Hi all! This blog post finds itself pondering over the ways in which we, as historians, write about historical figures. There’s such a wealth of different styles, methodologies, frameworks, and so on, all with their own different merits and drawbacks on analysis and narrative levels, that it can get a bit overwhelming. A social history or a political history or microhistory or a biography? A microhistorical biography? A biographic microhistory? Oh my. Terminology is not the subject of this blog post, but it feels worth mentioning how the language around history-writing-that-focuses-on-one-figure is already a bit confusing sometimes.
Today, I want to consider two different takes on this genre of historical writing, both concerning similar figures from a similar corner of the historical record: two twentieth century Japanese philosophers, both part of an intellectual network called The Kyoto School. The first is an incredibly influential figure in the philosophical world, the founder of said Kyoto School, a man named Nishida Kitaro (1870-1945). The other was a close student and contemporary of his, a man named Miki Kiyoshi (1897-1945). The books that I’ll be looking at are, respectively, Political Philosophy in Japan: Nishida, the Kyoto School and co-prosperity (Routledge, 2005) by Dr. Chris Goto-Jones and Miki Kiyoshi 1897-1945 (Brill, 2009) by Dr. Susan Townsend. These two pieces engage with their chosen figures in very different ways, and I’ve found myself wondering how both books can engage directly with such similar figures (demonstrated by a principal focus on the mens’ own writings as primary sources) yet feel like such different final products. So, let’s get into it.
First, a look at Political Philosophy in Japan. Dr. Goto-Jones adopts a flexible, interdisciplinary approach to his work which marries together philosophical, historical, and religious lenses of analysis. His argument is focused on the idea of Nishida and his philosophies in wartime Japan: I would argue that while the man Nishida is, of course, crucial to this book, it is the idea of Nishida the philosopher and the different cultural connotations and judgements which surround that idea which Goto-Jones is fundamentally engaging with. I believe that this is the principal reason why this book, despite being focused wholly on Nishida, does not feel like a microhistory, biography, or any other style of life writing.
Townsend also adopts a bit of an interdisciplinary approach to her analysis of Miki Kiyoshi, but where Goto-Jones zigged toward philosophy she instead zags toward psychoanalysis and cognitive psychology. Townsend is deeply concerned with the motivations, machinations, and inner workings of who she deems “Japan’s itinerant philosopher”, a query which directs her down a road of Miki’s familial connections, emotional turning points, and intellectual points of struggle, all explored primarily through his surviving writings. That’s not to diminish her work: this is the first biography concerning Miki to ever be published in English, and offers insightful and well-conducted historical work into the brilliant and tragic figure up (he died in prison in the death throes of the Second World War).
Both of these pieces harness disciplines beyond the strictly historical to craft their narratives. Both are concerned with deeper truths of the lives of their subjects. These subjects are remarkably similar men, yet, once again, the two pieces read completely differently. When I started working on this post, I was fully intending to conclude with a definitive statement about the more compelling, ‘better’ of the two books. Yet now, on the other side of the process, I can only find a lesson on the versatility of historical figures and the stories we may responsibly attempt to glean from them. Political Philosophy in Japan is an example of the legacy, memory, and impact of a historical figure taking center stage. Biographic undertones are still present: they serve the narrative by offering a sense of timeline and keeping the figure of Nishida firmly rooted in the reminder of his humanity. Meanwhile, Miki Kiyoshi draws us into the intimate space of a man’s mind, ideals, and intellectual grapples throughout a Japan in flux. It offers us insights into both his reality and, by proxy, suggests dimensions of the lived experience of those around him.
Thanks for joining me for this exploration, and until next time! Have a great week.
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