Rethinking the World in East Asia 1850s-1990s

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. [↩]

During the early to mid 1900s (ending around 1945) the Japanese state and government expanded their empire into the reaches of China and Korea, with continued expansion into the great Asia continent being planned. These expansions were led by men such as Tanaka Chigaku (1861-1939), whose approach to conquest was justified by his interpretation of the ideal of compassion found in Nichiren Buddhism{1}.  

Tanaka Chigaku was a Japanese nationalist, imperialist, and militarist during the Russo-Japanese War, as well as both World Wars. He was an avid student of Nichiren Buddhism, and professed that it led to the one true path for all humanity: all human, joined together under the banner of the Japanese imperial family while worshipping the gods Amaterasu-kami and Hachiman as universal deities{2}. Tanaka claimed that this was given out by Nichiren under the phrase Nippon no enbudai – to include the whole earth in Japan{3}. This objective of Nippon no enbudai would be complete by what Tanaka called shakubuku – conquer evil aggressively{4}.  

The concept of shakubuku is the main focus, as Tanaka used it as a justification for the aggression against China in the 1930s, saying “When it is said that the Japanese Imperial Army is an army of humanity and justice, for maintaining justice and building peace, it means that it is a force for compassion. The shakubuku of Nichirenism must be like this”{5}. For Tanaka, “compassion” was an extension of the emperor-centric Japanese polity (kokutai) that had dominated the land for since the Meiji Restoration. For Tanaka, and most Nichiren imperialist, the world was destined to united under the emperor by means of the Lotus Sutra – the central sutra of Nichiren Buddhism – and the sword.  

To Tanaka, it was the sacred duty of the Japanese to extend kokutai to those of non-Japanese origin. He claimed that Japan, with its “unbroken line of emperors” was given the right and mandate to “guide and induce every country in the world to become a state ruled by the Way of the Prince”{6}. Tanaka further justified kokutai as a means of imperialism by emphasizing the emperor’s holiness and origin in Heaven as a descendant of Amaterasu-kami, and how the emperors extolled virtues and brilliance inherited from the first Emperor, Jinmu{7}. The implication here being that, due to the emperor’s divine origins and gifts, as well as his inheritance and the Japanese people’s own superiority to endorse shakubuku on a worldwide scale. 

Tanaka placed his beliefs in shakubuku as subordinate to kokutai, yet in his writings and beliefs, certainly seemed to believe that shakubuku was the most important action one could take in their life. His writings and personal beliefs show a strong sense of national pride and superiority, and his fervent belief in Nichiren Buddhism’s such as his Shumon no Ishin{8}. In this, Tanaka shows how fervent his faith in shakubuku is by urging followers of the Lotus Sutra to believe, pray and write aggressively, while also “praying for aggression”, and that when the aggression comes, the people can use the Lotus Sutra as the sword, under their leader – Nichiren – and bring all of Asia – and eventually the world – under Japan’s “guidance” through the “compassion of the Emperor”{9}. This fervent belief can be seen later, during the invasion of Manchuria, which Tanaka was greatly involved in. 

In conclusion, Tanaka’s “compassion” for others was but a front, as while he truly believed that the world could be united under Japan and the Emperor, he also justified it through shakubuku, a practice not unlike that of the Crusades.  

A common theme when studying Japanese intellectuals and thinkers is the problem of placing them within a western ideological spectrum. None may be as difficult to understand as Kita Ikki as he blended both western and eastern philosophy into one world view. Its therefore fascinating to look at his theory on revolution.

Kita Ikki wrote down his observations on the revolutions after his experiences in China between 1911-1913. In his writings in 1916 he identified five points that all revolutions had in common.¹

• 1. Revolution itself does not consist of sudden or violent change. It is a war of ideas that makes a revolution something more than just violent unrest.
  2. Revolution results in the transformation of social values. It must replace the old, not just reform it.
  3. Modern revolutions have the effect of liberating all elements of society. Both in the political and economical sense.
  4. The agents of revolution are not a class, but a self-conscious elite that use the revolutionary ideals with combined political and military power. The current ruling class are never the agents of a revolution.
  5. Revolution is only an internal affair.

Not that these ideas are a completed analysis like the Marxist theory. Even Kita Ikki did not advocate them as a complete guide. He used the Lotus Sutra definition of revolution as a blurred line between being a traitor and loyal subject to show the uncertainty.² The ideas above can nonetheless be used as a basic blueprint to predict the course of future revolutions. I want to give special attention to point 5.

The ideas that influenced revolutions usually originated abroad. The French and Japanese revolution (referring to Meiji Ishin) owed a heritage to ideas from Britain and China respectively, but when ideas encountered a new society they would transform into their own unique blend. This is what made the revolution an internal matter. No idea nor ideology was perfect for every country and had to be implemented through a filter of national ideas. Kita Ikki loudly voiced his rejection of the dogmatic socialists within Japan as he himself rejected Marx’s fixation on the need for class revolution.³ Foreign intervention in an attempt to shape the revolution would only create chaos and unrest. The reason was simple; how could the British understand the French or the Japanese lecture the Chinese on being Chinese?

Revolution therefore had to be something each nation went through on their own. The reasons of a revolution had to be to change the internal political and economic nature of a country. It is for this reason Kita Ikki’s view on revolution is unique. Most Japanese liberals and socialist supported a Japanese copy of western society, but Kita Ikki argues instead that only Japan and other Asian countries have the understanding to create their own revolution. It had to be a fight to reform the nation from within. A singular revolution was often not enough as it often would be betrayed by reactionaries. Neither Japan nor France had attained a proper sovereign nor ended oligarchic rule as Kita Ikki put it.⁴ Kita Ikki did not include struggles like the American war of independence as a revolution since its objective had only been to expel the British.

What is not as clear is the definition on how far a nation’s borders extended. While criticizing Japanese and British attempts to get involved in the affairs of China or India, Kita Ikki did not attempt to advocate for the same rights to Ireland or Korea, both currently being ruled as colonies. Was this an unintentional paradox or practical concession to prevent internal disunity? Kita Ikki’s argued for the need to reconcile with China to avoid fighting a two-front war against their Asian brothers and the Western powers. George M. Wilson argues that this is a continuation of the Japanese tradition Naiyu Gaikan (Trouble from within and without). He argues that Kita Ikki believed that Japan faced the same situation as during the Meiji Ishin⁵. In light of this perspective its reasonable to believe that Kita Ikki could have accepted that Japan’s interior needed to include Korea as the threat of the west was greater than the Koreans right to national independence.

Kita Ikki’s theory of revolution can thus be seen as a response to western imperialism as it sought to create the political justification for Japan and other Asian nations to consolidate their internal revolutions without interference. This revolution would as Kita Ikki saw it lead to economic and political unity within the East Asian societies giving them the power to resist the Western powers. I will address Kita Ikki’s design for Japanese society in a later blog post.

1. George M. Wilson p.90-91 [↩]
2. George M. Wilson p. 92 [↩]
3. George M. Wilson p. 96 [↩]
4. George M. Wilson p.92 [↩]
5. George M. Wilson p.98 [↩]