Author: c24

The Meiji period has often been characterised as the “utopian era in modern Japanese history”, marked by widespread enthusiasm for western novels that could construct new societal possibilities¹. Depicting utopia in fiction requires an ambiguous interplay between the two poles of reality and fiction, allowing space for reflection on Japanese society².Mochi emphasises how examining Japanese utopian literature within its social and historical context reveals the genre’s inherent ambiguity, as writers grappled with redefining the meaning of modern Japan. Among these novels, Akutagawa Ryūnosuke’s Kappa (1927) stands out for its distinctive satirical critique of Western influence³. As the optimism of the Meiji utopia gave way to the economic uncertainties of the 1920s, Kappa reflects how Japanese authors moulded their writings to engage with the anxieties and aspirations of futurology in Japan.

The novel is narrated by a schizophrenic man confined to a mental hospital, who claims to have travelled to the world of the Kappas – mythical figures in Japanese folklore⁴. Scholars continue to debate whether his novel serves as a satirical attack on Taishō Japan, or is more a reflection of Akutagawa’s personal challenges, particularly in light of his suicide in the same year.

Tsuruta delves into Akutagawa’s challenging upbringing, such as the trauma of his mother’s mental illness who died when he was ten, as well as the dominance and cruelty of his aunt, Fuki, which encouraged him to believe that he had inherited the insanity of his mother⁵.In the depiction of a Kappa birth in the novel, an unborn child is asked by their father whether they wish to be born, to which the child replied, “I do not wish to be born. In the first place it makes me shudder to think of all the things that I shall inherit from my father – the insanity alone is bad enough. And an additional factor is that I maintain that a Kappa’s existence is evil.”⁶.Whilst this reflects Akutagawa’s fear of losing control over his mind as his illness progressed, it also resonates with the growing uncertainties of the 1920s. The aftermath of WW1, the Great Kantō earthquake of 1923, and the rise of imperialist fascism, reconfigured daily life and consciousness, sustaining his ultimate fear of the growing irrationality of the modern world.

Setiowati offers an alternative perspective, interpreting Kappa as an allegory to criticise the shortcomings of humans driven by Japan’s growing capitalist economy⁷.  Frequent parallels are drawn between humans and the scaly, grotesque appearance of the Kappas, emphasising their role as symbols of human weakness, greed and the immorality fostered by capitalist ideology⁸.  This critique is particularly poignant in the context of labour organisation and unemployment, pressing social issues as a result of the transition to a westernised industrial economy⁴ Through its narrative, the novel probes readers to reflect on the capitalist ideology that was reshaping the values of modern Japan, particularly the mindset of the workers as they moved from feudal labour to wage labour.

To summarise, there is an undeniable attempt in Akutagawa’s utopian writing to encourage society to confront the internalisation of exploitative capitalist ideology, and explore alternative visions of the nation’s future. Despite the limited impact of Kappa, its political commentary sheds light on the ambiguous nature of utopian literature and its distinctive function in shaping Japan’s social and political consciousness.

1. Mochi, Yoriko. “Japanese Utopian Literature from the 1870s to the Present and the Influence of Western Utopianism.” Utopian Studies, 10:2 (1999) p.90 [↩]
2. Ibid. [↩]
3. Ibid. p.91 [↩]
4. Ibid. [↩] [↩]
5. Kinya Tsuruta. “The Defeat of Rationality and the Triumph of Mother ‘Chaos’: Akutagawa Ryūnosuke’s Journey.” Japan Review, 11 (1999) p.75 [↩]
6. Ibid. p.84 [↩]
7. Rosa Vania Setiowati, ‘Capitalism as an Ideology Criticised through Allegory in Ryūnsosuke Akutagawa’s Kappa’, Journal of Language and literature, 16:2 (2016) p.178 [↩]
8. Ibid. p.187 [↩]

Tosaka Jun’s exploration of the concept of ‘everydayness’ was a noteworthy philosophical study that reconceptualised everyday life in early 20^th century Japan. It emphasised reducing individual experiences of time to the immediacy of ‘today’, likening it to a worker focused on meeting their immediate tasks that are necessary for survival, unaffected by the concerns of ‘yesterday’ or ‘tomorrow’¹ This focus on the present highlights the importance of factual reality over abstract notions of time, which Tosaka argued was essential for conceptualising historical time and social change. Harootunian critically examines Tosaka’s distinct contribution to Japanese philosophy, emphasising his advocacy for a rational, efficient modern culture in Japan.

The growth of a new social life in Japan, with new subject positions in Japanese society, from “the people (minshu ̄), the masses (taishu ̄), the modern boy (mobo), modern girl (mogaru ̄), cafe waitress, bar maid, and so on”, made Japanese life increasingly unprecedented². Tosaka argued that these growing modern customs were constantly reshaping society, and couldn’t be accounted for in philosophical analysis without the presence of ‘everydayness’. He evaluated key dimensions of Japanese life, particularly the culture of the masses in their customs, social relationships, work and leisure life, and consumption habits, as well as the role of science in this new order³. Tosaka’s utilisation of the concept of ‘everydayness’ was therefore pivotal to move away from a more abstract understanding of philosophy, and towards a deeper engagement with the dynamic, lived realities of society. His work was not just an expression of enthusiasm for modern life; it embodied a strong conviction about the evolving nature of Japanese social life in the 1920s and how this was constantly building towards a new future.

Tosaka was not alone in his philosophical study of ‘everydayness’; his work derived from Heidegger’s prior articulation in Sein and Zeit (1926), and formed part of a widespread enthusiasm in the concept of custom (genjitsu) in Japanese intellectual and popular discourse⁴. What distinguished Tosaka, however, was his preference to the term ‘actuality’ over ‘gentjitsu’ to express a more factual understanding of everyday life.

Tosaka’s understanding of ‘everydayness’ shaped his approach to custom; he did not see it merely as a record of popular social practices, but as a concept with concealed historical and moral significance. For Tosaka, acknowledging everyday cultural practices (fūzoka, or custom) served as an “agent of…actuality” (genjitsu), providing an understanding of the reality of the masses that phenomenology couldn’t tap into⁵. He critiqued newspapers for oversimplifying the idea of custom by focusing on its popular aspects, which then failed to integrate the underlying economic and social structures underpinning these practices. Prostitution was a critical example of this, as Tosaka argued that it has been consistently overlooked as a vulgar and “transcustomary” practice, without interrogating it as a modern social problem worthy of philosophical analysis³.

This critique underscores his argument that an analysis of custom must incorporate the “character of the popular” (taishūteki) in order to reflect the thoughts and sentiments of the Japanese people.⁶.His focus on this topic highlights his broader effort to redirect Japanese philosophy towards its core purpose, serving as a lens that could access the overlooked realities of everyday life.

1. Robert Stolz, “The Principle of Everydayness and Historical Time”, in Ken C Kawashima, Fabian Schafer, Robert Stolz (ed.) Tosaka Jun: A Critical Reader (East Asia Program, Cornell University, 2013) p.13 [↩]
2. Harootunian, Harry D. Overcome by Modernity: History, Culture, and Community in Interwar Japan (Princeton University Press, 2001) p. 97 [↩]
3. Ibid. [↩] [↩]
4. Ibid. p.127 [↩]
5. Ibid. p. 122 [↩]
6. Ibid. p.121 [↩]

The Meiji system and its perspective on gender offers a critical lens through which to examine the Japanese government’s increasing consolidation of power from the late 19^th to the early 20^th century. Meiji policies were not aimed at diminishing women’s significance, but rather at positioning them as neutral, dutiful servants of the imperial regime. This new conception of gender from the 1880s was designed to build pride for the ‘motherhood’ role who would contribute to the state primarily through this task.

Hastings and Nolte contend that women’s roles in the industrialisation of Japan was defined between 1890 and 1911, with a vision of women’s increased productivity to serve a more prosperous imperial state. They are adamant to highlight the distinction in women’s position from the Tokugawa regime, countering the historical perspective that Meiji women’s political oppression was simply a continuation of traditional Confucian beliefs. According to the authors, while Meiji policies were “cloaked in traditional rhetoric, [they] summoned women to contribute positively to the state”¹. The shift in rhetoric highlights the increased power of this new government to create an institutionalised role for women. The Meiji bureaucrats were intent on modernisation, meaning that whilst a Japanese woman’s role as a mother was a crucial part of her productive role to the state, it couldn’t exist as her only role. New responsibilities therefore emerged: compulsory education for men and women was introduced in 1873; working-class women were considered the foundations of Japan’s industrial economy, and middle-class women were expected to participate in social events like dinner parties to impress foreign diplomats. These evolving social roles extended beyond the domestic sphere and were intricately tied with imperial politics, highlighting women’s importance to the nation’s progress and global standing. In this utilitarianist framework, motherhood became a broader, more flexible concept, encompassing a range of responsibilities centred on sacrifice and responsibility, all in service to the state’s greater ambitions.

Despite these growing public roles, state propaganda including the use of the ‘good wife, wise mother’ (ryosai kenbo) slogan, was key to singling out women’s ultimate service to the developing nation being within the family system. This is portrayed by officials like Vice-Admiral Kamimura, who asserted at the Tokyo Girls’ Higher School “that their studying to become wise mothers and good wives was equally as valuable to the nation as was his fighting on the sea”². The family unit was portrayed as a microcosm of the state: if families could learn to obey the head of the household, this was expected to transfer into loyalty to the state. In this way, the family became part of the state apparatus for greater control. Education was a key component to this, as by 1899 a higher school for girls was established in each prefecture, with the sole purpose of this education being to refine their duties in the home within the ‘good wife, wise mother’ ideal³.

However, the reinstitution of gender roles was critical in reinforcing the exclusion of women from political participation. The authors compare women’s societal roles to that of civil servants, whose responsibilities were deemed so vital to the nation’s stability that political participation was inappropriate and disruptive to the social order. However, as Hastings and Nolte articulate, these gendered policies “reinforced the image of women, not as weak and fragile beings in need of protection, but as national assets with particular nurturing skills”⁴. It highlights that their exclusion from politics was arguably not due to an insinuation that women were physically or mentally weak, however their social value simply did not permit them into this field.

Their evaluation is arguably oversimplified, in my opinion, as it is easy to assume that the regime represented a positive change for women simply by opening up new avenues for them to contribute to the national goals. This is particularly the case in the discussion of the factory workers and the insinuation that government idealised working-class women for their productive power to the nation, when in reality women in the textile mills were subjected to abominable working conditions, often contracting severe illnesses such as tuberculous and being forced to work 12 to 14-hour days. This evaluation is important in including a perspective beyond the Meiji bureaucrats of the late 19^th century to evaluate how Japanese women themselves experienced and perceived the shift in their role in society.

In conclusion, Hasting and Nolte offer a critical evaluation of the intersection between gender and industrialisation policies in late 19^th century Japan, highlighting the Meiji government’s increasing consolidation of power. The rhetoric of ryosai kenbo perceived motherhood as fundamentally about sacrifice which offered them a more productive role within society with distinct responsibilities, yet justified their political exclusion.

1. Sharon H. Nolle and Sally Ann Hastings, ‘The Meiji State’s Policy Toward Women, 1890-1910’, in Gail Lee Bernstein (ed.), Recreating Japanese Women, 1600-1945 (University of California Press, 1991) p.152 [↩]
2. ibid. p.158 [↩]
3. ibid. p.157 [↩]
4. ibid. p.158 [↩]

Young discusses the continuation of the Tonghak religious movement through its transformation into Ch’ōndongyo in 1905, shortly after Korea became a protectorate regime to the Japanese state. This was a period of socio-political turbulence, as Koreans grappled with the slow decline of their national sovereignty till their annexation in 1910. Young emphasises
the antagonistic role the Tonghak and Ch’ōndongyo movements played in Korea’s political dichotomy through the late 19^th and early 20^th century¹. The Tonghak movement was evidently far more than a religious sensation, as it played a critical role in reshaping the socio-political order, contributing to the reshaping of Korean society during modernisation. However, by the 20^th century it led to political diversions that ultimately hindered Korea’s ability to unite to protect its culture as Japan began to impose its influence.

Tonghak was founded in 1860 by Ch’oe Cheu, who drew upon the roots of Buddhism, Confucianism, Daoism and local folk beliefs, as well as rejecting Western influences. One of the key elements of this new religion was that it offered an alternative to the Neo-Confucianist philosophy that were the foundations of the Chōson dynasty¹. Confucianism stressed the consistent moral positioning of authority for the objective of social cohesion. The foundations of Tonghak as a movement that emphasised the strength and fundamental equality of all individuals regardless of their social class signified a clear desire to break from Korea’s hierarchical practices.

The worsening socio-economic conditions of the mid-19^th century, from rural poverty and famine, to floods and outbreaks of cholera and smallpox, also provided the ideal setting for this new religious agenda². The Tonghak movement utilised this upheaval to create an inclusive message, emphasising that these hardships were shared societal experiences, in order to build unity and reassure them for the future. Ch’ōndongyo texts portray these growing societal challenges as evidence of the government’s inability to navigate the complexities of modernity. Simultaneously, they presented the movement as being rooted in finding a solution for society to cope with the transition into a new era. They quote that “Daesinsa [the title of Ch’oe Cheu] made clear the fact that humankind has fallen into a state of confusion and degeneration and this has been a necessary situation to open the new era of Hucheon.”³. Whilst the spiritual foundations of this movement are central to its growth, the political context of the period evidently played a significant role in shaping the movement, highlighting the interplay between religious reform and socio-political change in Korea’s path to modernisation.

The Tonghak movement’s nationalist dimensions were treated on par with the Korean political movements of the late-19^th century, such as the Kabo reforms (1894-1896), and the Independence Club, by the Chōson court as part of the attempt to build a new social order. Beyond this, Young goes on to examine the exploitation of the Tonghak in political movements, particularly Ilchinhoe, a pro-Japanese organisation whose advocacy to allow Japan to control Korea’s affairs tied Tonghak much closer to the Japanese than he had ever advocated for. Ilchinhoe consistently relied on its roots from the Tonghak movement to justify its support for the Japanese, arguing that government resistance and reform were a part of their heritage⁴. Despite Son Pyōng-hui’s decision to change the name of the religion from Tonghak to Ch’ōndogyo to reassert itself from these political movements, it is clear that the political dimensions of the Ch’ōndogyo had become so entrenched by the early 20th century that it was difficult to separate the religion from its new political context.

In summary, the Tonghak and Ch’ōndongyo movements played a vital role in reshaping Korean society by fostering a new critical engagement with its social order. Their influence was particularly notable in the empowerment of the southern peasant class, who began to perceive modernisation through a more critical lens. However, this success also left them vulnerable to political exploitation and foreign intervention, which ultimately contributed to the fragmentation of Korea’s cultural and political identity.

1. Anderson, Emily. Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea. Springer, 2016 Ch 5: Young., Carl. “Eastern Learning Divided: The Split in the Tonghak Religion and the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1904–1910”, p.80 [↩] [↩]
2. Kallander, George L. ‘Salvation Through Dissent: Tonghak Heterodoxy and Early Modern Korea’, University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2013, p.25 [↩]
3. Ch’ondongyo Documents [↩]
4. Anderson, Emily. Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea. Springer, 2016 Ch 5: Young., Carl. “Eastern Learning Divided: The Split in the Tonghak Religion and the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1904–1910, p.93 [↩]