Rethinking the World in East Asia 1850s-1990s

“Though war destroys civilizations it is, at the same time, the mother of new civilizations” [Ishiwara Kanji, Sensoshi taikan, pp.51-2]

By 1933, with Japan in the wake of the Manchuria Crisis, there was no doubt that by this stage the nation was committed to a course of total expansion on the mainland and abroad. In the eyes of Japan’s military and naval commanders, progression in this fashion would see Japan inevitably clash with its surrounding nations, most notably the Soviet Union, as it fought to establish itself. While the Soviet Union seemed to constitute the most immediate barrier to Japan’s aims of territorial expansion in the eyes of the majority of the Japanese General Staff, Ishiwara Kanji begged to differ. Ishiwara believed Japan’s Final War would see the nation lock horns with the united States.

Within Mark Peattie’s Ishiwara Kanji and Japan’s confrontation with the West, Peattie offers a highly detailed biographical insight into the time spent by Ishiwara in the General Staff during the 1930s. With reference to this period, Peattie examines specifically Japan’s plan of implementing a National Defence program that, once implemented, would see Japan emerge as the “leader of East Asia” (p.202). Peattie’s threefold approach to the program is centred around assessing the military influence on the policy, the morality of Japan’s pan-Asian campaigns, and the rationality behind Japan’s foreign and domestic projects.

Ishiwara’s prominence in the Manchuria campaign contributed significantly to the inflation of his prestige in the immediate aftermath. One of the key questions that Peattie therefore looks to offer in his work is whether or not Ishiwara developed such influence in the General Staff due to the power behind his own ideas for the future of Japan, or instead if his success in Manchuria was merely the reason he gained fame? Peattie does consider that by 1933, Ishiwara’s plans for a National Defence State, coupled with the growth of an ideological Russo-phobia and Japanese spiritual faith in its military capabilities, a climate was in place that would form the “basic cleavage in the Imperial Army as to how to prepare the nation for war” (p.188). With regard to this point, Peattie emphasises how the combination of a militant Buddhism with prevailing European, and also Western, fears helped to produce Ishiwara’s concept of an inevitable ‘Final War’.

Most recent historiography from Clinton Godart has sought to refine Japanese motivations for a Final War with the West. Godart’s 2015 article, “Nichirenism, Utopianism, and Modernity: Rethinking Ishiwara Kanji’s East Asia League Movement”, focuses more on the Nichiren Buddhist aspects of Japanese militarisation during the 1930s and how these would ultimately  be put into practice to facilitate the realisation a specific Buddhist utopian vision for the future (pp.237-8). These “fascist Nichirenist” tendencies contrast somewhat with the vision previously put forward by Peattie who instead looks to centralise his focus more on Japan’s preparation for the Final War through pan-Asian ideals, specifically the unification of East Asia under Japanese oversight. Ishiwara’s proposition of an East Asian League would see China and Manchukuo come together with Japan, along with its colonies Korea and Taiwan, to form a self-sufficient bloc capable of confronting the “Soviet Union on the Asian continent and the Anglo-American nations at sea” (p.195).

By the mid-to-late 1930s, Japan and the United States were certainly “racing to complete their respective civilizations”, and as Peattie exemplifies, “their progress along rapidly converging paths would inevitably terminate in violent collision” (p.57). What can be taken from Peattie’s argument is that this future conflict of major proportions between these two powerhouses would result in one final synthesis of human culture and ideals. Victory for Japan would leave the nation free to guide and unify the world for generations to come. However, before Japan could count herself fully prepared for this final showdown with the United States, she would need to establish her goal of formulating the East Asian League, and ensuring this was in place and ready before the Final War came.

Of course, what systematically shuts down Ishiwara’s ambitions of this ever coming into fruition was the outbreak of conflict between Japan and China in 1937. What can clearly be established from Peattie’s work is how Ishiwara’s failure to curb enthusiasm for a short, decisive conflict with China in 1937 essentially caused his plans for an East Asian League to disintegrate. Perhaps one of the key takeaways from Japan’s confrontation with the West is the ambivalent nature of pan-Asian ideals in Japan during the 1930s. Ishiwara’s visions of a unified Asia seemed somewhat contradictory given the narrative that surrounded his involvement in Manchuria. The surfacing of conflict and an anti-Japanese front in the 1937 Sino-Japanese War was arguably the result of decades of foreign interference and humiliation for China.

‘Today, 40 years after the end of World War II, the Japanese are on the move again in one of history’s most brilliant commercial offensives, as they go about dismantling American industry. Whether they are still only smart, or have finally learned to be wiser than we, will be tested in the next 10 years. Only then will we know who finally won the war….’[1]—Thomas H. White, “The Danger From Japan”.

The 1980s marked the climax of a Japanese Economic Boom. The stunning success of what came to be known as ‘Samurai Capitalism’ caused many in the west to fear that Japan was ‘calling western modernity Into question and claiming the franchise on the future’[2]. More than simply an economic fear, the ‘Japan Panic’ caused a rise in the phenomenon known as ‘Techno-Orientalism’ that continues to be seen in western portrayals of Japan to this day. The culmination of these portrayals, were most prominently seen in the cyberpunk and dystopian productions in the west such as Blade Runner. Interestingly Japan has in some instances adapted and remoulded these genres and produced Japanese cyberpunk, with which parallels can be drawn to Japanese adaptations of Utopian literature in the Meiji period.  Although Japan’s economic prominence has faded in recent years, ceding its prominence to the ‘Four Tigers’ of South-East-Asia, ideas of Techno-Orientalism remain prominent in our culture today[3].

Techno-orientalism is a term coined by David Morely and Kevin Robins in their contribution to the editorial Spaces of Identity: Global Media, Electronic Landscapes, and Cultural Boundaries (London & NY: Routledge, 1995). In their chapter, ‘Techno-Orientalism: Japan Panic’, Morely and Robins demonstrate the recent development of contrarian stereotypes surrounding Japan; its premodern culture of Samurai and Geisha and its contemporary position as a forerunner in technological advancement[4]. These contrarian stereotypes arose from fundamental issues with perceptions of modernity and orientalism, particularly in the States. Previous stereotypes around the oriental nature of Japan had ceased to apply, and older xenophobic and racial tropes could no longer be used to attach the ‘techno-capitalist savvy’ Japanese[5]. As a result of this, Morely and Robins argued that Westerners produced ‘techno-orientalism’ that sought to critique the oriental whilst acknowledging the modern.

Although it is not possible to say with certainty that Cyberpunk was a direct reaction to the 1980s economic growth of Japan, the Techno-Orientalism of the west was certainly reflected in the cyberpunk genre amongst others[6]. Blade Runner was arguably the forerunner in this endeavour, with its influential image of dystopian Los Angeles resembling Tokyo[7]. The 1982 film arguably marked the first of a number of ‘Japonised’ novels and films, including William Gibson’s Neuromancer (1984). The work begins in the outskirts of Tokyo, and although the novel swiftly leaves Japanese technology and iconography predominates[8]. To Morley and Robins this was a reflection of the fears of Japanese dominance amongst the west in the 1980s[9]. Although, critique of Gibson has somewhat mellowed over time, his work still reflects the ideas of ‘Techno-Orientalism’ despite the author’s professed ‘Japanophilia’[10].

Interestingly, these ideas and the genre of Cyberpunk has been somewhat appropriated by the Japanese. Cyberpunk’s ‘cartoonish’ nature appealed to the Japanese Science fiction manga and anime genres[11]. Furthermore, the Japanese have expanded and arguably adapted many aspects of cyberpunk to suit their own narratives. This can clearly be seen in Shirow Masamune’s Ghost in the Shell (1991), in which the strong Japanese cyber-heroine is supported by a cast of weaker male figures[12]. The substitution of the traditional Male hero of American Cyberpunk with a Japanese Herione arguably reflects Japanese adaptation of the Cyberpunk genre for its own messages such as the ‘subjectivity of Japaneseness’[13].  As such, although Techno-Orientalist Western works may have been influenced by Xenophobic ideas of the West, as a genre cyber-punk was both assimilated and adapted by the Japanese. As previously mentioned similar trends have also been seen in Utopian Works. Although Western models were originally imported to Japan during the Meiji period and Japanese Utopian literature was moulded on these Western models, Japanese writers were profoundly affected by their own social situations, as demonstrated by Akutagawa’s Kappa, a utopian vision and social critique of Japan that reflects the insecurities felt as a result of the decline of Taisho democracy and rise of Japanese imperialism[14].

Finally, it is interesting to note that for the most part these ideas of ‘Techno-Orientalism’ have pervaded popular culture to a far greater extent than the ideas that caused their inception. Although this cannot be explored fully, examination of recent films reveals that many of the aspects of this view are still prominent, despite Japan’s fall from economic prominence. A highly notable recent example could be Hollywood’s The Wolverine (2013) in which the American superhero travels to Japan, and as a result of the actions of a technologically advanced Ziabatsu is stripped of his mortality and forced to fight Samurai and Ninjas[15]. The final encounter between the wolverine and a suit of robotic samurai armour, perfectly demonstrates the contrarian stereotypes of Japanese technology and premodern culture[16]. Seen in such a light the controversial decision to cast Scarlett Johansson in the reboot of Ghost in the Shell (2017) has a broader-implications.

Arguably the re-envisioning of the popular Manga, could be seen to reflect more than simply ‘whitewashing’ of a film, as with its new cast the film reflects many of the older tropes of Techno-Orientalism, albeit with less damning motivations[17].

[1] Charles Paulk, ‘Post National Cool: William Gibson’s Japan’, Science Fiction Studies, Vol. 38, No. 3 (November 2011), p479.

[2] Ibid, P480.

[3] David Morley, Kevin Robins, ‘Techno-Orientalism: Japan Panic’ in David Morley & Kevin Robins, Spaces in Identity: Global Media, Electronic Landscapes and Cultural Boundaries (London, 1995), p173.

[4] Kumiko, Sato, ‘How Information Technology Has (Not) Changed Feminism and Japanism: Cyberpunk in the Japanese Context’ Comparative Literature Studies, Volume 41, Number 3 2003, p354.

[5] Paulk, ‘Post National Cool: William Gibson’s Japan’, p480.

[6] Kumiko, ‘How Information Technology Has (Not) Changed Feminism’, p340.

[7] Christopher Bolton, Istvan Csicsery-Ronan Jr. and Takayuki Tatsumi, Robot Ghosts and Wired Dreams, (Minneapolis, 2007), pix.

[8] Paulk, ‘Post National Cool: William Gibson’s Japan’, p481.

[9] Morley & Robins, ‘Techno-Orientalism: Japan Panic’, p169.

[10] Charles Paulk, ‘Post National Cool’, p479.

[11] Bolton, Csicsery-Ronan Jr. & Tatsumi, Robot Ghosts, pix.

[12] Kumiko, Sato, ‘How Information Technology Has (Not) Changed Feminism’, p347.

[13] Ibid, p352.

[14] Yoriko, Moichi, ‘Japanese Utopian Literature from the 1870s to the Present and the Influence of Western Utopianism’, Utopian Studies, Vol. 10, No. 2 (1999), p92.

[15] The Wolverine, James Mangold, 2013

[16] The Wolverine, James Mangold, 2013

[17] Anne-Maries Tomchak, ‘Is Scareltt Johansson casting Hollywood ‘Whitewashing’?’, 19^th April, 2016, < https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/blogs-trending-36083113> [21^st April4 2019]

For much of the latter half of the twentieth century, Marxism has been the prevailing ideology in China, as advocated and imposed by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). Given the stringency of such a regime, there was little room for ideological tolerance and so efforts were made to eradicate the traditional Confucian values upon which Chinese culture had been founded. Despite these efforts, however, recent revival of Confucianism seems, at least on a social if not necessarily political level, to have been far more easily achieved than one might assume. A possible reason for this? The deep-rooted, and thus enduring, nature of such values.

Following the Ming Dynasty, there was huge popular support for a radical overhaul of the existing values and system as a whole, something which Marxism represented and fulfilled. Hindsight of the Communist regime, however, suggests that the most successful Marxist policies were in fact those which resonated most closely with “deeper Confucian roots”.[1]The Marxist emphasis on the importance of human needs and the accompanying socio-economic equality needed in creating a utopian society, for example, seems in parallel with Mencius’ notion that material desires must also be satisfied in order to create an environment in which the ancient Confucian value of following “the Way” and achieving moral transformation can be fulfilled. On a slightly more trivial level, interestingly even the Maoist tradition of senior Party leaders dyeing their hair black can be traced back to Confucian ideas; Mencius believed that those with white hair should be taken care of, hence the Communist leaders’ desire to reassert their dominance and capability by preserving their original black hair. These similarities have led to a somewhat controversial conclusion (which requires and deserves much more attention than is possible within this post), reached by the scholars Li Zehou and Jin Guantao: Chinese Marxism can instead be seen as a continuation of traditional Confucian ways.[2]

“[Marxism] has been so discredited by its misuses that it has lost almost all legitimacy in society…for practical purposes, it’s the end of Marxist ideology.”[3]

Taken at face value, the implications of this assertion are that China is in need of a moral and ideological foundation, distinct to Marxism, upon which to rebuild its political authority. The government’s solution to this problem? Revival of Confucianism. With a particular emphasis on the Confucian notion that “harmony is something to be cherished”, and the threat of both internal and international discontent and conflict, it is clear why such venerable traditions are being encouraged by the government. Whilst such ulterior political motives seem to undermine the idea of ideologically enduring Confucian values, however, a radically different picture emerges when examined on a more social, everyday level.

The central Confucian value which seems to have endured most prominently throughout Chinese history, is the importance placed on family ethics. The notion of filial piety, for instance, whereby children have a lifelong duty to care for their elderly parents, is one which is still incredibly widespread and pervasive even today. One example of the impact of the significance placed on this value can be seen through the effects of the 1979 One Child Policy, wherein the tradition of wives becoming part of their husband’s family and thus taking care of his parents rather than her own, and the resulting desirability of sons, led to millions of unwanted girls “going missing” through abortion, abandonment and infanticide. On a different level of impact, yet similar in principle, it has been shown that crime rates spike just before Chinese New Year, a time when sons and daughters traditionally present gifts to their parents.[4]Not only does this suggest that even criminals respect the value of filial piety, but also that it bears such importance that people are willing to turn to crime to fulfil their duty, a concept which in itself is fascinating.

Despite the attempts made to fully extirpate “every root and branch” of Confucianism, and despite the fact that politically, a revival of a committedly Confucian governmental system is “a long way away from…reality”,[5]many of the central Confucian values have successfully remained deeply rooted in Chinese life and society. Whilst this post is by no means a comprehensive representation of the ways in which such values have shaped culture in China, it seems as though a full-scale “revival” of Confucianism, at least on a social level, is unneeded.

[1]Daniel A Bell, China’s New Confucianism: Politics and Everyday Life in a Changing Society(New Jersey, 2008). p10.

[2]Ibid.

[3]Ibid. p8.

[4]Ibid. p11.

[5]Daniel A Bell in Jiang Qing, A Confucian Constitutional Order: How China’s Ancient Past can Shape its Political Future(New Jersey, 2013), p24.

‘It has been, however, the great privilege of Japan to realize this unity-in-complexity with a special clearness… it is in Japan alone that the historic wealth of Asiatic culture can be consecutively studied through its treasured specimens. The Imperial collection, the Shinto temples, and the opened dolmens, reveal the subtle curves of Hang [sic] workmanship’[1].

Japanese nationalism was intrinsically linked to aspects of Pan-Asianism since the opening of Japan in 1853-1854 until the end of the Pacific war. During this time, Japanese theoreticians and politicians used Pan-Asianism as justification for Japanese territorial expansionism and their colonial projects[2]. Snyder has described pan-national movements as ‘extended nationalisms’[3]. This was arguably the case in Japan, where a number of notable figures, such as Okakura Tenshin and Ishiwara Kanji, saw Japan as maintaining a unique cultural position as ‘a museum of Asiatic civilisation’ and a unique military position as ‘Champion of the East’[4]. More importantly, parts of this movement also saw a turning away from the orthodox Sino-centric order to favour Japanese supremacy in the East. Japan’s suitability for this task was largely based upon its modernisation and ability to adapt to Western encroachment through modernisation; for many Japanese nationalists and Pan-Asianists alike, Western-style modernity was an ‘indispensable condition for success’[5]. However, historically Japanese figures were arguably incorrect to assume that Japan was unique in many of the aspects of Japanese superiority that they espoused.

The Japanese were not unique in their development of nationalist ideas or western learning. Notable figures such as Li Dazhao created Chinese Pan-Asianist movements that continued to foster and encourage nationalism within their respective countries. Although he still argued for Greater-Japanism in a number of his works, he was a leading figure in the foundation of the Chinese Communist party, an ardent internationalist and leading figure in the May Fourth movement; which created a widespread national consciousness and emphasised western ideas of Science and political theory[6]. Although many Chinese Pan-Asianists did place importance upon Japan these figures still fostered a culture of assimilation with Western ideals and practices.

Nor should the Japanese be considered unique in their ability to fuse western political philosophy with Asian ethics or philosophy. Examination of Kang Yu Wei reveals a figure whose unique outlook is arguably influenced by both western and eastern perspectives. Although he was arguably the first to advocate for Western ideas of Communism in China, his work remains grounded in Confucian ideals of Ren (Benevolence) whilst advocating for technological advancement – a decision that sets him apart from his fellow Confucian scholars in China[7]. Kang Yu Wei arguable represents a unique example that demonstrates that Japan was not alone in its synthesis and adaptation to Western ideals in the 19^th century. Furthermore, Chinese fascists and GMD members were able to foster and create ideas of nationalist identity without relying on a Japanese or European perspective.  Examination of Chinese fascists reveals that their policies and uses of Confucianism set them apart from simply being ‘mere imitators of Europeans or Japanese[8]. Chinese Fascists were acutely aware of the problems of imperialism and racism that were inherent with Japanese and European imperial projects, for example, admiring Italy’s economic developments but opposing its decision to invade the nominally independent non-white nation of Ethiopia[9]. This resulted in a nativist approach that was popular amongst the GMD right wingers in from the 1920s to 1937.

This post does not seek to dispute the extent to which Japan was economically advanced or more politically powerful when compared to the rest of Asia in the 19^th and early 20^th century. However, it seeks to elucidate the extent to which Pan-Asianism fostered a culture of intellectual development and borrowing throughout Asia and focuses on several examples from China to demonstrate this. In reality Japan’s turning away from the west left them ignorant to important developments that began to effect China in this time that arguably reduced the extent to which Japan should be considered unique amongst the Asian nations in its ability to react and adapt to western ideas and culture.

[1] Okakura, Tenshin, ‘Japan is a Museum of Asiatic Civilisation’ In Theodore De Bary, H Paul Varley, Carol Gluck, Arthur Tiedemann, George Tanabe & Ryusaku Tsunoda (Eds.), Sources of Japanese Tradition: Volume 2, 1600 to 2000, (Columbia, 2005), p802.

[2] Saaler, Sven & W. A. Szpilman, Christopher, Pan-Asianism, a Documentary History, Volume I: 1850-1920 (Westport, Rowman) p13.

[3] Ibid, p13.

[4] Okakura, Tenshin, ‘Japan is a Museum of Asiatic Civilisation’ in Japanese Tradition, p804.

‘Personal Opinion on the Manchuria-Mongolia Problem,’ in Theodore De Bary, H Paul Varley, Carol Gluck, Arthur Tiedemann, George Tanabe & Ryusaku Tsunoda (Eds.), Sources of Japanese Tradition: Volume 2, 1600 to 2000, (Columbia, 2005), p986.

[5] Saaler, Szpilman, Pan-Asianism, p38.

[6] Li Dazhao, “Greater Asianism and New Asianism,” in Saaler, Sven & W. A. Szpilman, Christopher, Pan-Asianism, a Documentary History, Volume I: 1850-1920 (Westport, Rowman), pp179-182.

[7] K’ang, Yu-Wei,  The one world Philosophy of K’ang Yu Wei ed. & trans Laurence G Thompson, (London, 1958).

[8] Clinton, Maggie.  Nativism: Fascism and Culture in China, 1925-1937. (Duke, 2017) p13.

[9] Ibid, pp13 & 60.

In his work, A Monk Does Not Bow Down Before a King, Hui-yuan, a Chinese Buddhist monk, analyses amongst other questions, the role of change within Buddhism. He poses the question to himself, using Lao Tzu as a foil. Hui-yuan uses Lao Tzu’s understanding of heaven and earth and the nature of kings and princes to contrast his own Buddhist understanding of heaven and earth and the nature of kings and princes.

According to Hui-yuan, Lao Tzu’s understanding is based upon the fact that kings and princes are the embodiment of obedience, which is what gives them the right to command others to obey. Heaven and earth are “the source of the myriad changes”; whereas kings and princes “have the power of moving others [to obey].” (282). He writes: “Therefore the wise men of yore made this the subject of noble discourses, and from this the opinion of the multitude may not change.” (283) The subject mentioned refers to “the embodiment of the Ultimate must of necessity rely depend upon obedience to changes.” (283) Hui-yuan is thus questioning his own philosophy from the Taoist perspective, and more specifically the Buddhist understanding of change and development.

Hui-yuan’s response to his own critique offers an excellent perspective into Buddhist philosophy. Hui-yuan writes that there are only two categories of beings who are given life by “the Great Change”: “the soulful and the soulless”. (283) The soulful are those who have “feeling towards change” The soulless “have no feeling towards change”. (283) Those who have, as Hui-yuan asserts, “no feeling towards change”, their lives will end once they die. This, of course, is in reference to the Buddhist belief of reincarnation and karma. Change is Hui-yuan’s method of illustrating the build-up of karma over one “soulful” being’s time on earth. Hui-yuan also writes “Life is fettered by physical form, and life depends on change.” (283) Hui-yuan demonstrates the necessity of change in life as a means of understanding the variety of sins and actions in everyday life. Each action within a lifetime, as asserted by Hui-yuan, will have an impact on the next as Nirvana is changeless as everything is constantly in flux.

This question and answer is crucial to Hui-yuan’s argument of why a monk does not bow before a king. The understanding of change and karma as a never ending cycle provides the implication of Buddhists being inherently good citizens as they would not threaten their future lives with disobedience in their current lifetime.  As such, Hui-yuan writes, Buddhist monks should not be expected to bow before their king, regardless of his status.

Yan Xishan’s Cosmopolitan Economy

In his pamphlet, How To Prevent Warfare and Establish the Foundation of World Peace, Yan Xishan offers a wide variety of solutions to the issues plaguing the international system. Given, however, that its intended purpose was a rebuff of communism, the section on the economy proves especially complex and at times contradictory. Within his “cosmopolitan economy”, Yan provides three main principles that ought to be followed. These three principles simultaneously blend and reject both capitalism and communism in the international economy.

“The first principle is that labor should be coincident with enjoyment. What is meant by this is that the fruit of one’s labor should be wholly given to the laborer for his contribution of labor. It should not be exploited by any method or system.” (p. 18) 

Yan’s first principle of the cosmopolitan economy describes a system in which the laborer is directly rewarded with “the fruit of one’s labor”, rather than allowing the labor to be exploited by the system. Despite Yan’s opposition to the communist economic system, this principle carries a Marxist sentiment in regards to the exploitation of the worker. Marx and Engel, in the opening lines of The Communist Manifesto, describe the historical basis for one class exploiting another. They argue the exploitation of the proletariat can only be remedied by a remaking of the world economic system in which private property is abolished and all are rewarded equally, sharing in the goods of society. While Yan does not exactly reflect this sentiment, his principle shares a number of commonalities with the ideology he is writing in opposition of.

“The second principle is that the laborer should be provided with ample opportunity for offering his labor. The worker should work in order to support his livelihood. If he is not given the opportunity to work, he will have no chance of sustaining his livelihood.” (p. 18) 

Yan’s second principle primarily serves as a critique of the capitalist system, which he describes as “exploitation and the existing monetary defect.” Within the context of the Great Depression, Yan’s critique of a worker having “no chance of sustaining his livelihood” was no doubt a relevant critique of the world capitalist system. An interesting comparison to Yan’s desire to provide work for all workers is President Roosevelt’s New Deal, which similarly sought to create ample work for workers. The New Deal’s “Three R’s”, as they are frequently referred to by historians, sought relief for the poor and unemployed, economic recovery and a reform of the financial system to prevent another such crisis. To some extent, Roosevelt’s New Deal reflects Yan’s sentiment by providing new economic opportunity for workers, in order to bring the unemployed back into the economic system and support a livelihood. So while Yan is critiquing the capitalist system, arguably, there is a capitalist example within the constraints of Yan’s theory that successfully provided “ample opportunity for offering […] labor”.

“The third principle is that we should increase the effectiveness of labor. What is meant by this is that by raising the efficiency of a worker, his standard of living can be raised. […] workers have not been much benefited by the increase in production made possible by scientific development. […] Though wages have been increased, the said increase has been offset by the rise in the price of commodities.” (pp. 18-19)

Yan’s third principle, once again, seems to represent an almost communist sentiment, writing that “the sole party that has benefited is the capitalist class. (the owner of the plant)”.Yan suggests a publicly owned factory in which some amount of the profits made off of the increased productivity of technology will not go to the owner, but be set aside. Of course, the most notable example of publicly owned factories is within communist countries, where there is an abolition of privately owned property and business. Therefore, Yan’s third principle seems to exist in a strange grey area between communism and capitalism as he is still encouraging the productions of goods for a market place, while also encouraging the creation of public factories.

Yan’s cosmopolitan economy principles seem to straddle communism and capitalism, with Yan picking and choosing from aspects of the two economic systems. But above all, Yan’s priority is the worker and his ability to provide for himself. This sentiment seems to me to most closely mirror the communist ideals of the worker and the working class. However, Yan’s work primarily does critique communism in other ways, particularly the political aspects of that ideology, leaving readers with no clear understanding of Yan’s political ideology beyond the creation of an international system based on cosmopolitanism.  

Yan Xisan, How To Prevent Warfare and Establish the Foundation of World Peace, pamphlet, pp 1-41.

‘Our Holy Prelates [say that God’s word] causeth insurrection and teaches the people to disobey’[1]

Writing in the 15^th century, there is a certain irony in Tyndale’s statements, given the impact of the vernacular bible both at home and abroad. This is particularly true of the Taiping Rebellion, in which over a period of 13 years from 1851 to 1864 twenty million lost their lives. Previous historiography has been quick to stress the alien nature of the Taiping faith as a factor in the eventual failure of the rebellion[2]. However, recent historiography has attempted to challenge this view, arguing that it fails to account for the popularity of the Taiping rebellion and its popularity with the ‘multitude of followers’ that it accumulated throughout its duration[3]. Reilly’s work is a notable example of this in which he argues for the centrality of Taiping Ideology as a motivating factor for the rebellion. During his work, Reilly remarks on an interesting comparison between the English revolution and the Taiping rebellion; two radically different rebellions in terms of their origins and yet both were heavily influenced by fresh exposure to the bible. Although according to Reilly this similarity ‘cannot be applied too strictly’ the comparison provides interesting explanations for the popularity of the Taiping religion at the time[4].

One of the things observed in Christopher Hill’s The English Bible and the Seventeenth Century Revolution was the revolutionary impact of the bible, on sectarian documents at the time, through the transmission of biblical concepts themes and passages. The most notable example of this being Hobbes Leviathan, which contained over 657 references from the Bible[5]. Hill’s justification for this impact is “the political and cultural empire of the Bible in seventeenth-century England”[6]. Although a similar result can be observed within the Taiping Empire, 19^th century China was not exposed enough prior to the rebellion to have its own ‘political and cultural empire surrounding the Bible’. Although not necessarily comparable with the Leviathan in their emphasis on citations, Taiping government documents and reforms are framed with ‘biblical’ idea, but retain their Taiping influence. For example, the Taiping Economic program states, ‘If there is a drought there, draw upon the abundant harvest here in order to relieve the distress there. Thus all the people of the country may enjoy the great blessings of the Heavenly Father, Supreme Ruler and Lord God-on-High’[7]. This demonstrates the emphasis on biblical terminology but lacks the citations of biblical texts prevalent within Hobbes’ Leviathan. Although a similar result can be observed within the Taiping Empire, 19^th century China was not exposed enough prior to the rebellion to have its own political and cultural empire surrounding the Bible. Reilly does little to expand on this explanation, acknowledging the infiltration of the Bible within Taiping Secular literature, but not explaining the discrepancies in cultural influence that have not been accounted for. How then did the bible acquire such weight within the rebellion, without such a cultural empire?

Arguably the political and cultural empire from which the Taiping drew their support was classical Chinese texts. As Reilly observes, following the religion’s germination under Hong Xiuquan ‘the Taiping faith, albeit kindled by Anglo- American Protestantism, developed into a dynamic new Chinese religion’[8]. Although not explored by Reilly, Taiping Religious and government texts have groundings within classic religious Chinese texts. The Taiping Economic Program uses the nine grades specified in the “tribute of Yu” section of the Classic of Documents (Shujing)[9].  Examining the Taiping religious Primer in Verse (Youxue Shi) reveals similar influences, with the familial relationships being expressed in the form of short maxims for prayer, emphasising and extolling relationships previously supported in Confucian Classics[10]. Although anti-Confucian, the Taiping rebellion accepted many aspects of Confucianism, allowing itself to not only be recognised and understood by Chinese Confucians, but also present itself as a more appealing than the political and economic upheaval under the decaying Ch’ing state[11].

This then arguably challenges the arguments surrounding the ‘alien nature’ of the Taiping contributing to the downfall of the period and accounts for the permeation of the Bible within Taiping documents at the time. Taiping’s success and popularity can be seen in their ability to relate an existing corpus of political and cultural influence to the alien, through their use relation of western biblical ideas to the political and cultural empire of China’s classical religions. Although more work may need to be undertaken, there are perhaps greater similarities between the English seventeenth century rebellion than have previously been speculated by Reilly.

[1] William Tyndales, The Obedience of a Christian Man (1528), in H. Walter (Ed.), Doctrinal Treatises, (Cambridge, 1848) p163.

[2] Thomas H. Reilly The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, (Seattle, 2014), p3.

[3] Ibid, p4.

[4] Ibid, p57.

[5] Christopher Hill, The English Bible and the Seventeenth Century Revolution, (London, 1993), p20.

[6] Ibid, p7.

[7] ‘The Taiping Economic Program’ in William, De Bary (eds), Sources of Chinese Tradition Vol 2: From 1600 through the 20^th Century, (New York, 2000), p225.

[8] Reilly, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, p4.

[9] ‘Taiping Economic Program’ in De Bary, Sources, p224.

[10] ‘A Primer in Verse’ in De Bary, Sources, pp221-223.

[11] Philip A. Kuhn, “The Taiping Rebellion” in Cambridge History of China v10 Late Qing Part 1, pp264-267.

Our introduction to some of the key Confucian texts, including Mengzi (Mencius) continues to be useful as we examine the intellectual history of later thinkers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In my last posting I mentioned some of the passages in Mengzi that easily stretch across the centuries to resonate in any discussion about political reform. In our elective readings about the socialist and anarchist figure Kōtoku Shūsui (1871-1911) from Robert Tierney’s Monster of the Twentieth Century: Kōtoku Shūsui and Japan’s First Anti-Imperialist Movement we see that a selective reading of Mengzi could be deployed to politically radical ends.

Kōtoku claims in 1904 to have become a socialist thanks to Kōtoku, and is influenced by the creative reinterpretation of Mengzi found in the work of Nakae Chōmin (1847-1901), who saw him, among other things, as an example of an East Asian democratically-minded thinker.¹ Kōtoku’s most interesting, and again selective, use of Mengzi comes in his arguments against patriotism (aikoku 愛国). Deploying a classic Chinese binary in an unorthodox way,  he argues that patriotsim as an emotion is to show preference for the private (shi 私) over the public (ooyake 公), as here public would require a more global perspective.² Kōtoku uses the famous example  in Mengzi of the naturally caring nature of humanity to press his case for a level of undifferentiated caring that seems much closer to the Mohist followers of Mozi, than their Confucian opponents:

I agree with Mencius that any human being would, without hesitation, rush to rescue a child about to fall into a well…On second thought, however, a human being moved by such selfless love and charity does not pause to think whether the child is a family member or a close relative. When he rescues the child from danger, he does not even ask himself whether the child is his own or belongs to another. For the same reason, righteous and benevolent men in every nation in the world pray that the people of the Transvaal will win their freedom and that the people of the Philippines will gain their independence. There are many such men even in England and the United States, even though their countries are belligerents in these wars. How is it possible for a patriot to adopt such a stance?

…In America, patriots revile fellow citizens who hope for the independ- ence of the Philippines and condemn their hatred of their own country. But even if these people are lacking in love for their country, they are certainly filled with compassion, charity, and generosity. For this reason, we can conclude that patriotism is an emotion far removed from the profound feeling that leads a human being to rescue a child from impending danger.

I am saddened that patriotism has nothing to do with compassion and charity. In fact, the love a patriot feels for his country stops at national borders. He only cares about the human beings who live in his own country. A patriot who does not care for the people of other countries and only loves his fellow countrymen is like a man who only loves members of his own family and immediate relatives and is indifferent to everyone else…

This is a good example of how ancient Chinese thinkers are selectively embraced and deployed for new, sometimes radical, causes. Though I find myself nodding sympathetically with Kōtoku on this point, as suggested in the discussion of Mengzi vs. the Mohists here, it is unlikely that Mengzi himself would have approved of Kōtoku’s formulation of his cosmopolitan vision:

…[the Mohist] Yi Zhi said, “According to the Way of the Confucians, the ancients treated the people ‘like caring for a baby.’ What does this saying mean? I take it to mean that love is without differentiations, but it is bestowed beginning with one’s parents.”

Xu Bi  told Mengzi this. Mengzi said, “Does Yi Zhi truly hold that one’s affection for one’s own nephew is like one’s affection for a neighbor’s baby? The passage from the [Classic of the] Documents is only using that as a metaphor.  When a crawling baby is about to fall into a well, it is not the baby’s fault. Furthermore, Heaven, in giving birth to things, causes them to have one source, but Yi Zhi gives them two sources. ³

This passage follows a discussion about the Mohist criticism of Confucian practices of lavish funerals for parents that betray their preference for the care of family over strangers. It is difficult to parse, particularly at the end. Commentators on Mengzi that were included by Bryan van Norden in his translation of this section argue that the technical point Mengzi is trying to make here is that Yi Zhi is suggesting that there are two sources of compassion: the natural compassion we have for our parents, and a separate impartial love for all humanity, instead of the Confucian perspective that our strongest love for our family merely radiates outward, with naturally (and appropriately) decreasing intensity to those beyond.  Mengzi might argue that it is the same love for parents which justifies the increased attention to their funeral, but also motivates us to save a child in need who we do not know. Kōtoku might respond that it still allows him to say we should care about desperate opressed peoples beyond the nation, but if he wanted to stay loyal to Mengzi, instead of Mozi, he would have to change his rhetoric of the pettiness of patriotic sentiment.

1. Tierney, Robert. Monster of the Twentieth Century: Kotoku Shusui and Japan’s First Anti-Imperialist Movement. Berkeley: Univ of California Press, 2015, pp66-68. [↩]
2. ibid., p59. [↩]
3. Mengzi: With Selections from Traditional Commentaries trans. Bryan W. van Norden, Book 3A5.3a-c, p74. [↩]

In this module we will explore the ideas and lives of East Asians who offered stark new visions of social and political order or creatively reconfigured and redeployed ideas from the rich philosophical and religious traditions of the region. We will move beyond some of the best known political figures of East Asian history and learn about a broad cast of interesting characters. We’ll learn about He Zhen, who believed that world revolution could not find success without first crushing the tyrannical rule of men. We’ll meet a retired warlord Yan Xishan, who wanted to create a “Cosmopolitan International,” that could destroy the twin evils of capitalism and communism and recreate something similar to China’s imperial examination system to build a global meritocratic order of sages. We’ll read about Onisaburo Deguchi, who saw himself as the messianic figure of Maitreya Buddha come to reorder the world and explore the career of the leader of a peasant uprising, Ch’oe Che-u, whose synthesis of teachings was to teach the world how reconnect to the ultimate reality of the universe. Our goal is to better understand how the intellectual history of the region allowed ideas and traditions to weave together and evolve across the past hundred and fifty years or so.

A PDF of the module handbook for the module can be downloaded here here via its github repository where changes will be made as the module evolves in the future:

MO3354 Rethinking the World in East Asia 1850s-1990s – Handbook