. Prebish (eds), Buddhism in the Modern World: Adaptations of an Ancient Tradition (Oxford, 2003), p. 194. [↩]
  2. Christina Naylor, ‘Nichiren, Imperialism, and the Peace Movement’, Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, 18: 1 (March 1991), p. 67. [↩]
  3. Ibid., p. 66. [↩]
  4. Ibid., p. 70. [↩]
  5. Ibid., pp. 61-62. [↩]
  6. Ibid., pp. 70-71. [↩]
  7. Stone, ‘By Imperial Edict’, pp. 198-199. [↩]
  8. Ibid., p. 200. [↩]
  9. Naylor, ‘Nichiren, Imperialism’, p. 63. Stone, ‘By Imperial Edict’, p. 203. [↩]
  10. Naylor, ‘Nichiren, Imperialism’, pp. 64-65 [↩]
  11. Ibid., pp. 73, 60 [↩]
  12. Ibid., p. 56 [↩]
  13. Stone, ‘By Imperial Edict’, p. 205 [↩]
  14. Ibid., p. 211 [↩]

Navigating the Grey Zone: Buddhist Adaptation and Critique in Modern East Asia

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, East Asia was reshaped by the forces of modernity. The rise of the nation-state and Social Darwinism, which framed international relations as a brutal struggle for survival, challenged traditional societies.1 Within this environment, East Asian Buddhist traditions confronted an existential crisis, widely dismissed by modernisers as “superstitious and useless for national survival”.2  In response, Buddhist thinkers adopted a pragmatic strategy of navigating a “grey zone” between outright collaboration and futile resistance.3 This was not a passive position but an active space of negotiation and critical engagement. Through this approach, they sought to ensure the survival of their tradition while safeguarding its ethical core, strategically appropriating modern ideologies and repurposing their own transcendent ideals to critique state power.

This is exemplified by the Korean monk Han Yong’un (1879–1944). Recognising that Buddhism had to prove its relevance against rivals like Protestant Christianity, Han borrowed from the Chinese reformer Liang Qichao. He used Liang’s argument that Western evolutionary theories were inherent in the Buddhist principle of cause and effect.4 However, his critical innovation was his refusal to fully surrender to Social Darwinism’s harsh logic. While acknowledging its descriptive power in the material world, he subordinated it as a provisional, lesser truth, ultimately subordinate to the higher, universal ethics of Buddhism. For Han, the “survival of the fittest” was a phase in a larger spiritual evolution whose ultimate end was a world of transcendental equality and peace.5 This philosophical framework provided a moral foundation to withstand the coercive pressures of Japanese imperialism.6

A parallel, yet distinct, strategy emerged in Japan, where secular intellectuals wielded Buddhist concepts as instruments of political critique. Here, the strategy was not to subordinate a modern ideology but to weaponise a traditional Buddhist ideal itself. The modern distinction between inner belief and outer practice allowed these thinkers to approach Buddhism as a philosophy, rather than a faith. They utilised the resources in the tradition’s transcendent visions, particularly  Pure Land. This is a transcendent realm defined not by what it possesses, but by the absence of suffering. Thinkers like Ienaga Saburō recognised in this ideal a form of “negative thinking”.7  By envisioning a perfect world defined only by what it was not (i.e., not full of suffering), the Pure Land concept provided a moral standard from which to judge and “negate” the existing political order.8  The use of Buddhist concepts by Japanese leftists thus contained a profound irony. While the institutional Buddhist establishment often aligned with the state, secular intellectuals adopted the same tradition to uncover a radical, critical philosophy. This highlights a key division in modern Buddhism where the ‘grey zone’ could be a space for state collaboration for some, and a source of state negation for others, all within the same national and religious context. Thus, a traditional Buddhist image was transformed into a philosophical foundation for challenging the Japanese state’s rising totalitarianism.9

In conclusion, East Asian Buddhism navigated the challenges of modernity by operating within a strategic “grey zone.” Whether by domesticating Social Darwinism within a Buddhist framework in Korea or by radicalising utopian ideals from within the tradition in Japan, thinkers discovered a path to ensure their tradition’s continuity. Their collective legacy is one of intellectual agility, demonstrating that strategic engagement, not isolation, was key to preserving an ancient tradition’s critical relevance in a modernising world.

  1. Tikhonov, V, Social Darwinism and Nationalism in Korea: The Beginnings (1880s-1910s), (Leiden, 2010), p.134 [↩]
  2. Ibid, p.117 [↩]
  3. Schickentanz, Erik, ‘Forum Introduction. The Chrysanthemum, the sword, and the dharmakcakra: Buddhist Entanglements in Japan’s wartime empire (1931-1945’, Modern Asian Studies, 58: 6 (2024), pp.1460-1464 [↩]
  4. Tikhonov, V, Social Darwinism and Nationalism in Korea, p.123 [↩]
  5. Ibid, p.114 [↩]
  6. Ibid, p.135 [↩]
  7. Curley, Mellissa A.M, Pure Land, Real World: Modern Buddhism, Japanese Leftists, and the Utopian Imagination, (Honolulu, 2017), p.16 [↩]
  8. Ibid. [↩]
  9. Ibid, p.6 [↩]