Translingual World Order: Language without Culture in Post-Russo-Japanese War Japan – Varvara

The author brings attention to Esperanto being misunderstood as a failed project that has survived as a “utopian curiosity” kept alive by a “handful of intelligentsia”. Likewise, the author offers the view that Esperanto revises our understanding of internationalism in Japan, which is too often seen simply as a product of World War I and shaped exclusively by the democratic and internationalist promises made by the Allied nations at that time. By tracing instead the rise of Esperantism to the Russo-Japanese War, the author offers the origins of worldism in Japan instead to an indigenous intellectual and cultural critique of Japanese imperialism and the corresponding hierarchical world order.

Esperanto was a communicative transnational tool that enabled the free formation of transnational societies and associations. The author believes that Esperanto in Japan was to amplify the diversity and equality between local cultures and vernacular languages, irrespective of their belonging to the different nation states. The author views the phenomenon as the linguistic glue for individuals, groups, and associations as it promoted the expansion of cultural encounter mutual influence, and differentiation among cultural entities.

This article focuses on how Japanese Esperantism developed after the Russo-Japanese war in a manner that departed from the global Esperantism. This article does not offer a total picture of the Japanese Esperantism, but rather zeroes on its intellectual origins and its rise in Japan. The author believes it to be acting as a means to delineate “worldism”, a popularly circulated version of world order practiced by early Esperanto supporters in Japan. Because many Esperantists, including many of its best-known figures, in Japan, never became members of an Esperanto organization, this article, likewise, approaches Esperantism as a nongovernmental movement rather than a nongovernmental organization.

Han Yongun: Universal Compassion and Socialism in ‘minjung’ Buddhism

Religion and socialism have not historically integrated into a coherent ideology. In the case of Korea in the 20th century, one Buddhist monk in particular attempted to merge Buddhist reform with socialist ideals to advocate both for the modern value of Buddhism and the national struggle for independence, blatantly disagreeing with the socialist summation of religion as unnecessary and distracting from the path to political freedom.

Han Yongun was a Korean Buddhist monk, poet, and political activist who advocated for Buddhist reform in the late 19th and early 20th century amidst Japan’s increasing involvement in the Korean government. Buddhism during this time was perceived as being against Korean nationalism and especially susceptible to Japanese collaboration, characterizing itself as an individual and disconnected religion which had no place in nationalist struggles or the pursuit of modernization. Han Yongun took it upon himself to adapt Buddhist principles and structures to better suit the modern challenges facing the Korean community, simultaneously re-integrating Buddhism into the national conversation and furthering his anti-colonial mission by utilizing socialist structures for the improvement of the nation. Ultimately, Han’s Buddhist reform efforts reflected specifically socialist principles, aiming for a socially engaged Buddhism which would respond to the needs of the oppressed.

One of the most important changes he made was to the idea that Buddhism was about individual salvation which left it disconnected from the civilian community. Han’s proposed reforms shifted Buddhism’s central tenets to reflect the social activism necessary for strengthening the population and cultivating a coherent identity, highlighting the importance of Buddhism in achieving the utopian ‘great unity’ of the world.1 Key to this reform was the concept of absolute equality and universal compassion–displaying that Buddhists should be simultaneously devoting themselves to internal development and contributing to the welfare of others.2 His treatise ‘On the Reformation of Korean Buddhism’ emphasized compassionate action and social responsibility, urging monks to engage with the suffering of the people based on the Mahayana ideal of the universal Buddha-nature–linking it specifically to equality which was recognized as a sign of modernity.3 Additionally, he aimed to make Buddhism as accessible as possible to the masses, specifically through the translation of Buddhist works into Korean.

From this point, it becomes clear how Han Yongun’s reforms aligned with socialism, particularly in addressing inequality and critiquing the oppressive systems which threatened Korea during this time. The influence of Liang Qichao–and through his works, key Western concepts of Social Darwinism–Han Yongun’s concepts of reform functioned within the Darwinian survival struggle on a global scale which led him to an engagement with socialist concepts. Han specifically displays this socialist influence in his advocacy for the redistribution of resources within the sangha, encouraging monasteries to support the poor and vulnerable. Han Yongun’s minjung Buddhism (Buddhism for the masses) addressed the concerns of Buddhism’s alignment with Japanese intervention by proposing self-government of the religious community, while also reaching out to those in need.4

He saw these two goals integrated through the restructuring and centralization of Buddhist institutions, establishing the sangha (Buddhist community) as independent from government regulation while providing for the lay community. In addressing the increasingly modernized environment of Korea, Han’s ‘Record on the Reformation of Korean Buddhism’ suggested “that Buddhism should be involved in making secure the lives of the minjung”, supporting the poor by generating income by running factories through the invested funds of Buddhist.5 By addressing the concerns of the Korean people, Han hoped to make Buddhism relevant to the national struggle, reshaping both socialist ideals and Buddhist concepts to modernize Buddhism as a philosophy and religion.

  1. Tikhonov, Vladimir and Miller, Owen, Selected Writings of Han Yongun: From Social Darwinism to Socialism with a Buddhist Face (Folkestone, 2008), p. 7, 9. [↩]
  2. Park, Pori, ‘A Korean Buddhist Response to Modernity: Manhae Han Yongun’s Doctrinal Reinterpretation for His Reformist Thought’ in Jin Y. Park (ed.) Makers of Modern Korean Buddhism (New York, 2010), p. 51. [↩]
  3. Tikhonov and Miller, Selected Writings of Han Yongun, p. 7. [↩]
  4. Park, ‘A Korean Buddhist Response to Modernity’, p. 49-50. [↩]
  5. Ibid., p. 48. [↩]

Westernization of Buddhism: A New Denomination?

Throughout time and within the current of growing globality ideas, philosophies, morals, and religions have all been introduced, interpreted, and shared worldwide.  Notably, from the 1880s and 1890s until the early 1910s, there was a growing fascination with Buddhism in what is known as the West. Europeans and Americans who traveled to Asia brought back knowledge about Buddhism, among other religions. This knowledge about Buddhism began to grow both in the scholarship realm and the populous. Chapter Two of Thomas A. Tweed’s The American Encounter with Buddhism, 1844-1912: Victorian Culture and the Limits of Dissent, “‘Shall We All Become Buddhists?’ the conversation and the converts, 1879-1912” covers this growing fascination with Buddhism and why it struck Westerners so much. Importantly, the chapter discusses how the Western interpretation of Buddhism led to converts to the religion in America especially, and if that Buddhism was really the same as the Buddhism practiced in Asia.

Colonization may have opened the world up, but it also brought many challenges, one of which was the way that religions and their practices were interpreted. Buddhism, in the 1880s and 1890s, was brought to the West through Western scholars who would translate and read Buddhist texts, and then interpret them in their own Western mindset, a mindset that was heavily influenced by Christianity. There was very little conversation with Asian scholars of Buddhism, and thus this interpretation of the religion and philosophy led to a perhaps different Buddhism in the West than what was practiced in Asia.

Religion is something that is very important to many people who practice, and even those who do not. The importance of religion, thus, begs the question of whose ‘denomination’ or whose ‘interpretation’ of religion is the true one. Christianity has gone through many changes through that questioning, and interestingly enough, in the late 1800s and early 1900s in America, there was a similar line of questioning among Americans who were converting to Buddhists.

There were several Buddhists from Asia who immigrated, a “majority” of whom “were Chinese and Japanese living on the West Coast and in Hawaii”1. While there is not an exact number of practicing Buddhists at the time, there were twelve Pure Land Buddhist groups by 1906 along the West coast, and eight more by 19122. This slow growth of Buddhism correlated with the growth of Caucasian Americans who converted to Buddhism. Their Buddhism, however, “combined traditional Buddhist doctrines with beliefs derived from Western sources”3. This blend of Buddhism was informed mainly by the Western scholarship gathered about Buddhism that was not engaged in conversation with Asian scholarship on Buddhism and was heavily influenced by how Europeans viewed the world and their mainly Christian-centered ideals. Can this Buddhism be seen as part of the religion of Buddhism practiced in Asia or by Asian immigrants in America? As the text points out, “the Chinese transformed Indian Buddhism rather significantly”, however, some 19th-century writers questioned the authenticity of the Caucasian American Buddhists, saying they were “expressing, simplicity or explicitly, either competing personal religious convictions or naively self-assured notions about the true ‘essence’ of Buddhism”4.

There are many different ways to view such a complicated subject. On the one hand, there could be the view that most people in the late 1800s who converted to Buddhism “got it wrong, that only a handful were ‘real’ Buddhists” or that they “might have been driven more by love of the exotic or the quest for attention”5. However, the text also argues for self-definition- to trust the definition that each religious person chooses for themselves and that many of the Caucasian American Buddhist converts truly believed that they were Buddhist, even if it wasn’t the Buddhism practiced in Asia.

Self-determination is a weighty trust to give, that probably should be given weight, however, does that change the religion, or make it a different denomination? One could argue, certainly, that it does. The globality of Buddhism in the 1880s-1910s certainly argues that westernization of religion was important and that religion, as always, is never simple.

  1. Tweed, Thomas A. The American Encounter with Buddhism, 1844-1912: Victorian Culture and the Limits of Dissent (Chapel Hill, 2005), p.  34 [↩]
  2. Ibid, p. 36 [↩]
  3. Ibid, p. 40 [↩]
  4. Ibid, p. 41 [↩]
  5. Ibid, p. 42 [↩]

Tanaka Chigaku’s ‘The Age of Unification’ and its justification of Japanese militarism

Tanaka Chigaku was born in a staunch Buddhist family in 1868, only a few years before the Meiji Restoration.1 Disillusioned by the Meiji regime’s attack on Buddhism, he abandoned his priestly training to become a lay evangelist, preaching his doctrine of Nichirenism.2 In the 20th century, this doctrine would justify Japan’s militarism, nationalism and imperialism, through his belief that the entire world must be unified around Japan.3 An exert, ‘The Age of Unification’, from his seminal text – Nichirenshugi kyogaku taikan, or ‘An Overview of Nichirenshugi Doctrinal Studies’, originally published between 1904 and 1913 – perfectly describes and explains his desire for unity. While mostly discussing world unity in peaceful, religious terms, the ongoing background of Japan’s militarism and subsequent imperialistic expansion under these terms makes the text an important document of history.

 

Tanaka repeatedly stresses the need for a ‘world unification’ of religion, morality, society and government.4 He stresses that past attempts at world unification – through solely military means, such as those of Alexander or Napoleon, or solely diplomatic means, such as international law and peace conferences – were lacking in religion and morality.

He offers a few steps on how this can be achieved. First, Japan must have a coexistence between religion and government; ‘government must be subsumed within Buddhism, and then Buddhism must be applied to government’.5 Other religious practices, such as Shintoism (which he describes as the ‘barbarous practices’ of worshipping foxes and badgers) must be eliminated.6 As evidence, he recounts prosperous periods in Japanese history in which Buddhism and government were aligned, such as the reign of the Emperor Kanmu; and periods in which the government did not accept Buddhism, such as under Nobunaga, when ‘spiritual poison’ seeped into the nation.7 After the government has accepted the great dharma, Nichiren writes that the emperor must hand down an edict for an ordination platform to be built; Tanaka interprets this that, if Nichiren was writing about the shogunate or military government, then in Tanaka’s era a resolution of the National Diet would do.2

And what of resistance to world unification? Tanaka writes, euphemistically, that ‘debates are ultimately resolved by the power of finance or aggression’; thus Japan must strengthen herself both financially and militarily.8 He writes that, if Japan follows his instructions, during the ‘impending’ Russo-Japanese War the country will be able to deploy fleets in the Japan Sea, the China Sea, the Sea of Okhotsk and send a division to Siberia – specifying for the first time his exact military desires.2 He makes it clear that when a priesthood ‘forgets the two great practical forces of financial power and military might’ it ‘becomes powerless to accomplish anything’.2

 

Thus Tanaka’s doctrine of Nichirenism firmly justifies Japanese military expansion and imperialism around the world. Although it predates the Russo-Japanese war, it predicts the Japanese Empire which in a few decades’ time would span from Alaska to Singapore.

  1. Jacqueline I. Stone, ‘Tanaka Chigaku on “The Age of Unification”, in Georgios T. Halkias and Richard K. Payne (eds), Pure Lands in Asian Texts and Contexts: An Anthology (University of Hawai’i, 2019), p. 632. [↩]
  2. Ibid. [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
  3. Jacqueline I. Stone, ‘By Imperial Edict and Shogunal Decree: Politics and the Issue of Ordination Platform in Modern Lay Nichiren Buddhism’ in Steven Heine and Charles S. Prebish (eds), Buddhism in the Modern World: Adaptations of an Ancient Tradition (Oxford University Press), p. 193. [↩]
  4. Stone, Tanaka Chigaku, p. 650. [↩]
  5. Ibid, p. 640. [↩]
  6. Ibid, p. 646. [↩]
  7. Ibid, p. 644. [↩]
  8. Ibid, p. 647. [↩]

Convergence or Collision: The interplay between Chinese tradition and Protestantism in Taiping ideology

Taiping ideology utilised elements of both Chinese and Western religious tradition in a bid to establish a Heavenly Kingdom on earth. This was inevitable in a society with heavily ingrained values of mandated authority being exposed to new systems of communal identity and conduct. Applying Protestant Christianity to this context led to the Taiping movement becoming a fusion of revolutionary innovation and the traditional dynastic cycle, though the practical success of this would be limited.

A clear example of this convergence is the structure of authority imposed by the leader of the movement, Hong Xiquan. The Taiping organisational system with the Heavenly Father (God), Jesus (the Heavenly Elder Brother) and Hong (the Heavenly Younger Brother) demonstrates a continuation of Confucian familial hierarchy ideals as a source of power. Hong sought to derive personal legitimation by presenting himself as both a messianic figure and a senior part of the holy family. While it could be said that this inverted the Confucian emphasis on filial obedience by prioritising loyalty to God and rulers above that of the family, ultimately it is more convincing to interpret this as an intentional coalescence of political and religious moral authority within familial structures that people could identify with and devote themselves to. What Western and Qing observers both saw in Taiping religion at the time therefore was a ‘form of Christianity influenced in part by Chinese native sectarian traditions’._1

 Furthermore, the Taipings used the traditional vocabulary of the ‘Mandate of Heaven’ and the dynastic cycle to frame their argument that the current imperial system needed to be destroyed and replaced with the new Kingdom of Heaven on earth. Famine and economic depression in the 1840s, harsh taxation, and weakness in the face of foreign incursions had undermined the authority of the imperial government and opened discussions about the loss of the Mandate of Heaven. The Taipings could therefore justify their revolution as being part of a longer cyclical tradition of uprising and new governance. Their very name, translating to ‘Great Peace’ evoked a time of perfect harmony and order similarly championed by earlier reformers and millenarian movements._2 Also, the Tiantiao Shu, the official declaration of Taiping creed widely circulated in 1852, claims that ancient monarchs and people in China long ago had also worshiped the Christian God in accordance with the ‘great Way’ before ‘erroneously follow[ing] the devil’s path’._3 This further demonstrates the perceived need to construct a wider legitimising narrative around the Taiping righteously returning China to its original holy state.

Many of the commandments in the Tiantiao Shu were in line with Protestant fundamentalist advocation of a simple faith, such as prohibitions against opium smoking and gambling, that would have appealed to the inherent puritanism of Chinese peasantry. This can also be seen in the Youxue Shi, which provided simple formulations of the basic religious and moral principles followers of the Taiping were expected to follow. The very phrasing and structure of this document is evocative of the San Zi Jing, a Confucian teaching device for children that was designed for easy memorisation and recitation. In a similar way to how Confucian tenets were often learnt by rote, the Ten Heavenly Commandments, the core of the Taiping ethical code, were often memorised by Taiping followers for the purpose of self-cultivation, even if they were relatively ill-informed on other scripture or practice._4 Therefore, although the Taipings were often critical of Confucianism’s associations with the established elite, there were many references in their core texts, not only in terms of social and political values but in the very organisation and phrasing, that was in direct reference and emulation of Confucian and traditional Chinese convention.

This argument must, however, not be overstated, as I do acknowledge that Taiping ideology did take some clear divergences from established tradition. For instance, the Taiping’s ideas about monotheism drastically diverged from the old cult of Heaven that was traditionally under the remit of the rulers; instead, the religion they offered was one that was more accessible for all, one where the pious individual could have their own direct relationship with God. Furthermore, conservative Confucians like Zeng Guofan would not have approved of the level of economic regulation the Taiping advocated for, including an economic egalitarianism that would predate the later Chinese Communist movement. Though these ideas were largely disseminated in texts such as Tianchao tianmu zhidu which set out plans for the strict militaristic organisation of society, they were never put into effect in Taiping-controlled areas despite their popularity amongst the peasantry._5 This, along with the fact that the structure of the system they posit is reminiscent of traditional order and balance earlier Chinese thinkers advocated for, indicates that there was a fundamental incompatibility, or at least an inconsistency, in the Taiping’s attempt to be innovative while adhering to an earlier traditional value system.

In this way, the Taiping’s fusion of traditional established values and new conceptions of social organisation was ultimately unsuccessful in creating the utopia they sought. While the movement was very appealing to those struggling economically, opposed to the Manchu government, or seeking security amidst shifts that were occurring with foreign incursions (rallying points for prior dynastic movements), in the end a failure to enlist external support, such as from the West, or maintain a stable political leadership would see the Taiping Rebellion collapse. Instead, the defenders of tradition would prevail, at least for the short term.

  1. O’Reilly, Thomas, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom: Rebellion and the Blasphemy of Empire, (Seattle, 2014), p. 117 [↩]
  2. De Bary, W. T., Lufrano, Richard John, Wing-tsit Chan and John Berthrong, Sources of Chinese Tradition: From 1600 Through the Twentieth Century, (New York, 2000), p.214. [↩]
  3. Tiantiao Shu, quoted in Sources of Chinese Tradition, p.219. [↩]
  4. Kilcourse, C. S. Taiping Theology: the Localisation of Christianity in China, 1843-64, (New York, 2016), p.120 [↩]
  5. De Bary, p.224 [↩]

‘New’ Culture? Assessing the influence of He-Yin Zhen’s feminist theory on the New Culture Movement

He Zhen (or He-Yin Zhen, as signed in her published writings- to make a case for the preservation of matrilineality in names) was a noted feminist thinker in early twentieth century China.1 Her ideas are characterised by an iconoclastic flair, contrasting majorly from the feminist thoughts of her contemporaries: especially in her unabashed critique of the writings of her peers (predominantly men), and her innovative study of women and womanhood in China using the conceptual category of nannü (untranslatable due to the extent and versatility of its usage in her analysis).2  The 1910s, which constitute the latter half of the period during which Zhen published her writings, also witnessed the birth and rise of what came to be known as the New Culture Movement- a near decade-long effort of young Chinese intellectuals to push for reform in China. 

Given the close proximity (spatial and temporal) of these two, it is natural to ask the following question: was this overlap of the New Culture movement and He-Yin Zhen’s feminist theory merely chronological? or was there an ideological synergy between the two?

I will briefly examine some key features of He-Yin Zhen’s feminist theory, and assess whether they played a part in shaping the ideas that emerged from the New Culture Movement. There are two motivations for this: the first is to analyse the popularity of Zhen’s ideas at the time of publishing. Were they an instant hit? Second, and related, is to explore the relationship between ideas and practice- I question the extent to which Zhen’s theory actually led to reform. 

Zhen’s feminism and the New Culture Movement share a vehement anti-Confucian flavour. He-Yin’s ideas were rooted in critiquing Confucianism: in her conception of nannü, a gendered human experience is presented as a counter to the theories of human experience in Confucianism.3 The New Culture Movement, too, in its push for reevaluating Chinese culture, was sharply critical of Confucianism.4 Here, it should be noted that Zhen’s attack on Confucianism is amongst the first of its kind- and thus, it paved the way for later condemnation- the New Culture Movement’s critique, then, being one such instance of it.5  

Further, the New Culture Movement’s call for reform, as well as its emphasis on women’s liberation, can also, in sentiment, be attributed to Zhen’s ideas. But beyond these general similarities, there exist some key divergences. 

First, and most notably, is vastly differing attitudes towards the West. Persistent in Zhen’s writing is a disapproving outlook of the West. She believed that the idea that women are free in the West is flawed- and therefore, the West is by no means an appropriate model  for China to adopt. Further, she claims that Chinese men that look to the West through eyes of envy, and express a desire for emulation (even if this involves suffrage, and women’s education) are implicitly motivated by a desire to continue the subordination of women.6

The New Culturalists, on the other hand, looked to the West as a source of inspiration, especially in their reevaluation of the institution of family in China. They pushed for xiao jiating (‘small family’) as a new way of looking at families, in the vein of the nuclear family model of the West.7 While the motivations for this model- the sexual freedom and economic independence of women- are in line with Zhen’s feminist theory, Zhen would disagree with this model; not only because of its imitation of the West, but also because of her view that family as an institution, in any form, is flawed.  She argued that the economic dependence of women was not because of family, but rather, due to the belief that there are specific jobs for women and men.8 Insofar as this belief persisted, any model of family could not guarantee economic independence for women- this could only take place when women are free to choose their jobs.

Finally, Zhen continuously emphasised in her writings that women’s issues were not subordinate to those of the nation- and China’s progress was necessarily tied to women’s liberation.9 Here, again, the New Culturalists diverge-towards the end of the 1910s and the beginning of the 1920s, they had to shed their individualism and eventually show support for national interests.10

Evident in this recurring divide is what has been described as an ‘asymmetry between her [Zhen’s] theory and her history’- we see that this asymmetry persists in the events that followed her theory too.11 Peter Zarrow is more optimistic on this account, and argues that Zhen’s influence shouldn’t be measured in the short term; rather, in the long term we see that the freshness of Zhen’s ideas widened the scope of later discourse on women’s issues.12

It can be concluded that the absence of immediate influence and popularity reflects, counterintuitively, the significance of Zhen’s writings- her analyses being ahead of their time and innovative. Nevertheless, it is also worth noting that there is a distance between her ideas of reform, and the actuality of it.

  1. ‘Introduction’ in Liu, Lydia He, Rebecca E. Karl and Dorothy Ko (eds.), The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory, pp. 2-3 [↩]
  2. Ibid., p. 10 [↩]
  3. ‘Introduction’ in Liu et. al, Chinese Feminism, p. 15 [↩]
  4. Glosser, Susan L., Chinese Visions of Family and State, 1915-1953, p. 6 [↩]
  5. ‘The Historical Context’ in Liu et. al, Chinese Feminism, p. 36 [↩]
  6. Ibid., pp. 1-4 [↩]
  7. Linda K. Kerber, ‘Foreword’, in Glosser, Chinese Visions, pp. x-xii [↩]
  8. Zarrow, Peter, ‘He Zhen and Anarcho-feminism in China’, The Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 47, no.4 (1988), pp. 806-807 [↩]
  9. Ibid. p. 796 [↩]
  10. Glosser, Chinese Visions, p. 220 [↩]
  11. ‘The Historical Context’ in Liu et. al, Chinese Feminism, p. 28 [↩]
  12. Zarrow, ‘He Zhen and Anarcho-feminism’, p. 810-811 [↩]

How do we Write Spatial History? Examining Fujianese Maritime Rituals

Spatial history is an analytical framework which seeks to understand abstract layers of the lived experiences of individuals and communities. Exploring the interplay between the physical and the abstract dimensions of a space–whether it be a home, a city or a sailing ship, to name a few examples–can offer us new perspectives on how spaces were felt and understood emotionally by their inhabitants. These emotions, in turn, may illuminate new dimensions of the social or political exercises of certain groups in relation to space and place. Compelling academic work surrounding spatial history often blends together the trappings of many different disciplines such as geography, anthropology, and even environmental sciences to create richer analysis and meaningful storytelling.

However, despite spatial history’s desire to discover and describe such a fundamental human experience–the emotional layers of the spaces we inhabit–the theory and language which are necessary to express these layers sometimes veer dangerously toward the abstract and intangible. This blog post seeks to highlight an intriguing piece of recent scholarship from Cambridge which in my opinion successfully balances dimensions of spatial history with a strong narrative thread which grounds the analysis in its physical space and alongside the human lives which surround it.
Historian Ilay Golan’s article “This Ship Prays: The Southern Chinese Religious Seascape through the Handbook of a Maritime Ritual Master” was published this last September (2024) in the Religions journal. In “This Ship Prays”, Golan uses a Daoist liturgical manuscript from between the late seventeenth to early nineteenth century as his primary source to investigate the religious traditions of Fujianese sailors of the South China Sea throughout the early Qing dynasty. The contents of the manuscript include a vast array of rituals to be undertaken by the ship’s crew, directed by their fellow crewmate and “Ritual Master”, at various points and ports of call throughout their voyages. Golan argues that the rituals possess a “trans-locality” about them, uniquely reflecting both the changes and the constants of the professional maritime lifestyle. The manuscript, referred to as “ACZK” is augmented by other travel accounts of these rituals from European perspectives. This cross referencing of accounts serves to strengthen Golan’s analysis whilst also deepening the narrative engagement of the piece: readers are invited to create a richer, more holistic understanding of the rituals and their practitioners using this wider pool of descriptions.

Golan’s work offers a fundamentally spatial perspective into the lived experiences of the Fujianese sailors who engaged with rituals like those found in ACZK. He discusses the concept of “sacred geography” alongside the trans-spatial worship structures outlined in ACZK, and even the aforementioned European travel accounts work to further situate “This Ship Prays” in a complex, developed sense of space. Additionally, Golan maintains a clear narrative voice throughout the piece that both conveys his argument clearly and makes it easier for the reader to follow along in the visualization of these ritual practices and spaces. This clarity and firm connection to a reconstructed reality is something that theory-heavy spatial history (and spatial geography, social science, etc…) pieces sometimes struggle with. Golan successfully marries his complex analysis with this engaging narrative style. His compelling voice is more than just set-dressing: it makes his history feel ‘real’, and in a sense it also restores humanity to the sailors he discusses.

“This Ship Prays” reminds us that successful spatial histories need not wallow in abstract theory in order to tackle abstract realities. Golan offers thoughtful, respectful analysis to ACZK’s rituals, and in doing so he provides audiences with an impactful vision of the layered space of Fujianese merchant vessels and the South China Seas which surrounded them. The physical helm, the spiritual helm-god. The physical stormy seas, the spiritual angry deity. In understanding the concurrence of the physical and the spiritual, we glean valuable new insight into the lives and landscapes of these historical actors.

The Meiji Restoration and the Productivity of Women

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heyin Zhen and Achieving True Liberation for Women

Heyin Zhen was a prominent Chinese feminist and anarchist thinker in the early 20th century. She was critical not only of the oppression of women under the established Confucian order, but also of the bourgeois reform movements that ostensibly championed the liberation of women from said oppression. In her article “On the Matter of Women’s Liberation,” Heyin argued that the gender equality championed by these reform movements could not actually liberate women; true liberation could only come through the abolition of all forms of oppression, be it social, political, or economic. 

Heyin argued that traditional patriarchal values regarded women as commodities to be exploited by men for the sake of procreation and parenthood. As such, women were confined to the house and regarded as slaves; indeed all manor of customs and language were developed to uphold this status of confinement. At the same time, Heyin noted that men too suffered from oppression under the patriarchy. Because women were confined to the home, men were forced to shoulder all the financial burden of family.1

For Heyin, the oppression of labor suffered by men was no lesser evil compared to the oppression of confinement suffered by women. As such , Heyin rejected the idea that women could be liberated simply through the assumption of male gender roles. She noted that lower-class women were long forced to shoulder part of the financial burden alongside the men; such an experience was anything but liberating.2 For these same reasons, Heyin was very critical of the male-led gender reform movements in China at the time. She further asserted that these male reformers did not truly care about the rights of women, and only sought to use gender reform to further their own interests. Heyin listed three purported ulterior motives of the male reformers.  First, Chinese men saw that the colonial powers were strong and thus sought to emulate them; it just so happened that women in these countries had more freedoms than in China. Second, the economic hardships of the late Qing meant that keeping women out of the labor force was no longer sustainable even for the middle class, thus women were encouraged to “free” themselves from domestic confinement and make their own living. Finally, having long struggled to support their households, these men sought to transfer their burden over to women in the name of “equality.”3  

In attacking the male gender reformers, Heyin asserted that the patriarchy could not and would not reform itself out of existence. Indeed, any “feminist” reform championed would be invariably tailored to ensure the continued existence of the patriarchy. Such reforms, though giving the appearance of emancipating women, in reality allowed men to continue their exploitation of women in a modern environment. If men could not be trusted to free women, the logical conclusion would be that women would have to lead their own liberation. Yet even here Heyin urges caution. 

Heyin was no less critical of contemporary female reformers than she was of their male counterparts. She argued that the reforms championed by such women only created a superficial parity between men and women without actually removing the underlying oppression. Heyin was especially critical of the women’s suffrage movement. Heyin argued that only a small minority of (upper class) women would actually be empowered by the right to vote and this empowered minority would only contribute another layer to the oppression of the unempowered majority. Heyin’s rejection of such tokenization encompassed not only gender, but class as well. She asserted that even the most progressive champions of the masses (i.e. socialists) became just as oppressive as every other member of the ruling class soon as they achieved power.3 Heyin’s attitude towards politics amounted to a wholesale rejection of authority, regardless of who wielded it. To her, any relationship, political or otherwise, that involved one party asserting power over another other was inherently oppressive and worthy of being opposed. Being equal in name only could by no means be called “liberation” if there was no equality in practice. Heyin thus believed that the only true liberation for women was total liberation: liberation not only from the patriarchy, but also from all other forms of oppression and exploitation.  

  1. Zhen Heyin, “On the Question of Women’s Liberation,” Tianyi Bao, 1907. [↩]
  2. Ibid. [↩]
  3. Ibid [↩] [↩]

Making sense of pro- and anti-Japanese behaviour in Tonghak

The Tonghak Rebellion is a popular anti-foreign rebellion in Korea in 1894, led by followers of the Tonghak religion, with Chŏn Pongjun, a local Tonghak leader, at its head. The imposition of Japanese influence at the head of the Korean government following the first rebellion ignited a second rebellion directed at the Japanese, which eventually crushed the rebellion at Kongju.1 With the failure of the Tonghak Rebellion and the crackdown on Tonghak by the Korean government, ideas of political reform gained currency in the now-underground Tonghak, as well as the prospect of Japanese intervention in modernisation.2 Later, the Chinbohoe was formed in 1904 on the basis of Tonghak’s religious organisation with the aim of reforming the Korean government by limited monarchical and local elites’ power, as well as to support the Japanese war effort during the Russo-Japanese war.3 In its advocacy for the Korean people’s rights and reform, Chinbohoe and Ilchinhoe, a political organisation also with the goal of political reform, merged in 1904 under the latter’s name.4

The lineage of Tonghak involvement in both the anti-foreign, anti-Japanese Tonghak rebellion, and the pro-Japanese intervention Ilchinhoe, is curious, and at first glance, contradictory. Yet in both the Tonghak Rebellion and in the later grassroot reform efforts by the Inchinhoe, these did not represent the totality of their aims and motivations, and some similarities can be found in their other stated aims. One such aim rests in a concern for the economic injustices inflicted on their grassroot supporters by the Korean government.

Commonly cited as being the demands of the Tonghak Rebellion, a list of twelve demands for reform promulgated during the middle part of the rebellion seems to suggest an overtly egalitarian and radical program for the benefit of the masses. Its authenticity is disputed, however, originating as it did from a historical novel authored by a writer sympathetic to the Tonghak cause, within a social milieu of strong socialist influences.5 Instead, a list of 14 reform demands submitted to the government during the first rebellion can be considered.6 While the overt egalitarianism that later historiography would attribute to the rebellion’s radicalism would be absent in this list of demands, the demands listed reflected a primary concern with “corrupt” local officials, and more significantly with taxes that were the concerns of its supporters. The underlying motive of the first rebellion lies separate to the anti-Japanese sentiment of the second rebellion.

Around a decade later, the Ilchinhoe engaged in a campaign of ‘tax resistance’ between 1904-1907.7 The underlying motive behind its resistance was the group’s belief in the popular control over taxes and tax administration, in conflict with the Korean monarch’s tax reforms that centralised powers onto the monarchy itself.8 The Ilchinhoe advocated for refusing to pay miscellaneous taxes, promulgated recommended changes to taxes, and brought in tax collectors that operated in parallel to the Korean monarch.9 All this was framed in the Ilchinhoe’s advocacy for ‘civilised rule’, which in their conception was consistent with their support for Japanese intervention in Korea, as Japan was considered a ‘civilising’ force in Korea.

Thus the contradiction between the anti-Japanese sentiments of the Tonghak Rebellion and the pro-Japanese aims of the Ilchinhoe is not intractable as these purposes did not constitute the totality of their group’s existence. Instead, their attitudes to the Japanese stood alongside other aims subsumed within a larger nexus of ideas and grievances about the structure of rule in Korea.

  1. Peter H. Lee, William Theodore De Bary, Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, Sources of Korean tradition (New York, 1997), pp. 262-263. [↩]
  2. Carl Young, ‘Eastern Learning Divided: The Split in the Tonghak Religion and the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1904–1910’, in Emily Anderson (ed.), Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea (Singapore, 2017), pp. 81-82. [↩]
  3. Ibid., pp. 82-83. [↩]
  4. Yumi Moon, ‘Immoral Rights: Korean Populist Collaborators and the Japanese Colonization of Korea, 1904—1910’, The American Historical Review, 118: 1 (February 2013), p. 29. [↩]
  5. Young Ick Lew, ‘The Conservative Character of the 1894 Tonghak Peasant Uprising: A Reappraisal with Emphasis on Chŏn Pong-jun’s Background and Motivation’, The Journal of Korean Studies, 7 (1990), pp. 165-167. [↩]
  6. Ibid., pp. 170-171. [↩]
  7. Yumi Moon, ‘Immoral Rights’, p. 33. [↩]
  8. Ibid., pp. 33-35. [↩]
  9. Ibid., pp. 35-37. [↩]