Rethinking the World in East Asia 1850s-1990s

Shimomura Torataro (1902-1995) was one of the representatives of the Kyoto School at the Overcoming Modernity summit. He submitted an article prior to the meeting on what he saw as the answer to overcoming modernity. He had as a second-generation representative of the Kyoto School studied under Nishida Kitaro and Tanabe Haijme.¹ In his essay “The Course of Overcoming Modernity” the focus is on the soul or the spirit and how to interpret it in contrast to the new machines is key to understanding modernity.

“Modernity” grew out of Europe and it has since become an integral part of Japan as it has in Europe. Thus “Modernity is to overcome ourselves”² . The Japanese can not overcome modernity by rejecting Europe. Only by negating themselves as can they negate modernity. The spirit is the key to the self, but modernity has changed it.

Shimomura sees modernity as the creator of the external machine civilization.³ Shimomura describes the renaissances as the opposite of the medieval period. The renaissance is not a destruction of a unity between spirit and nature, because there never was a true unity.  The development of the external nature has its roots in the ideas negated by force during the medieval period. It is merely a continuation of the same kinds of slavery to labour that man has been restricted to since the beginning of time.  Ultimately this slavery is rooted in the spirit. But machines have fundamentally changed the dynamic between spirit and the physical as its only advancing the external physical “civilization, not the internal spiritual “culture”. While the “old soul” has only been internal, the new “spirit” must be external. Modern science has redefined the understanding of the body as a machine and it requires a new spirit to be found with new interpretive methods that can aligned with this new physical reality. This must be done with a new theology.

Thus, the spiritual imbalance in modernity as Shimomura sees it is not rooted in a corruption of past beliefs, but a changing in the fundamental way we view the body. As the world has changed because of science so must our theological understanding of it. The new understanding of the self in comparison with our contemporary world is the only way to truly overcome modernity as modernity itself is the understanding of our spirit.

Biblography:

Richard Calichman, Overcoming Modernity, Columbia University Press, (New York, 2008)

1. Calichman, Overcoming Moderntity, p. 212 [↩]
2. Calichman, Overcoming Modernity, p.111 [↩]
3. Calichman, Overcoming Modernity, p.111 [↩]

In “A Confucian Constitutional Order”, Jiang Qing rejects the state and governmental model of liberal Western democracies in favour of a Confucian system that he thinks is better suited for the Chinese case. The ground for this argument seems to be Jiang’s perception of Western systems as essentially unstable mob-rules – a claim he justifies by asserting that “democratic legitimacy is based on the sovereignty of the people. This is said to be unique, supreme, absolute, exclusive and alienable.”¹ A Confucian Constitutional Order, on the contrary, could be more beneficial to China, as it would be based on three legitimacies, represented in three parliamentary chambers: That of heaven (a “transcendent ruling will and a sacred sense of natural morality”), of earth (“history and culture”) and of the human (“the will of the people”).²

While we could argue that Jiang’s argument is constructed upon a false understanding of what liberal democracies actually are,³ it might also be worth to just take a closer look at the system he proposes and consider its political implications, which, despite being downplayed by Jiang himself, seem to have a highly authoritarian, if not totalitarian, potential:

From reading chapter 3, “A Confucian Constitutionalist State,” it becomes clear that Jiang has one primary concern, a premise upon which his political system is designed, and that is restoring a Confucian understanding of the State as being “formed naturally and reasonably over a long period of history owing to the cooperation of heaven, earth, and the human element.”⁴ Its character, therefore, is “sacred, mysterious, whole, awe-inspiring, and enduring.”⁵ The governmental system which best accommodates this understanding, according to Jiang, is republicanism under a symbolic monarch, the monarch being a direct heir of Confucius who will embody the nature of the state and have a largely representative and symbolic role.⁶
If the monarch’s power is only symbolic, however, then we would expect that in a system labeled “republican” a significant part of the power would lie with the people, or at least representatives of the people. This, however, is not the case either in Jiang’s model: He relies on a three-dimensional legitimation system based on heaven, earth and the human (as outlined above), and while the will of the people is therefore indeed politically represented in one of the three proposed chambers of parliament, it can hardly be said to bear much political significance: The will of the heaven, in the House of Ru, is prioritized by having veto rights over the suggestions of the House of the People⁷. Jiang deems this important, since he describes the will of the people as being characterized by “extreme secularization, contractualism, utilitarianism, selfishness, commercialism, capitalization, vulgarization, hedonism, mediocritization, this-worldliness, lack of ecology, lack of history, and lack of morality”⁸ – in short, he does not trust the competency of the people enough to delegate them any real political power. This is further emphasized in Jiang’s statement that his Confucian constitutional order “can ensure that the ruler’s authority and the people’s obedience are seen, respectively, as right and duty.”⁹

But if neither the people, nor the symbolic monarch, maintain real political power in Jiang’s system, then who does?

The answer becomes clear when we look at the Confucian constitutional order in its entirety and recognize another significant institution, the role of which is consistently downplayed by Jiang as being merely “supervisory”¹⁰ – the Academy:

This diagram, designed purely based on the description of Jiang’s system provided by Bell in the introduction of the book, shows that the Academy receives an overwhelmingly large share of power.

The Academy would be composed of scholar-officials, a (presumably meritocratic) elite with the power to control the tricameral legislative – by training and supervising its members and even, in the case of “dereliction of duty”, by being able to “recall all top leaders of state institutions.”¹¹ Especially interesting is the fact that their control of one of the chambers, the House of Ru, even surpasses that of the other two, since its members are directly nominated by the Academy.  The House of Ru, in turn, as mentioned above, has a disproportionate amount of power compared to the other two parliamentary chambers, mainly thanks to its veto-rights.

One of the Academy’s most impressive powers that seems to be overlooked by both Jiang and Bell is linked to the Historical Records Office, “that would record the words and deeds of the highest decision makers so that they would be answerable.”¹² In other words, there would be no immunity for the members of parliament, something that is usually considered a central right in any republican system, and they could be held responsible for opposing the transcendent will of the heaven / the Academy.

Lastly, I would like to highlight the Academy’s power to issue final verdicts. This essentially turns the institution into a constitutional court of justice. In combination with its control over the other institutions and the fact that Jiang’s model lacks any real executive power (the king would certainly be an executive organ, yet his real power is only symbolic), I believe we can conclude that the Academy would essentially constitute a government of judges, ruling based on a religious or heavenly law set out by Confucianism.

If Jiang’s Confucian constitutional order were to be implemented in reality, the result would thus certainly be a theocratic system where all power is merged in the hands of the Academy. The fact that it is based on an all-encompassing ideology (Confucianism), makes no real provisions for the rule of law or the separation of powers and, on top of that, requires popular participation in support of the “heavenly will” of the Academy, even gives it, in my opinion, a certain totalitarian potential.

1. Qing, Jiang. A Confucian Constitutional Order: How China’s Ancient Past Can Shape Its Political Future. Edited by Daniel A. Bell and Ruiping Fan. Translated by Edmund Ryden. Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 2012, p. 29. [↩]
2. Bell, Daniel. China’s New Confucianism: Politics and Everyday Life in a Changing Society. Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 2008, p. 6. [↩]
3. After all, the addition “liberal” to the term “democracy” does not simply refer to the rights that are guaranteed to citizens of a liberal democracy, but more importantly to the fact that the political system was constructed on the principles of liberalism, which emphasizes the importance of a constitution that sets out the separation of powers, thus working precisely against the concepts of mob-rule and an excess of democracy [↩]
4. Qing 2012, p. 71. [↩]
5. Ibid., p. 71. [↩]
6. Cf. Ibid., p. 71, 74-75. [↩]
7. Cf. Bell 2008, p. 7. [↩]
8. Qing 2012, p. 33. [↩]
9. Ibid., p. 28. [↩]
10. Cf. Bell 2008, p. 8. [↩]
11. Bell 2008, p. 8. [↩]
12. Ibid., p. 8. [↩]

There is often a common misconception that nationalism and internationalism are juxtaposed, two separate entities that have no compatibility.^[1] This premise is questionable. As Tomako outlines internationalism is de facto predicated on nationalism, it uses the nation-state as a framework for all internationalist theory.^[2] From our readings this week came the most profound example of this connectivity between nationalism and internationalism, which was found in imperial Japan. My assumptions of Japanese imperialism the readings would have most likely led me to  perceive that Imperial Japan was isolationist and self-sustaining, as evidenced from her self-removal from the League of Nations in 1933.^[3] Japan in this period could almost have been described as a ‘neo-Sakoku’.^[4]
Yet, these assumptions were proven to be misconstrued; Japan was indeed internationalist while simultaneously maintaining her ultra-nationalism. It was all possible because of Japanese understanding of internationalism, or, more specifically, the government’s understanding. The government viewed internationalism through a nationalistic lens; simply put, it could use internationalism as a tool to further Japan’s nationalist agenda in contrast to using internationalism as a means of international co-operation. That is not to say that new liberal internationalism did not exist, as some of the finest examples can be witnessed when analysing Japanese diplomats such as Nitobe Inazo, as Abel outlines.^[5]

With all of this said, the premise of this blog will show how an individual concept acted as a perfect lynchpin between culturally-diplomatic internationalist Japan and the political policies of an ultranationalist Japan. The concept was simple and yet had such a prominent role in 20^th century imperialist Japan: “the Occident did not understand the Orient”.^[6] Surprisingly, this notion was commonplace across the Japanese political spectrum. In Inazo’s book “Bushido”, he criticises the Western scholarship of Dr. George Miller and looks to ‘re-educate’ his Western audiences on Japanese culture.^[7] Although, Inazo’s aims are not interlinked to any Japanese political action, it is nonetheless a cog in the mechanism of instilling this idea of Eastern (re)education.

This concept had more political than cultural overtones in the 1930s, as political leaders looked to use this idea that Japan’s actions have been simply misinterpreted in order to justify their actions to the international community. Not only was this used as a defence against Western criticism, but it was used against Eastern states too, as Japan look to assert itself as the embodiment of the East. Yotoku Matsuoka, a Japanese diplomat, declared in his speech to the League of Nations: “I am afraid that advantage is taken by the Chinese representive of Western unfamiliarity with Eastern psychology”.^[8] This remark, along with many others, acted as a reminder for the West to not intervene in Eastern affairs until a sense of understanding has been gained.

But who was to arbitrate whether an understanding had been reached? And furthermore, who would educate the West on eastern affairs? Japan. This was in itself a self-fulfilling perpetual circle; the West criticised Japan. Japan proclaimed Western ignorance. Japan educated the West through ‘soft power’ or the ‘correct’ perspective, the Japanese perspective, and so forth. This was primarily one of the reasons for the change of directive of the KBS (Kokusia Bunka SkinKikai), as it looked to support Japanese military expansionism through promoting international public relations.^[9] To an extent, between 1934 and 1937, it was astonishingly successful as the KBS managed to cement in American public opinion that Japanese contemporary politics was completely divided in two camps: ‘moderates’ and ‘militarists’.^[10] This in turn created an artificial sympathy of Japanese politics and implanted the idea that change was imminent.
Overall, it can be illustrated from key Japanese institutions and political policies how original Japanese ideas surrounding Japanese cultural exportation came to manifest in wider Japanese foreign policy as a tool to placate the West and justify Japanese imperial expansionism.

^[1] Tomaoko Akami, ‘Internationalizing the pacific: The United States, Japan and the Institute of Pacific Relations in war and peace, 1919-1945’ , Routledge: 2002, pp. 8-10
^[2] Ibid p.8
^[3] Jessamyn Abel, ‘The International Minimum: creativity and contradiction in Japan’s global engagement,1933-1964’, University of Hawai’I press: 2015, p.16
^[4] Sakoku, referring to Japan’s ‘closed country’ period from around 1630s to 1850s
^[5] Jessamyn Abel, ‘The International Minimum: creativity and contradiction in Japan’s global engagement,1933-1964’, University of Hawai’I press: 2015, p.5
^[6] Though I am familiar with Edward Said’s Orientalism, I have used such an expression because it is reminiscent of Japan’s contemporary foreign policy. The east was heavily stereotyped and yet Japan not only played up to those stereotypes but used it as a mechanism to attract and divert western attention.
^[7] Nitobe Inazo ‘Bushido, the soul of Japan’, Kodansha: 2012, p. 34
^[8] Yotoku Matsuoka Speech to the League of Nations, Geneva, 6th December 1932
<Https://archive.org/stream/Japanscaseinsino00leag/Japanscaseinsino00leag_djvu.txt>
^[9] Jessamyn Abel, ‘The International Minimum: creativity and contradiction in Japan’s global engagement,1933-1964’, University of Hawai’I press: 2015, p.84
^[10] John Gripentrog ‘Power and Culture: Japan’s Cultural Diplomacy in the United States, 1934-1940’ Pacific Historical review: 84, 2015, p.482

Esperanto was a language created to be an international and shared-medium that facilitated cross-cultural communication. It therefore ridded people of language-problems that were deemed to prevent ideas being easily understood and transmitted between different cultures.¹ Having never encountered Esperanto prior to reading “A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906-1928” by Ian Rapley, I found the reasons for its spread in Japan fascinating. From the readings I identified that a mix of pragmatism and optimism led to the popularity of Esperanto as it was practical as an international language to learn, whilst also being associated with notions of fairness and equality because  it was upheld that anyone could learn and speak Esperanto.² Further to this, I will analyse why the Esperanto movement grew in Japan and what the key foundations that enabled the growth of the movement where.

Esperanto within Japan relied heavily on the Japana Esperantista Asocio (JEA) which allowed them to gather together students and speakers, whilst providing sets of texts to support them and the learning of the language.³  I believe from the readings that the philosophy of the language was an incredibly motivational factor, because it surged the popularity of the movement as it was seen to place language “at the heart of transnational engagement”⁴ I found this an interesting concept, that links with the idea of Wordism which later on promised the emancipation from the nation state, racial and ethical barriers.⁵ Because Esperanto as a movement shined light onto the intellectual underpinnings of internationalism and consequently how Japan began to link itself with the world.⁶

But how far can Esperanto be seen as an example of the desire for emancipation within Japan. I would argue that they can be closely linked, because the Esperanto movement was centred around an ideal of free and transnational associations across the world.⁷. The key aim of Esperanto was to make it so any learner can make direct use of his knowledge with people from any nationality, which opens up intellectual discussion and makes it easier to interact with other nationalities. Alongside this it was studied “by elites and nonelites alike in noninstitutional spaces” outside of state guidance.⁶. This reveals that the movement strived for uninhibited and transnational connections across persons of any nationality who could converse without barriers of language or ideology. As efforts to create a planned international language are a blatant example of prevailing work to create a global identity.

1. Ian Rapley, A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906-1928, (2016), p.75 [↩]
2. Ian Rapley, A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906-1928, (2016), p.167 [↩]
3. Ian Rapley, A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906-1928, (2016), p.176 [↩]
4. Ibid., p.168 [↩]
5. Sho Konishi, “Translingual World Order: Language without Culture in post-Russo-Japanese war Japan”, Journal of Asian Studies 72 (2013), p.93 [↩]
6. Ibid., p.92 [↩] [↩]
7. Ibid., p.93 [↩]

Although Wang Hui (b. 1959) and Nishitani Keiji (1900-1990) wrote in different locations and schools of thought, similarities can be found in the ways they saw the world around them. They saw their surroundings in a state of decay, and wished to return to traditional ideas in order to solve their contemporary problems, with modernity playing a key antagonist role in both their ideas.

In The End of the Revolution: China and the Limits of Modernity, Wang saw a significant problem in the form of ‘depoliticization’, which he believed has acquired ‘worldwide predominance’ in today’s world.¹ The main example he cited is the effect depoliticization has had on democracy. He argued that political parties were becoming less and less representative of their ideas and values under market conditions. These parties have become mere mechanisms of power, and now ‘the representative system of democracy exists now in name only’.²  Wang looked to Chinese history to find a solution to depoliticization. He argued that while the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) has expressed regret over the Cultural Revolution, ‘it does not repudiate either the Chinese Revolution, socialist values, or Mao Zedong thought’.³  The effect of this, Wang continued, was that ‘the socialist tradition’ continued in China’s current government, and ‘functioned […] as an internal restraint on state reforms’ as well as allowing ‘workers, peasants, and other social collectivities some legitimate means to contest or negotiate the state’s corrupt or inegalitarian marketization procedures’.⁴

Wang saw this ‘socialist tradition’ as a way to counter depoliticization, because it provided ‘an opening for the development of a future politics […] to break the hold of a depoliticized political ideology after the end of the revolutionary era’. ⁴ In this way, Wang hoped to use China’s history and tradition of socialism to achieve a democracy that could translate well under China’s contemporary conditions.

The problem Nishitani saw in his world was not the lack of politics, as he illustrated in his essay ‘My Views on “Overcoming Modernity,” but the lack of a worldview. He believed that Japan stood in a spiritual vacuum, and required a worldview that would put Japan on its correct path. Nishitani began this discussion with an examination of a standpoint that he called ‘the religiosity of spiritual nothingness’.⁵ First, by ‘religiosity,’ he meant an idea that could transcend science in order to be authentic. Anything that transcended science was inherently subjective, and once ‘the standpoint of true subjectivity appear[ed] within us [..] [it] represent[ed] the one thing that cannot […] be objectified’.⁶  This leads us to the third part of the equation: ‘nothingness’. In using this word, Nishitani did not wish to indicate this standpoint was nothing but that it ‘signifie[d] that which cannot be objectively apprehended as “being”’.⁷  Overall, this ‘religiosity of spiritual nothingness’ was something that Nishitani believed Japanese people had within them, and was ‘the deepest aspect of Japanese spirit’, and rooted in Japan’s history and ‘particular circumstances’.⁸

Nishitani related this religiosity back to his fear of the Japanese lack of worldview. He believed that once this religiosity could permeate the people’s sense of ethics, it would form a kind of moral energy that would be the backbone of the Japanese nation and consequently, a new worldview. This is what Nishitani meant when he asserted that ‘[t]here is something at the deepest roots of Japan’s traditional spirit that can provide a course of resolution to these present world problems’.⁴ Once this worldview is formed, Japan would be well on its way towards ‘its mission’ of ‘founding a new world order and constructing Greater East Asia’.⁴

Evidently, both Wang and Nishitani looked to tradition and the past in order to find a solution to the world’s current problems. While Nishitani looked inwards, Wang posited a problem and a solution external to the self. However, both Nishitani and Wang were clear on painting modernity as an antagonist. Wang believed that modernity, and its associated Western trends of neoliberalism and globalization, were the reason why depoliticization occurred. Nishitani also drew parallels between what is thought of as modernity and the West, writing: ‘In general, what is called ‘modern’ means European’.⁹ He criticized this modernity as being ‘divided’ and its religiosity as not transcendent enough – too ‘secularized’ – to form an authentic worldview.¹⁰ Nishitani saw Western modernity as the reason why the West’s worldview had become fragmented. Overall, both Wang and Nishitani viewed modernity as a significant factor as to why these problems existed and persisted, choosing to look towards the past in order to better face their future.

1. Hui Wang,  The End of the Revolution: China and the Limits of Modernity (London, 2011), p. 13. [↩]
2. Ibid, xxx [↩]
3. Ibid, 18. [↩]
4. Ibid. [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
5. Keiji Nishitani, ‘‘My Views on “Overcoming Modernity”’, in Overcoming Modernity: Cultural Identity in Wartime Japan (New York, 2008), p. 59. [↩]
6. Ibid, 54-55. [↩]
7. Ibid, 55. [↩]
8. Ibid, 59. [↩]
9. Ibid, 51. [↩]
10. Ibid, 54. [↩]

Yasukuni Shrine is a Japanese Shinto Shrine created for the war dead who served the Emperor of Japan during wars from 1867 until 1951. It was built in 1869 under the orders of Emperor Meiji. According to Shinto belief it houses the actual souls of the dead as Kami which are spirits or ‘holy powers’ that are venerated within the religion of Shinto.¹ Furthermore within Shinto there is a belief that the process of enshrinement is permanent and therefore irreversible as a soul cannot be removed from the shine once placed there.² are various controversies surrounding the Yasukuni Shrine, that I wanted to analyse to understand further the tradition of Shinto and how in this case it has been brought into debates concerning Japanese historical memory.  I will analyse some of the key issues with the Yasunkuni Shrine, and why internationally there has been such a widespread reaction as shown by the vast amount of discourse on the shrine alone.

One of the most notable controversies is the issue of some of the war dead that have been enshrines at the Yasukuni Shrine, as some of these individuals have since been found guilty of war criminals by the International Military Tribunal for the Far East.³  This has resulted in the shrine being viewed as nationalist, explaining the outrage when the shrine is visited by politicians.  The controversial nature of the shrine is complex, as it has become an internationally recognised subject.  For instance, China and South Korea who suffered war crimes under the Japanese have called the Yasukuni Shrine a demonstration of historical negationism and an unremorseful approach to their crimes during World War Two.⁴ The shrine was merely a domestic concern until the 1970’s when it “increasingly took on an international dimension” as issues such as citizens of South Korea and Taiwan objecting to the post-war enshrinement of their family members have arisen.⁵ In contrast many supporters of the Shrine have voiced that it is a Japanese affair and that the government and even Japanese citizens have a  patriotic duty that should not be ignored to participate in the care of the military war dead.⁶

Criticisms of the shrine have highlights two key issues: firstly, the enshrinement of spirits of executed war criminals; and secondly the biased and patriotic narrative of the Second World War that is presented within the Yūshūkan war museum at the site of the Yasukuni Shrine.⁷) There is an interesting debate to be had here, about entitlement and whether it is “the right of any nation to commemorate and write its past as it sees fit”.⁸ As nations other than Japan have forged similar tradional narratives in order to commemorate those who died in the war. These narratives have been rendered into public memory and ensure they are not forgotten as regularly they are the entity of a national consensus that symbolises specific national virtues.⁹ But the issue with the Yakusuni narrative is that it is widely contested within Japan and internationally by historians who criticize the propagandist elements of the exhibitions in the Yūshūkan war museum. Ian Buruma shared this view by asserting during the 1990’s that the exhibitions were “straight out wartime propaganda” by removing from public memory suggestions of suffering and upholding a distinctly nationalistic view.¹⁰

However, the issues surrounding the shrine cannot be simplified to whether the shrine should exist or not, as the controversies encompass complex matters on an international scale that stretch beyond the shrine itself.¹¹  These issues are chiefly focused on public memory and how to judge the correct process of commemoration for the war dead. The politics of representation therefore is present within this issue, as the Yasukuni Shrine has resulted in a “cult of the war dead” and questions of whether countries should be free to honour their war dead as they see fit without condemnation.¹²

Consequently, as it is such a multifaceted and widely debated topic my analysis of the controversy of the Yasukuni Shrine has not touched on all of the issues that are presented by this example of the battle between historical memories. Commemorative politics continues to be debated with regards to the shrine and its depiction of World War Two within its war museum, especially as the relationship between social memory and the values that mould its purpose are continually realigning.¹³ It is interesting to consider why the Yasukuni Shrine has inspired such widespread international attention, and the Yasukuni Shrine is a useful example that reveals a lot about Japanese historical memory and the tensions associated with its approach to the past.

1. Tamura, Yoshiro, Japanese Buddhism: A Cultural History, (2000,Tokyo) p.40 [↩]
2. Mark Mullins, “How Yasukuni Shrine Survived the Occupation: A Critical Examination of Popular Claims”, Monumenta Nipponica 65 (2010), p. 92 [↩]
3. Ibid., p.92 [↩]
4. Ibid., p.94 [↩]
5. Ibid., p. 90 [↩]
6. Ibid., p.90 [↩]
7. Shaun O’Dwyer, “The Yasukuni Shrine and the Competing Patriotic Pasts of East Asia”, History and Memory 22 (2010), p.147 [↩]
8. Shaun O’Dwyer, “The Yasukuni Shrine and the Competing Patriotic Pasts of East Asia”, History and Memory 22 (2010), p.147 [↩]
9. Ibid., p.148 [↩]
10. Ian Buruma, The Wages of Guilt, (London, 1994), p.223 [↩]
11. John Nelson, “Social Memory as Ritual Practice: Commemorating Spirits of the Military Dead at Yasukuni Shinto Shrine”, The Journal of Asian Studies 62 (2003), p.447 [↩]
12. Ibid., p.445 [↩]
13. Ibid., p.464 [↩]

The Taiping Rebellion (1850-1864) was a bloody period of conflict in Chinese history, with one man – Hong Xiuquan – at the center of this conflict. Hong Xiuquan was the leader of the Taipings and the one who lead his followers to combat the Emperor and his forces, eventually dying for all his efforts. Yet, the impact of the Taiping’s remains, not in any material force but in the written words of the Taipings culture. What I hope to imprint upon readers is the magnitude of the written works of the Taipings and how they conflicted with Chinese Imperial thought during the mid-1800s.  

However, before the focus can be put on the Taipings, one must first focus on the first Chinese printed bibles and Christian based manuscripts. These were the translations provided by Reverend Karl Gutzlaff, as well as the writings of China’s first evangelists, Liang Afa¹. The problem that arose because of these translations and writings is because of the various wording and translations done, which had a greater impact on the culture of China as a whole.  

Afa’s works were mostly influential in that they brought the first teachings of Christianity to a large amount of people in China. His work – Good Words to Admonish the Age – was the very work that introduced Hong Xiuquan to the ideas of Christianity². Said book was a loose collection of Bible passages – jumping from the beginning in Genesis to Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount – while composed in a way to emphasize the Protestant views of individual salvation, instead of salvation of a people or nation³. That being said, Good Words does not delve into the realms of politics, society, culture, and the role that religion plays in them, and as such suffered amongst the Chinese for this³. 

Reverend Gutzlaff’s Bible translation held two influential markings for Chinese culture: One was its narrative structure; and the other was the meaning behind the characters⁴. When Gutzlaff translated the Bible into Chinese, he did so in way that told a story. A story of a deity who punished or destroyed evil nations, while rewarding his chosen nations – the good nations⁵. This was also balanced by said deity being a patron of art, music, food, marriage, and wellbeing – all aspects critical to Chinese culture⁴. Gutzlaff’s Bible also provided some historical basis, with events happening to specific people of a specific group and nationality⁴. In short, Gutzlaff’s Bible allowed for a historical narrative while also imparting the importance of culture, religion, society, and politics to a people who lacked this from Afa’s works⁵, all of which gave Hong Xiuquan much of the basis for the Taiping religion⁵. This is not the full extent of their works though. 

Reverend Gutzltaff’s translations inspired many other translations, all of which contributed to the rise of the Taiping religion and uprising⁴. The main show of “blasphemy” – as seen by the Chinese imperial forces – was for the name of God that the Taiping’s used: Shangdi or Sovereign on High⁶. This name is usually reserved for the Emperor and first appeared in Afa’s Good Works, though the debate in what to call God went on for some time⁷. Nonetheless, applying the characters of the name Shangdi was controversy in Chinese culture, as the Emperor was a holy figure with the mandate from heaven⁶ and a key aspect of the Chinese Imperial Culture. As such, it was blasphemous to consider anyone – or anything – as equal to or greater than the Emperor. Hong Xiuquan took this a step further, applying the name of Huang Shangdi (Supreme Sovereign on High) to god, yet another character from the imperial title⁶. This was a direct attack on the Chinese imperial family as well as the culture and society that it promoted – which was a key goal of the Taiping movement⁸. 

That was simply the start of Hong Xiuquan’s blasphemy. In the Taiping work The Principles of the Heavenly Nature Chinese culture and history is also made an example of – with Taoism in the Ch’in Dynasty (c. 221-206) and Buddhism in the Han Dynasty (c. 206-220) being made into examples of times when “demons infiltrated the hearts of man”⁹. The implications here is that the evils of non-Christian – more specifically non-Protestant – based religions have been infecting China for centuries, and now is the time to fight back. With words like this, and more, the Taipings were able to gather a large amount of traction in their rebellion against the Imperial Forces.  

In conclusion, the words of the Taipings – such as the chosen names of God – had numerous cultural and societal problems, all of which contributed to the Taiping Rebellion.  

1. Reilly, Thomas H., The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom: Rebellion and the Blasphemy of Empire (University of Washington Press,2014) p.78   [↩]
2. Reilly, Thomas H., Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, p.64 [↩]
3. Ibid, p.64 [↩] [↩]
4. Ibid, p.79 [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
5. Ibid, pp.78-79 [↩] [↩] [↩]
6. Ibid, p.92 [↩] [↩] [↩]
7. Ibid, pp.80-91 [↩]
8. Ibid, p.93 [↩]
9. de Barry, Theodore, Chan, Wing-tsit, Tan, Chester, Sources of Chinese Tradition Vol. II (New York and London, 1960), p.36  [↩]

In the chapter ‘Defining Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy’ in the book Moulding the Japanese Minds: The State in Everyday Life by Sheldon Garon I recognised certain themes alongside the rise of State Shinto and the religious control that accompanied this movement. There were references to absolutism and the adoption of religious tradition for new ideological uses. I wanted to analyse whether State Shinto was a political religion that drew on religious tradition in order to uphold the concept of the Emperor as sanctified. State Shinto can be described as the ideological use by Imperial Japan of the traditions of Shinto in order to emphasise the central role of the Emperor in both religious and political affairs.¹ This ideology was forged during the Meji Era from 1868 to 1912 after governments created a brand-new orthodoxy that centred on the Emperor as sacrosanct who should be worshiped as a revered figure and leader.² This bound together ritual and also government bureaucracy. Therefore, it can be identified that State Shinto became an absolute doctrine, as it blended together patriotism and values of social harmony. I am going to analyse how State Shinto led to reduced religious freedom but also a widespread adoption of religious practices as political instruments.³

“In a nation like Japan, where the Emperor system was the source of all values, any true religion inevitably came into conflict with the emperor system”⁴

It can be argued firstly that State Shinto became a political ideology and was successful by establishing Shinto practice as a patriotic honourable tradition. Through the analysis of different historical discourse one can recognise how State Shinto utilised pre-existing traditions of shrine worship, whilst endorsing the cult of the emperor. This is illustrated by how the Meji Constitution of 1889 positioned “sovereignty in the hands of a mythic imperial house”.⁴ This effort to create a religion centred around the emperor did succeed, as Sheldon Garen writes in his book that a new doctrinal absolutism was formed, for instance the use of shrines as political instruments is highlighted as enabling propagation of the system of rites and rituals.⁵ These methods can be identified as quasi-religious, because in order to mobilise popular support the state used traditional religious formats to inspire devotion.

There was also a movement to restrict religious practice in order to bring different sects and religions under the control of the Emperor. This took place during a religious revival after World War One when new religions sprung up outside of the main thirteen established Shinto sects.⁶ These sects “resembled the charismatic mass sects fo the Mid-Nineteenth Century”, and therefore greatly concerned the officials of the Imperial State because they worshiped deities that had not been officially endorsed and were free from bureaucratic control. This is demonstrated by the strong reaction against the rise of these new sects of Shinto, as they were regarded as ‘evil cults’ that needed to be eradicated. For example, the Governments Religions Bill in 1927 was created to as  an intrusive attempt to gain more control over religious teachings and conduct by offering tax exemptions and some protections in exchange for state intervention.⁷

Consequently, it can be argued that there is a link between Shinto and the concept of a political religion, as alongside the emphasis of the Emperor at the centre of Shinto religion it became the official doctrine that since the Japanese were descended from the Gods, they were superior to all other existing races. As the Emperor was given a newfound political status, political, military, social and religious institutions positioned themselves around the Emperor, who became a revered icon and a symbol of the spirit of Japan. State Shinto therefore became similar to that of a national cult whereby the Japanese government mobilised Shinto thought and practice as a pillar of “national integration”.⁸

1. Earhart Byron, Religion in the Japanese Experience: Sources and Interpretations, (California, 1974), p.50 [↩]
2. Sheldon, Garon, Moulding the Japanese Minds: The State in Everyday Life, (Princeton, 1997), p.61 [↩]
3. Sheldon, Garon, Moulding the Japanese Minds: The State in Everyday Life, (Princeton, 1997), p.67 [↩]
4. Ibid., p.61 [↩] [↩]
5. Ibid., p.65 [↩]
6. Ibid., p273 [↩]
7. Ibid., p.283 [↩]
8. Susumu Shimazono, “State Shinto and the Religious Structure of Modern Japan”, Journal of the American Academy of Religion 73, (2005), pp.1078 [↩]

Reading K’ang Yu wei’s treatise on his One World Philosophy (Ta t’ung Shu) as a modern-day European (by which I do not mean one’s identification with the geographical situation of one’s home country, but rather with the project of European integration known as the EU), it is easy to feel astonished by the many similarities that seemingly connect these two projects of unifying states. Both were conceived of with the same motivation in mind: Avoiding the evils of war.¹ But while K’ang’s remained a theoretical philosophy, the EU has been developed in praxis out of ever closer cooperation and integration, succeeding in establishing a peace of unprecedented length in Europe. The following entry aims at comparing K’ang’s One World with the EU, yet not on a macro-level (after all, it is rather evident that the European Union is only established on a regional scale and does not correspond to K’ang’s third type of alliance, “in which names and boundaries of the states have been abolished”² ), but rather by looking at the mechanisms of integration proposed in theory by K’ang and realized in praxis by the EU.

I will start by analyzing some of the similarities:

At the beginning of chapter II, K’ang writes that “Wishing to Abolish the Evils of Having [Sovereign] States, it is Necessary to Begin by Disarmament and Doing Away with National Boundaries.”³.
While the motivation for constructing European cooperation after WWII was certainly not to abolish national states but rather to avoid war, it is interesting that the idea of disarmament, or at least of controlling armaments, is also at the core of the European project. This was started in 1950 with the foundation of the European Coal and Steel Community by France, Germany, Italy Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands.⁴ While it is commonly seen as a community to foster economic cooperation, a non-negligible motive behind its creation was the idea that the most important materials needed to produce weapons (coal and steel) could be mutually monitored.
As for the second aspect of doing away with national boundaries, it is one that was equally not completely realized by the EU. Yet the existence of inner-European borders has become virtually insignificant since the Single Market was established in 1993, guaranteeing the “‘four freedoms’ of: movement of goods, services, people and money.”⁵ Furthermore, this also means K’ang’s visions that in a union “all import and export duties should gradually be equalized”⁶ and “people of the various states […] may not be restricted or prohibited on account of national differences”⁷ have effectively been put into practice by the EU.

On the question how unions will be initially constructed, K’ang writes: “Certainly they will begin with small unions. The small type of union will start with the alliance of two or three states whose strength is equal and whose interests are mutual.”⁸ This was indeed the case of the European community, which began with just 6 member states which had similar living standards, similar political systems and similar political interests, before gradually expanding to today’s number of 28. That the EU recognizes the practical importance of having common standards for successful integration is manifested in the Copenhagen Criteria which each potential member state must fulfill before being able to participate in the Union.⁹

However, the first differences between K’ang’s vision for unification and the actual European project also become clear when looking at accession and enlargement:

According to K’ang, unions will be expanded as more powerful states start swallowing up smaller ones. He states that “within the next hundred years all the weak and small states will certainly be entirely annihilated.”¹⁰ The contrary, however, is the case for the EU, as the community has actually enabled smaller states to prosper economically through cooperation, thus reinforcing their stability especially during the Cold War in opposition to the Communist East. Today, the support and security which the EU provides to smaller states is exemplified by the economic bail-outs weaker states like Greece received during the financial crisis.

When it comes to the internal construction of the union, K’ang asserts that “Founding of a Public Parliament is the First [Step towards] One World.”¹¹ This, however, has not been the case for the EU, which started mainly as an inter-governmental organization. The first elections for a European Parliament only took place in 1979.¹² Interestingly, K’ang also thinks that establishing a public government will not be possible at the beginning with “the powers of the individual states being very great.”¹³ The EU, however, established the predecessor of the Commission (the institution closest to a government) already in 1951, with the High Authority, thus proving that a reverse sequence of integration is possible.¹²

Lastly, and as mentioned previously, the aim of the European community was never to do away with sovereign states. That means that K’ang’s vision of a third type of alliance, “in which names and boundaries of the states have been abolished”² and which constitutes the final step towards One World, will never be attained by the EU. However, I argue that the EU does not fit any of the two other types of alliances proposed by K’ang either: It is not “the type in which equals are allied” (by which, as I understand it, K’ang refers to a simple federation), nor is it “the type in which each state carries on its own internal government but the overall administration is united under the overall government” (by which K’ang presumably means a regular federal state such as the US or Germany). Instead, the European Union is a sui generis type, much more closely integrated than a simple federation but not yet constituting a federal state in which members rally under a common constitution and government. Certainly, the EU’s current structure is modelled after the German federal system, but the will to form an actual federal state, at least at the current point in time, is absent, which became very evident when the 2005 project for an EU constitution failed.

Despite these differences, I find it astounding that so many of the details in the mechanisms of integration, which were conceived of only on the basis of theory in K’ang’s utopian vision, are reflected in the modern-day example of the EU. Admittedly, of all international organizations existing today, the EU probably comes closest to what K’ang imagined at the beginning of the 20^th century. I hope therefore that this comparison allows to reflect upon the EU’s own utopian character, which has managed to establish a period of peace and prosperity that would have seemed unattainable only 80 years ago.

1. cf. K’ang, Yu-wei and Thompson, Laurence G. Ta t’ung Shu: The One-World Philosophy of K’ang Yu-Wei. Reprint. Routledge, 2007, p. 82. [↩]
2. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 86. [↩] [↩]
3. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 82. [↩]
4. cf. European Union. The history of the European Union. https://europa.eu/european-union/about-eu/history_en [last accessed 11/13/2019]. [↩]
5. Ibid. [↩]
6. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 93 [↩]
7. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 96 [↩]
8. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 87. [↩]
9. cf. European Commission. Accession criteria. https://ec.europa.eu/neighbourhood-enlargement/policy/glossary/terms/accession-criteria_en [last accessed 11/13/2019]. [↩]
10. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 89. [↩]
11. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 91. [↩]
12. cf. European Union. The history of the European Union. [↩] [↩]
13. K’ang & Thompson 2007, p. 92. [↩]