Rethinking the World in East Asia 1850s-1990s

Were the Ilchinhoe justified in their support of the Japanese, 1909-1910? A look at collaboration in a colonial setting

In December 1909, the Korean organisation the Ilchinhoe proposed a Japanese-Korean ‘merger’ that they believed would instil new life in Korea as a nation with Japan as its saviour.[1] Instead, the merger is attributed to starting the chain of events that led to Korea’s brutal annexation by the Japanese that lasted thirty-five years.

Yumi Moon’s article ‘Immoral Rights: Korean Populist Collaborators and the Japanese Colonisation of Korea, 1904-1910’ explores the idea that the Ilchinhoe, who are remembered in Korean history as ‘notorious collaborators’, need to be considered in a colonial context so that their actions may be explained.[2] This blog post will consider if Moon’s article provides justification to the Ilchinhoe’s support of the Japanese in the lead to up the annexation of Korea in 1910.

To understand why the Ilchinhoe collaborated with the Japanese, Moon urges historians to avoid contemporary moral views as it becomes a ‘major hindrance’.[3] Historians need to consider the setting and conditions of those who are being colonialised so they can grasp why certain groups chose to work with those who are doing the oppressing.

So, for the context of Korea and the Ilchinhoe, Moon places a great emphasis on the point that the Ilchinhoe movement was populist. She quotes Margaret Canovan, writing, ‘Populists claim legitimacy on the grounds that they speak for the people: that is to say, they claim to represent the democratic sovereign’.[4] Therefore, the Ilchinhoe were doing what they believed was best for the Korean people. They viewed Korea as a ‘backwards’ nation while Japan was a “civilising’ empire’ that could protect Korea’s prosperity.[5]

Looking at the Ilchinhoe’s view with a contemporary mindset will result in a negative judgement of the group. However, using Moon’s argument that the colonial context must be considered allows for one to see that the Ilchinhoe genuinely believed they were doing what was best for Korea. Their logic was ‘Independence through dependence’, and that Korea needed to understand what it was and wasn’t capable of so that Japan could guide them as a ‘friendly ally’.[6] The Ilchinhoe always advocated for the rights of Korean people and did not wish for Korea to lose its independence; what they wanted was for Japan to revitalise their government.

In the end, the Japanese used this to their advantage and were able to annex Korea with ‘relatively little bloodshed’ thanks to the Ilchinhoe’s collaboration efforts.[7] Moon’s final argument urges an understanding that the Ilchinhoe, the colonised, had no agency or control over how the Japanese, the colonisers, acted. Ultimately, the Ilchinhoe may have had good intentions that they believed represented what the Korean population wanted but were misguided in trusting the Japanese. Japan ended up ignoring what was proposed in the merger and used it as proof that Korea was not able to be independent at all which led to the annexation. So did Moon’s article justify the Ilchinhoe’s actions and shed a more positive light on their organisation? That depends on how naïve one would believe the Ilchinhoe were in thinking the Japanese wouldn’t take complete control over Korea. However, Moon does provide substantial evidence that suggests their collaboration was in the Korean people’s best interest.

[1]Carl Young, ‘Eastern Learning Divided: The Split in the Tonghak Religion and the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1904-1910’ in Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea ed. Emily Anderson (Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), p.93

[2] Yumi Moon, ‘Immoral Rights: Korean Populist Collaborators and the Japanese Colonisation of Korea, 1904-1910‘, The American Historical Review 113:1 (2013), p.20

[3] Ibid. p.22

[4] Ibid. p.27

[5] Ibid. p.33

[6] Ibid. p.32

[7] Ibid. p.42

The Etymology of the Christian God in Chinese

Translation, especially between languages as separate as English and Chinese, has never been a simple task, and it will never be one – however, this is not just in literary terms of conveying meaning, feeling and themes. This task, as demonstrated by the missionary arguments over the translation of God, can also have overt and important political overtones. The debate of how to translate God existed since the day of Matteo Ricci and the first Jesuit missions to China in the 15th century, and has involved many different terms. The most important and illustrative of these debates in my opinion is that of the Protestant missionary debates surrounding the terms Shangdi and Shen, taking place in the 19th century.

The term shen, literally meaning god or spirit, was utilized in an early partial translation of the Bible by a Catholic missionary, Jean Basset (1). Thomas H. Reilly in his seminal work, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom discusses the problem with this translation, in that the term shen is somewhat generic term – without the signifier of capitalization that is present in English, Basset, and other translators that used this term had to rely on contextualization to signify shen as referring to the single Christian god (2). According to Reilly, even with contextualization, it was not always clear to Chinese audiences if shen referred to the Christian God, or multiple gods (3). In short, it didn’t capture the essence of the Christian God – it’s singularity and it’s totality. Jean Basset’s partial translation was copied and spread amongst the missionary community, ending up with a Protestant missionary by the name of Robert Morrison, who would use Basset’s work as the basis for his full translation of the New Testament (4). Reilly presents that shen was argued for in the missionary debates of the 19th century over translating God in a way, because of it’s generalness, that it was closer to the apostolic model of the New Testament – that Shangdi referred to a pagan god, and it could not be associated with the Christian God, being too mired in Chinese cultural baggage (5).

Shangdi, which can be literally translated to sovereign on high is described by Thomas H. Reilly as being ‘incendiary’ (6). While initially used by Matteo Ricci and the Jesuits before a Papal Decree banned it’s use, the term was most notably in Walter H. Medhurt and Karl Gützlaff’s translation of the Bible (7). In a manner of speaking the argument for Shangdi drew on similar concepts to the argument for shen, just reframing them. The proponents of the term drew on it’s connection to Chinese culture as a strength, that Shangdi described a single grand god – that the ancient Chinese that wrote about Shangdi were monotheists writing about the Christian God (8). Most importantly, the term was also deeply politically charged, associated with the imperial title (9) the concept of the Mandate of Heaven (10), and when discussed in a Christian context, implies that the Chinese emperors are guilty of blasphemy (11) . Reilly presents the Protestant missionaries as being deeply aware of the political connotations of this term, citing several passages from Medhurst in particular to demonstrate this (12).

The contrasts between the two terms are obvious – the neutral, yet bland shen and the more evocative, but baggage carrying Shangdi. However the arguments for and against these terms I think paint a picture of how the missionaries approached the challenges of translation. Both terms were backed by an appeal to tradition – apostolic, western tradition in the case of shen, and the Chinese classics in the case of Shangdi. To Walter Medhurt, the political implications were not incidental, as much as they were a part of the overall goal of integrating the Christian God into Chinese culture. This perhaps can be seen as a minor saga in the key problem by Christian missionaries – if Christianity should be meshed with existing Chinese culture and systems, and if so, how to approach that task.

Continue reading “The Etymology of the Christian God in Chinese”

Deconstructing the ahistorical conception of “Womenhood” and “Confucianism”

Recent studies on premodern Chinese philosophical ideas, especially Confucianism, had increasingly adopted post-structuralist and constructivist theoretical approaches. Scholars, especially feminist historians and philosophers, are seeking to clarify and redefine preconceived conceptions through discourse analysis, and the reinterpretation of the past and the present phenomena by tracing their historical formation processes.
This tendency in the academic field of East Asian and gender history is well exemplified in three scholarly works—Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan¹ , Confucianism and Women: A Philosophical Interpretation² , and The Question of Women in Chinese Feminism.³) The three readings are tied together nicely by their shared goals to problematise the concept of a universal “womanhood”⁴ used by Western as well as East Asian scholars.⁵

One reoccurring theme is the authors’ collective appeal for future scholars to fix their analytic gaze upon “female subjectivity”.⁶ This appeal is reflected in Barlow’s The Question of Women, which introduced the use of future anterior tense into the academic writing of women in China. It was also directly mentioned in Women and Confucian Culture and Confucianism and Women. The introduction of Women and Confucian Cultures provides a rather comprehensive definition of “subjectivity” for the purpose of this discussion, stating that it encompasses the subject’s “interior motives, identity formation, and perceptions of the world”.⁷ With this adjusted focus, feminist historians will be able to recognise women as agents and the formation of gender in East Asia as a social process. This then allows them to account for changes in gender identity and relation, the evolution of social and ideological factors that influenced their formation, as well as the potential reimagination of an original East Asian female identity.

Consequently, as a very, if not the most, influential philosophical and ideological tradition in the Sino sphere, Confucianism became a target of deconstruction for some scholars to make sense of its role in gender formation and oppression. Ko and Rosenlee both sought to challenge the traditional monolithic conception of Confucianism in their writing. One important point they both raised is that there is no conceptual equivalent in East Asian cultures for “Confucianism”. For example, the Chinese term Ru, although very close to, is not entirely congruent with Confucianism.⁸ Another example that poses a significant challenge to this monolithic interpretation is the changing nature of the Confucian social order and its implication on women’s social status across time and countries, of which Ko and Rosenlee both offered thorough evaluation in their books.

It is worth noting that a discussion over the nature and development of gender and women in East Asia does not only have a significant implication on feminism; women and gender are two good lenses for historians to look through to understand the influence and evolution of Confucianism values in Chinese, Korean, and Japanese history. Confucianism casts a different level of impacts on gender relations under different historical contexts, and women’s lives and status is an extremely good indicator of the function and operation of these Confucian traditions in various times, societies, and across different regions.

Ko, Dorothy, JaHyun Kim Haboush, and Joan R. Piggott (eds.), Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea, and Japan(2003 [↩]
Rosenlee, Li-Hsiang Lisa, Confucianism and Women: A Philosophical Interpretation (New York, 2012 [↩]
Barlow, Tani, The Question of Women in Chinese Feminism (2004 [↩]
Rosenlee, Confucianism and Women, p.151 [↩]
Ko (eds.), Women and Confucian Cultures, p1; Rosenlee, Confucianism and Women, pp.3-6, 45-46; Barlow, The Question of Women, p.6 [↩]
Rosenlee, Confucianism and Women, p.152; Ko (eds.), Women and Confucian Cultures, p.7 [↩]
Ko (eds.), Women and Confucian Cultures, p.2 [↩]
Ibid., pp.7-8 [↩]

Son Pyŏng-hŭi naive or calculating?

A fascinating issue is raised by Carl F. Young in Eastern Learning and the Heavenly Way: Tonghak and Ch’ondogyo Movements and the Twilight of Korean Independence, where Son Pyŏng-hŭi is criticized for the consequence of evolving the Tonghak to include the ideology espoused by its former enemies, the reformers of the Kabo Reform government. This “association” is claimed to have “made him naive to Japanese intentions” and that his involvement and intrigue with the Japanese was a “very dangerous game to play and would be replete with consequences for the future.”¹ With the eventual Japanese conquest of Korea, Young suggests that Son was either blind to Japanese intentions, or he was gambling that he could use the Japanese to his and the Tonghak’s advantage, while not suffering any ill consequences.

It seems likely that the answer was more the latter rather than the former: Son seems to be cynical rather than naive. During Son’s exile in Japan, he calculatingly sought to expand the reach and power of the Tonghak. Finding common cause with his fellow Korean exiles from the Kabo Reform government as well as the Japanese, who were both enemies of the Tonghak during the 1894 rebellion, was a shrewd political move. Indeed, Son sought to use the reformers and the Japanese to assist Tonghak’s efforts to challenge the existing Korean conservative government. The reformers and Son both held personal and, obviously, political grievances against the Korean government.(( Id. at 69.) However, Son saw more than just a common cause with the reformers. It appears that the reformers were a critical connection to Western ideas, which Son believed needed to be utilized for the benefit of Korea. Son wrote that “[t]he Westerners are riding on the destiny of the world, and they are more lucid and thorough than the people of the East.”² Son’s view was not an abstract appreciation of Western ideas of government, instead, he saw a practical benefit of incorporating such ideas, “if we can now change politics… [we can] cultivate capable people and develop and bring to light their accomplishments, and radiantly bring to light our brilliant culture to the world.”³ Son wasn’t envisioning an entire shift to the West, but to use Western political ideas to assist the Tonghak to establish a better Korean society. Specifically, he applied Western concepts to “reinterpret and expand on ideas existing within Tonghak Tradition.”⁴ With this in mind, it is understandable why Son would seek to plot with General Tamura for Japanese support to assist the Tonghak in its aborted plans to attack Seoul and take over the government.⁵ Son is tagged with using the excuse frequently used by the Japanese to justify their policies, that he was trying to “promote peace in the Orient.”³ However, this does not make him a stooge of the Japanese.

The fact that Son, and other Koreans exiled in Japan, looked to Japan as an example of the successful incorporation of Western ideals and accepted Japanese support in their attempt to remake Korea does not mean that they were blind to Japan’s agenda. Indeed, Son and the Tonghak certainly remembered suffering at the hands of the Japanese after the failed rebellion of 1894. However, faced with limited options with a stagnating regime in Seoul and concerns of Western powers, particularly Russia, seeking to gain a foothold in Korea, alignment with Japan was not obviously foolish. In addition, given Japan’s imperialistic ambitions it is likely they would have looked towards Korea for territorial gain with or without Son’s actions.

Carl F. Young in Eastern Learning and the Heavenly Way: Tonghak and Ch’ondogyo Movements and the Twilight of Korean Independence, University of Hawai’i Press, 2014, p.77.
[↩]
Id. at 72. [↩]
Id. [↩] [↩]
Id. at 76.) Son was thus able to use the popularity of the Tonghak with the common people in league with the elite reformers who were imbued with new Westernized theories to reform Korean society and to usher it into the modern world. This was a calculated move by Son, not a naive or fumbling decision.

Likewise, Son sought to use the Japanese to assist the Tonghak’s triumph over the Korean government and their Russian allies. While in hindsight this might be seen as a fateful decision with tragic consequences for Korea, it is not clear that Son’s decision was unintelligent. Instead, it seems more like a necessary gamble. It is argued that Son anticipated the Russo-Japanese War and reasonably believed it would be advantageous for Korea to be aligned with the power that was more likely to succeed. (( Id. at 65. [↩]
Id. at 66. [↩]

Christian Confucianism

“China also walked in the great Way, but within the most recent one or two thousand years, China has erroneously followed the devil’s path, thus being captured by the demon of hell.”[1] – The Book of Heavenly Commandments

According to many 19th century Christian missionaries and supporters of Confucianism, the teachings of Christianity and Confucianism are based on opposing philosophies which cannot coexist. Christians of the Taiping Rebellion even went as far as to describe Confucianism as “the devil’s path.” However, there are many ways in which their ideas overlap and events such as the Taiping Rebellion demonstrate that Confucian ideals can be adapted through a Christian framework. While most scholars view the Taiping Rebellion through the lens of class or nationalism, Carl Kilcourse argues in his book Taiping Theology: The Localization of Christianity in China 1843-1864, that the most important aspects of the rebellion are grounded in religion. He describes the ways in which rebels adapted Christian theology and successfully integrated it with their own traditions, including Confucianism. He argues that it was the ability to merge Christianity and Confucianism which made the movement initially successful.

Even though the rebellion’s leader Hong Xiuquan denounced Confucius, many aspects of the Taiping discipline reflect Confucian thought.[2] Hong’s understanding of human nature shows that he was greatly influenced by classical education, especially the philosophy of Mencius, because Hong held an optimistic view of human nature. Contrary to the Christian belief that original sin marks all of humanity as inherently evil, Hong’s belief that humans are naturally good reflects Neo-Confucian thought. Additionally, the Taiping commitment to the Ten Commandments is reminiscent of the Confucian commitment to self-cultivation. The idea that one can unlock one’s inner good nature by following the Ten Commandments seems to be based on the classic Confucian idea that one should commit oneself to learning and self-perfection. The fifth of the “Ten Heavenly Commandments” is also connected to Confucianism. The fifth commandment of filial piety is described in “The Book of Heavenly Commandments,” where it claims that, “the Lord God is the universal Father of all in the mortal world.”[3] It adapts the Confucian principle that sons should be loyal to their fathers to portray the relationship between humanity and god as one of filial obedience. Kilcourse uses the Taiping understanding of human nature, the Ten Commandments, and filial piety to show how much their Christian theology overlaps with Confucian tradition, demonstrating that despite Hong’s anti-Confucian rhetoric, he was greatly influenced by Confucianism.[4]

To explain the success of the Taiping ideology, Kilcourse uses the term “glocalization,” or the process of “localization [which] occurs when a foreign object, idea, or institution is taken to a new cultural environment, exposed to local influences, and thereby transformed into an original expression of the indigenous culture.”[5] While Christians and Confucians alike declared the mutual exclusivity of the two ideologies, their principles and values were often adapted to compliment each other. The ideas on which the Taiping Rebellion was founded draw from both Christianity and Confucianism, merging the two to create a foundation for the theology of the uprising.

[1] Theodore de Bary, Sources of Chinese Tradition: From 1600 Through the Twentieth Century, (Columbia University Press, 2001), ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/st-andrews/detail.action?docID=908711, 219.

[2] Carl S. Kilcourse, Taiping Theology: The Localization of Christianity in China 1843-1864, (Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 110.

[3] Bary, Sources of Chinese Tradition, 219.

[4] Kilcourse, Taiping Theology, 109-133.

[5] Ibid, 17.

The Interplay of Confucianism and Protestant Fundamentalism in the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom

“A fascinating example of the interplay between Chinese and Western ideas in a historical event of the first magnitude.”¹ This summary, taken from the second volume of Sources of Chinese Tradition, neatly outlines the legacy of the Taiping Rebellion. This piece will argue that it is this interplay that contributed to the original success of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, due to the similarities between Confucian ideals and western Protestant Fundamentalism.

The importance of Protestantism in the foundations of the Taiping Rebellion cannot be overstated. As Thomas O’Reilly brilliantly explains, Protestantism as a denomination had come to China far later than Catholicism, and yet was quick to take hold. He points out that rather than focus on proselytising and active conversion, as previous Catholic efforts had done, the first Protestant missionaries instead devoted themselves to translation. In doing so, he argues that ‘the translated Bible constituted Protestantism’s most influential contribution to the Taiping Rebellion’. ²

However, translation alone does not account for the success of Protestantism in China. Reilly’s work, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom: Rebellion and the Blasphemy of Empire, details how the success of the Rebellion in part came down to the inherent similarities of Protestant Fundamentalism and Confucian teachings. In particular, Reilly notes the importance laid on the hierarchical system of the Heavenly Father (God), Jesus (the Heavenly Elder Brother), and the leader of the Rebellion himself, Hong Xiquan (the Heavenly Younger Brother). In demanding complete obedience to this structure, Reilly shows that Protestantism shared much of the same core values and dogmas as Confucianism. Hong, having been extensively educated under the Civil Service Examination system, was thus deeply rooted in Confucian ideology, and it was therefore no great issue to tie in the new western religion to these ancient ideals.

This return to Confucian ideals is echoed by Philip A Kuhn, who argues that Hong’s original aim of conversion ‘could best be accomplished by reconciling Christianity with the Confucian tradition’.³ Both Reilly and Kuhn note the importance placed on the adherence to the Ten Commandments, slightly altered from the Old Testament, but retaining much of the basic tenets. As well as this, Reilly mentions that the doxologies, or songs, were more likely to have been chanted rather than sung, and, more importantly, that ‘a report from the city of Suzhou states that that the singing of the doxology in that city included 28 verses of four to five characters each’, which naturally draws comparisons with the Three Character Classics.⁴ Of course, there were noticeable differences, notably in the granting of land to each family unit equally and the call that no-one should own private property.⁵ However, this speaks more to Hong’s plans for economic reform, and were as much rooted in the dissatisfaction and hostility to the Qing dynasty’s perceived failures as in religious doctrine.

Overall, it is clear that the reason for the early success of the Taiping Rebellion was due to the similarities between Confucianism and Protestantism. For a young man having dedicated his life to learning Confucian ways and being deeply disappointed in his failures, it is it perhaps easier to understand the allure that Protestantism held for Hong Xiquan. In integrating his classical education with the newness of western religion, he was able to marry the two together almost seamlessly. In the end, it was not a failure of religious belief and unity that saw the fall of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, but military, as it was weakened by internal power struggles and fracturing. It therefore stands as one of the major events of the 19^th century in China and undoubtedly laid the groundwork for the later rebellions and uprisings of the 20^th century and beyond.

Theodore de Bary, William, Lufrano, Richard John, Wing-tsit Chan and Berthrong John, Sources of Chinese Tradition: From 1600 through the twentieth century, (2nd ed. New York, 2000), p. 213. [↩]
O’Reilly, Thomas, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom: Rebellion and the Blasphemy of Empire, (Seattle, 2014), p. 57. [↩]
Philip A Kuhn, ‘The Taiping Rebellion’, in John Fairbank (ed.), The Cambridge History of China: vol 10: Late Ch’ing, 1800-1911 (Cambridge, 1978), p. 269. [↩]
O’Reilly, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, p. 127. [↩]
Sources of Chinese Tradition, p. 225. [↩]

The Motivations of Koreas Peasantry and its connection to the Tonghak Uprisings

‘The Tonghak Peasant Uprising had once been depicted as a spontaneous rebellion of disgruntled peasants that broke out suddenly in reaction to harsh exploitation by the notorious Venal.’[1]

Young Ick Lew and his article: The Conservative Character of the 1894 Tonghak Peasant Uprising: A Reappraisal with Emphasis on Chŏn Pong-jun’s Background and Motivation, puts into perspective the diversity of historiographical thought regarding the motivation behind the Tonghak uprising (1894). It is diverse because according to Young Ick Lew, many historians argue that the uprising was not fully motivated by Tonghak, instead it was formed under the groundings of a divided and corrupt society. This argument holds more strength because of the factors that put Korea into such a weak state, which left the governing system in chaos. One of these factors is the influence in which China and Japan had over Korea, which caused the country to essentially fight to keep its identity and culture in place. This desperation to reclaim Korea from the grasp of China and Japan has created different arguments on what caused the peasants to follow Tonghak and to form a class consciousness. One factor that should be highlighted is the absence of information regarding how these peasants became aware of the corrupt system in which they lived in.

When comparing this to the Russian Revolution the peasantry formed a class consciousness through education, which enabled them to understand their rights and place in society[2]. However, Young Ick Lew does not go into depth regarding why the peasants became highly aware of the injustice they faced. Young Ick Lew, instead uses other forms of debates surrounding class consciousness to explain why the peasants were eager to follow Tonghak religious group. There is an understanding that through more peasants joining the movement, they were becoming more aware of the corrupt politics within Korea.

Furthermore, what also strengthens Young Ick Lew’s argument of the peasantry motivations is what the Tonghak revolt represented to them. The leadership of the movement was also made up of peasant born individuals which perhaps symbolised a sense of hope for the peasantry, allowing them to feel more involved with the revolt and the political system with Korea. However, there are other motivations which are pointed out, which also coincide with other historians’ views within Sources of Korean tradition[3]. The motivations could be argued to be less of a movement and more of a revolution. This was as both articles state, due to the demands that the revolt made, which was arguably fair to all and would diminish all injustices by scraping the class system, but it would also mean strengthening this anti-foreigner state which the Tonghak followers had promoted.[4]

[1] Young Ick Lew, The Conservative Character of the 1894 Tonghak Peasant Uprising: A Reappraisal with Emphasis on Chŏn Pong-jun’s Background and Motivation (Duke University Press, 1990) p.159.

[2] Orlando Figes, The Russian Revolution of 1917 and Its Language in the Village (The Russian Review, 1997) p.324.

[3] Peter H. Lee; William Theodore De Bary; Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, Sources of Korean tradition (Columbia University Press, 2000) p.265.

[4] Young Ick Lew, The Conservative Character of the 1894 Tonghak Peasant Uprising: A Reappraisal with Emphasis on Chŏn Pong-jun’s Background and Motivation (Duke University Press, 1990) pp. 165-166.

Blog Entry Week 2

Thomas P. Kasulis in Engaging Japanese Philosophy: A Short History raises an intriguing issue when he confronts Maruyama Masao’s theory that Ogyu Sorai represented an early signal of Japan’s eventual descent into a racist and totalitarian state. In fact, Maruyama connects Sorai to Machiavelli because they both composed their political works to absolute rulers and sought to assist such rulers in maintaining their position, which they posited was more important than personal morality. Moreover, Kasulis claims that Maruyama in his post World War II analysis sees Sorai’s brand of Confucianism as an early example in Japan of politics being separated from any religious or moral principles, which can, in turn be used to explain and comprehend the ethnocentric and facist development of Japan. However, Kasulis makes a compelling argument that Sorai and his understanding of the role of Confuciansim was not just as a tool to provide support to a ruler or shogun’s ability to maintain their authority, but rather a mechanism to chart a path for leaders to be more virtuous and connected with the needs of those who they have authority over. On the one hand it is not hard to see Sorai and his concept of the “accomplished ones” or the ruling classes being an obvious signal and early warning sign of the future fascist and racist Japanese imperial state. Nonetheless, It seems that the Kasulis’ argument is that such an analysis is too simple and reductive. Sorai’s philosophy and Confucianism in general, albeit representing conservative principles, does not inextricably explain the development of the modern state in Japan. Kasulis seems to be arguing that such a post-World War II analysis needs to be confronted in order to better understand the philosophical reach and context of scholars like Sorai. Indeed, Kasulis explains that while Sorai takes a dim view of “Buddhist egalitarianism” and clearly understands that some individuals are simply better than others, he still tasks rulers with needing to be “attentive to the people’s concerns”. This is a much more nuanced analysis of Japanese Confucianism and its import. The interpretations by different Confucian scholars, shows a wide range of beliefs, on many different points along the political spectrum. This is further proof that governments and ideologies are often imbued with contradictory elements and bright lines connecting a philosophical position to a specific political outcome should be viewed with suspicion. In fact, it seems odd that Sorai’s veneration of the sage kings and his emphasis on reading and learning Chinese to properly emulate these sages would be precursor for the ethnoracism displayed by the imperial Japanese regime. Furthermore, Sorai’s respect for the ancient culture of another country does not seem to comport with the imperialistic and nationalistic tendancies that developed in Japan. Kasulis effectively suggests that it is too simple to trace a direct line from philosophers like Sorai to a racist, ethno-nationalist and imperialist Japanese society. While Sorai’s theories seem to neatly fit within a feudal world view it does not seem inevitable or reasonable that such views will lead to facism and racism. Kasulis is clear that his “agenda” is not the same as Maruyama, but obviously he has an agenda as well as well, which is to promote a more complex understanding of Sorai that focus on Sorai philosophy as an intellectual construct, rather than an explanation for how Japan developed politically. This forces one to take sides on whether certain political and philosophical thinkers are best to understand and evaluate independently, or to see them as proof of how state and political movements evolve. Why should a politically conservative philosophy necessarily lead to fasicism? Why should historians be quick to spot connections that support the analysis that suits them rather than to go where the analysis takes them. In a way Kasukis appears to be arguing against a form of outcome bias that connects Sorai to the eventual outcome of the Japanese state even though other factors could be the causal basis for the sins of imperial Japan. It is telling that Kasulis ultimately rejects seeing Sorai simply through either a Machiavellian or a Platonic lens. This may be a warning to historians to avoid seeing straight lines of development and to question trying to connect one moment to another without a critical analysis of whether the connection is truly accurate. The interpretations of historical philosophy and cultures with a set agenda can lead to pigeon holing and confirmation bias.

The Nature of Xunzi: Comparison between Mencius and Xunzi on the nature of human essence

Xunzi, as a prominent Confucianist thinker in the period of Warring States, has a very distinct point of view on how to interpret and practice Confucianism from that of Menzi. The core difference in their philosophies is the different understanding of human nature. Mencius argues that human nature is good; Xunzi holds an opposite point that human nature is bad. This divergence leads to the distinct interpretations of functions and practices of ritual which are emphasized by Kongzi. According to Mengzi, the ritual and standard of being righteousness originate from the good nature of people, and Xunzi does not believe that people could follow what is virtuous, “deliberate effort” which is the teaching and learning of rituals and standards of righteousness set up by sages is required to educate a person to become a gentleman.

This divergence between Mengzi and Xunzi leads to different ways of applying their philosophies to real politics. Xunzi’s theory, in the later time, contributes to the development of Legalism which is the fundamental ideology of the rulership in Qin. Comparing to Mengzi’s doctrine of good human nature, Xunzi’s theory seems to be more practical and welcomed by the ruling class, since it leaves more space for an external agency to intervene in people’s life. Soles differentiates these two by defining that Mengzi’s virtue-based theory is agent-centred and Xunzi’s theory is rule-based which makes it consequentialist. People do not have to have a good intention or motivation while practising good and righteous behaviours, if they follow certain rules, the result will be good. This good result is the harmonious social order.¹ It seems that Mengzi holds a more idealistic philosophy, and Xunzi is more practical, since the effort of a government is valued, and the outcome of this external effort is a stable society longed for by every ruler.

Despite Mengzi and Xunzi hold opposite opinions on the nature of human essence, and practices based on their philosophies differ in real life. They are not naturally in opposition to each other. Though Xunzi denies that human nature is good, he admits that there is an internal motivation of people to become good. In Chapter 23 of Xunzi: “People desire to become good because their nature is bad.” ((Philip J. Ivanhoe and Bryan W. Van Norden Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy 2nd Edition, pp298-310.)) He does not deny people’s instinct toward virtue, he only thinks that a normal person cannot learn the right concept of virtue without external help. So, Mengzi and Xunzi have the consensus that people possess the incipient power toward virtue. Instead of only mentioning the importance of external intervention, the system of Xunzi is consist of both people’s longing for becoming good and the teaching of sages.

Another similarity between Xunzi and Mengzi is that they are both Confucianists. Though Xunzi’s philosophy gives many inspirations to Hanfeizi and Lisi who are important figures in Legalism. The reason why Xunzi is still considered to be a Confucianist, like Mengzi and Kongzi, is that he believes that society operates in a harmonious way when people behave virtuously and morally which differentiate from Legalism that a prosperous country is based on laws and creeds. From this perspective, Xunzi and Mengzi’s theories are very similar to each other, people’s virtue can be improved by practising ritual and righteous behaviours to ultimately form a harmonious society. Even the core of their philosophies is ambiguously similar. It is sometimes hard to distinguish whether an action is out of good human nature or the intention of being good.

The subject described by their theory has nuance. The good nature possessed by people in the description made by Mengzi is towards the self-cultivation of a person, a person here is viewed as an independent individual. For Xunzi, the bad result of the society being chaotic and unstable is created by many people choosing to follow their instinct of self-profiting. If a person does not live in a society that requires them to live collaboratively, then human nature described by Xunzi is not evil. It is evil because it can cause social chaos, but when the concept of society is no longer included in the discussion, the judgement on people’s nature cannot be simply categorized as “bad”.

Soles, David E. ‘The Nature and Grounds of Xunzi’s Disagreement with Mencius’. Asian Philosophy 9, no. 2 (1 July 1999), pp. 130-31. [↩]

Xunzi and Human Nature: The Political Implications

“Now without teachers or proper models for people, they will be deviant, dangerous, and incorrect in their behaviour. Without ritual and the standards of righteousness, they will be unruly, chaotic, and not well ordered.”¹

Xunzi, a third-century Confucianist philosopher argues within his writings that “people’s nature is bad”² , and that they must ultimately make a deliberate effort to do good, through actions such as rituals and self-cultivation. Yet, as seen above, another way that Xunzi argues that humans can deliberately better themselves is by being taught and led to do good by their superiors, or as Xunzi states, ‘proper models’.

This piece argues that Xunzi’s statement above provides a theoretical platform for authoritarian rule of law in political spheres. The main reason behind this is that fundamentally if Xunzi’s moral philosophy is that humans possess an evil nature and that violence and chaos are the natural progressions, and thus the best way to avoid this is through specific social norms of righteousness and ritual, it is logical to argue that the state should also invoke such standards. Essentially, Xunzi’s authoritarian models of moral education can easily translate to authoritarian views in a political context. Eric Shwitzgebel corroborates this when focusing on the difference between Mengzi and Xunzi regarding their political philosophy, with Xunzi likely to have a more authoritative political philosophy.³

This is evidenced as early as the 17th century when assessing the views set out by the Japanese Confucian scholar, Ogyu Sorai. who played an influential role in convincing the Shogunate to reform towards Confucian principles; ultimately being appointed the private secretary to Premier Yanagisawa.

As highlighted by Arthur Tiedemann, Sorai, upholding Xunzi as a philosophical and moral guide, prompted numerous legal and political changes, all driven by the idea that humans are inherently evil and can only improve through the means mentioned above.⁴

This is evidenced when examining the political actions undertaken during Surai’s reform programme. Within this, Sorai recommended that free movement should be curtailed, as well as the fact that all people should be registered into ‘census registers’.⁵

When reverting to the primary source above, the danger of Xunzi’s views on human nature is clear when putting it into the political context. By separating ‘proper models’ and the other (the rest of humanity) per se, Xunzi prompts a theoretical situation where a political system of authoritarian rule is validated.

This has been evidently shown when assessing the role of Sorai and his reform programme. Thus the argument is clear that there is an inherent interaction between Xunzi’s philosophical view on human nature and its role in indirectly promoting the political philosophy of authoritarianism.

P.J. Ivanhoe and Bryan W. Van Norden, Readings in classical Chinese philosophy, (Indianapolis, 2005), pg. 299. [↩]
Ibid, pg. 298 [↩]
Eric Schwitzgebel, ‘Human Nature and Moral Education in Mencius, Xunzi, Hobbes, and Rosseau’, History of Philosophy Quarterly, 24:2 (2007), pg.15 [↩]
Arthur Tiedemann, Sources of Japanese Tradition: 1600 to 2000, (New York, 2005), p.219. [↩]
‘Ogyū Sorai: Confucian Conservative Reformer: From Journey to Kai to Discourse on Government’, in Huang C., Tucker J. (eds), Dao Companion to Japanese Confucian Philosophy. Dao Companions to Chinese Philosophy, (Dordrecht, 2014), p.173. [↩]