Deguchi Onisaburō: The Tensions of National Identity and Universal Spirituality

Deguchi Onisaburō’s Oomoto-kyo religion embodied the tensions of nationalism and internationalism in 20th century Japan, blending Japan’s traditional beliefs with a vision of universal harmony to adapt to the fluctuating circumstances and trends of his time. Onisaburō’s teachings expressed a unique fusion of nativist pride and internationalist ideals, illuminating his complex vision for both Japan, as a spiritual beacon, and the world, to collectively unite in peace. Oomoto-kyo emerged as an unrecognized sect of Shinto from a wave of ‘new religions’ in early 20th century Japan, imbued with nativist beliefs in Japanese spiritual superiority and the people’s call for a proper reform of the Meiji government.1 It was from this environment that Onisaburō shaped Oomoto-kyo into a version of Neo-Nativism that retained utopian characteristics of earlier teachings whilst placing Japan in a global context.2

A key part of this process was his interpretation of saisei itchi–the unity of religion and governance, particularly in the upholding of the divine laws found in the classics–which clashed with Japan’s utilization of Shinto for strictly nationalistic purposes. Onisaburō saw Oomoto-kyo’s role as leading a moral transformation that could benefit all of humanity, yet the teachings themselves aligned directly with the elevation of the Japanese self as superior.3 This is further exemplified by his redefinition of yamato damashii–the ‘Japanese spirit’ or Japaneseness–which usually denoted the racial superiority of Japaneseness but was redirected to align with spiritual values of activism and humanitarianism.4 Onisaburō reshaped existing nationalist terms and mythology to align with internationalist ambitions within his religious teachings, exposing the complex web of influence on Oomoto-kyo philosophy and the ambiguous position it held in political discourse during a time of modernization and contact with imperial powers.

The spirit world within Oomoto-kyo’s ideological frameworks occupied a noteworthy place in this dialogue, resituating traditionalist beliefs in modern contexts and threatening the political order in its authority over spiritual truths and even undermining Japan’s divine imperial heritage. Onisaburō claimed that Oomoto-kyo provided the authority to speak for the gods primarily through spiritual possession and the practice of chinkon kishin5 Chinkon invited a spirit into a person as a receptacle for their knowledge, enabling kishin for the communication with the deities.6 This promotion of traditionally modeled spiritual practices appealed to the Japanese population which was faced with global contact and influence, providing a wholly Japanese practice that reconnected them with a national culture.7 It seems counterintuitive, then, that these practices and frameworks could be utilized in an internationalist mission to emphasize universal equality and advocate for peace.

Onisaburō’s ‘Mongolian expedition’, however, outlines exactly how the contradictory national and nativist religious beliefs fit into his movement for international appeal. This was done primarily through a combination of universalist and spiritually imperialistic orientations of Oomoto-kyo. Onisaburō could foster world peace and happiness, yet it would be situated in an expansionist spiritual framework which was specifically pioneered by Japan and connected to Japaneseness.8 Onisaburō wanted to bring spiritual relief to the Mongolians, yet he also wanted to reform them, highlighting the superiority of Oomoto-kyo’s belief structure and the inferiority of the Mongolians while claiming to provide them with an ideology that would permit universal equality and happiness.

In this sense, Onisaburō shaped the Oomoto-kyo religion to adapt to his own personal mission as well as the climate he operated within. With Japan’s increasingly imperial military activity, Onisaburō employed his universalist yet national religious structure to justify their expansion in the 20th century. He went so far as to claim that “Japan had received a mission from heaven to guide the development of Manchuria and Mongolia”, clearly embracing Japan’s superior status stemming from Nativism and identified through his own traditionalist spiritual practices.9 Because Onisaburō developed Oomoto during a time of political change, international contact and conflict, Oomoto reflected the shifting needs of the Japanese population and Onisaburō’s own universalist ideals. This climate resulted in a constant fluctuating tension between universalism and nationalism, tying directly to Nativist roots in Oomoto’s philosophy and Onisaburō’s desire for spiritual equality and peace.

  1. Nancy K. Stalker, Prophet Motive: Deguchi Onisaburō, Oomoto, and the Rise of New Religions in Imperial Japan (Honolulu, 2008), p. 48. [↩]
  2. Ibid. [↩]
  3. Ibid., p. 70. [↩]
  4. Ibid., p. 71. [↩]
  5. Ibid., p. 60. [↩]
  6. Ibid., p. 88. [↩]
  7. Ibid., p. 105. [↩]
  8. Ibid., p. 149. [↩]
  9. Ibid., p. 174. [↩]

Resituating Esperanto in East Asian world imaginaries

Esperanto, a ‘planned’, universal language created by Ludovic Zamenhof in 1887, enjoyed particular popularity in Japan and, to a lesser extent, China in the early twentieth century; Japan was home to the largest Esperanto community outside Europe in the 1920s and 1930s.1 Developing in the paradoxical era of the early twentieth century which involved the simultaneous intensification of nationalism and the emergence of ideas of internationalism, the universalism and ahistoricity of Esperanto meant it was envisioned as a transnational medium to connect all peoples on a non-hierarchical, international basis whilst preserving national identities.

Traditionally, the focus on either cosmopolitanism introduced through interaction with the West, or Pan-Asianism as the reactionary other leaves less space for the appraisal of Asian forms of cosmopolitan internationalism. Esperanto’s popularity in Asia should arguably be viewed in terms of what it represented and its fusion with ideas developing out of Japan and Asia of universalism, global humanity, and world integration: for example Kang Youwei’s visions of world unity from China2 or Kotoku Shusui’s anti-imperialist critique of the Russo-Japanese War as part of the Nonwar movement and his utopian imaginations of transnational sokuin dojo (compassion or empathy).3 Consequently, Esperanto provides a frame through which to examine Asian conceptions of ‘worldism’, which derived as much from indigenous imaginations as ideas transposed from the outside.

In the ‘worldist’ imagination, whose roots are traced back to the Nonwar movement by Kanishi, utopian peace could never emerge through cooperation between nation-states. Instead, they advocated a more total vision of heimen (‘the people’) as a global, transnational construct that “transcended nation-state borders”.4 Esperanto must be viewed through this complexity; its popularity acted as a manifestation or exemplification of an alternative visions of world unity emerging from Asia which embraced cultural diversity and cosmopolitanism and transcended the (Western) system of international relations. In this light, the European roots of Esperanto and its inscribed Eurocentrism are of less immediate relevance, as it is argued that it not necessarily the content of Esperanto that mattered, but more what it symbolically represented. As Rapley rightly emphasises, Esperanto represented both a medium of global communication and, critically, an idea or ideology of world unification.5 ‘Worldism’, of which Esperanto is imagined as a constituent part, takes the world (‘sohei’) and ‘the people’ (‘heimen’), in the abstract sense, as its fundamental basis, rather than the nation or ‘the people’ with the emphasis on ‘the’. As Chan notes, historicising Esperanto brings to light its importance in China as a propaganda medium against both Japanese imperialism and, for the Communist Party, in the civil war against the Nationalists.6 In Japan itself, Konishi argues that it should be considered as part of anti-imperial resistance, part of projections of world order that equally contested Japanese state participation in, on the one hand, Western ‘international relations’ based on the primacy of territorial sovereignty and, on the other, anti-colonial (yet often imperialist) pan-Asian constructions of an Asian collective ‘other’.7

This is not to deny the significance of transnational connections and networks of intellectual exchange; imaginations of internationalism and cosmopolitanism are impossible to conceive in closed spaces and are thus inherently products of transnationalism. Yet, at the same time, reframing Esperanto in this way, as an idea which fused with preexisting and emerging conceptions of world unity, an endpoint for East Asian cosmopolitan imaginaries, helps to rebalance transnational relations between East and West, and highlights that, for some, Esperanto marked a useful endpoint for their ‘worldist’ visions, rather than being the starting point for a new Asian cosmopolitanism. East Asia, especially Japan, was a receptive audience to Esperanto not just because it represented something new, but also because it could be integrated into local imaginations of ‘worldism’.

  1. Ian Rapley, ‘A Language for Asia? Transnational Encounters in the Japanese Esperanto Movement, 1906-1928’, in Pedro Iacobelli, Danton Leary and Shinnosuke Takahashi (eds.), Transnational Japan as History: Empire, Migration, and Social Movements (London, 2016), p.167. [↩]
  2. Kang Youwei and Laurence G. Thompson, Ta T’ung Shu: The One-World Philosophy of K’ang Yu-wei (London, 1958). [↩]
  3. Sho Kanishi, ‘Translingual Word Order: Language without Culture in Post-Russo-Japanese War Japan’, The Journal of Asian Studies, 72:1 (2013), p.96. [↩]
  4.  Ibid., p.99 [↩]
  5. Rapley, ‘A Language for Asia?’, p.170. [↩]
  6. Gerald Chan, ‘China and the Esperanto Movement’, The Australian Journal of Chinese Affairs, 15 (1986), p.11. [↩]
  7. Kanishi, ‘Translingual Word Order’, pp.91-114. [↩]

Esperanto: Universal Language or Failed Prophecy?

Imagine a global order free from national boundaries, where only a singular state governs the world- what language would its citizens communicate in? would we see the creation of one, universal language? This question is addressed in many utopian theories that conceptualise such a nation-free world. K’ang Yu-Wei, a prominent Chinese political thinker in the late  Qing period, proposes the notion of a universal language in Ta t’ung Shu– his book arguing for an ideal ‘one-world’ state free from conflict. He claims that such a world will have a ‘Universal Parliament’ and one of its responsibilities would be to introduce a ‘new system’ of language which would serve as a ‘single way of expressing important ideas’.1

Before this new universal language can become the only language, he claims that an ideal scenario would be bilingualism: where citizens are fluent in the language of their own state, and the universal language.

Is this idea really utopian? Not quite. The early 20th century witnessed the development of a worldwide interest in Esperanto- an artificial language created by Ludwig Zamenhof, intended to allow speakers of different native tongues to converse with one another. This interest particularly grew amongst internationalist groups, that pushed for the transcendence of national boundaries, and the adoption of a ‘cosmopolitan’ global identity.2

So, was Yu-Wei prophetic in his idea of a universal language? Not quite. While Esperanto captures Yu-Wei’s idea of a new universal language, it didn’t live up to its potential. Moreover, if any language comes close to what Yu-Wei hoped for, it is English: not only is it one of the most popular language in the world, it also fits the description of the kind of bilingualism Yu-Wei anticipated. 

Given that the interest in Esperanto as a global language (as well as a tool for transnational communication) was present in the 20th century, why did it lose to English in the race for linguistic hegemony? I argue that this loss can be attributed to the success of British imperialism as a dominant force in shaping global order at the time.

Kim S. Young, in a study tracking the spread of Esperanto across the world in the 20th century, mentions that International Non-Governmental Organisations (INGOs) dedicated to Esperanto were the primary method of facilitating its growth (which was initially significant).3 However, he argues that while this method did foster the growth of globalist sentiment across the world in a rapid manner, it focused on Esperanto very generally; as a consequence, the growth of Esperantist organisations was sporadic. INGOs with more specialised interests and functions took over the responsibility of pushing globalist ideas, while the Esperantist INGOs dwindled, with occasional lukewarm attempts at revival.4  This somewhat informal, unofficial interest in Esperanto is what allowed for British Imperialism to take centre-stage in the proliferation of English.5

English isn’t the universal language Yu-Wei had in mind; he hoped for a world order established on equality, one that is free from conflicts and divisions. To characterise English as Yu-Wei’s ideal universal language, then, would be inaccurate, since its popularity was a result of a world order with a very clear power imbalance.

Would it be fair to say that the proliferation of Esperanto in a more rigorous, formal manner via government institutions would have resulted in it becoming a universal language as intended by Yu-Wei? we cannot say for sure. A possible cause for Esperanto’s failure that remains unexplored in this piece is its linguistic strength- its cleared Indo-European linguistic origins may have hampered its ability to take over as a universal language. These origins are also reflective of the power imbalance which I claimed is present in English’s popularity. The quest for an all-encompassing utopian universal language, thus, persists.

 

  1. Yu-Wei, K’ang, and Laurence G. Thompson. Ta t’ung Shu: The One-World Philosophy of K’ang Yu-Wei. Reprint. Routledge, 2007. pp. 92-94 [↩]
  2. Young, S. Kim“Constructing a Global Identity: The Role of Esperanto.” in Boli, John, George M Thomas (eds.) Constructing World Culture International Nongovernmental Organizations Since 1875. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1999. [↩]
  3. Ibid., pp. 127-129 [↩]
  4. Ibid., pp.144-145 [↩]
  5. Ibid., pp. 146-148 [↩]

Mark Lincicome’s ‘Imperial Subjects as Global Citizens’

Mark Lincicome’s Imperial Subjects as Global Citizens offers an account of the development of the doctrine of international education, spanning a century from the 1880s to the 1980s.1  He presents a radical reunderstanding of Japan’s pre-war education system, which he believes had previously only been written about as one that taught nationalism and militarism. His work seeks to bring to light the nuance and opposition that this system faced throughout the period. Furthermore, he argues that internationalism has been overlooked as a Japanese ideology, and his thorough analysis of the movement’s history certainly does it justice. However, one could argue that his work is overly conceptual, and fails to deal with the more practical consequences of educational reform.

To give a brief summary, the movement of international education begins in the 1870s, when reformers such as Tokutomi Soho, Egi Kazuyuki, and Saionji Konmichi argued that teaching of foreign languages and learning of other cultures should be implemented into the education system. However, these campaigns are swiftly condemned by the Meiji government and fail to take off. Only in the period of Taisho Democracy, the ‘high-water mark’ of the philosophy, do prominent writes and reformers set up institutions and physical schools which put this doctrine into effect.2 He pays particular attention to the thinkers of Noguchi Entaro, Sawayanagi Masataro, Shimonaka Yasaburo and Harada Minoru, and their organisations such as the International Education Society of Japan and the All-Japan League for World Federation. As their names suggest, these organisations were focused on encouraging collaboration, integration and familiarity in global education. Noguchi, in particular, wrote that a mutual understanding and point-of-contact between cultures would lead to global peace, the ultimate goal of humanity.

However, as Japan’s invasions and colonisations of parts of Asia grow, the doctrine begins to conform to the propaganda of the military government and espouse nationalist, imperialist and militarist sentiments. Noguchi becomes a ‘chauvinistic ultra-nationalist’ and dedicates his public writings to defending Japan’s imperialism; while Shimonaka writes that educators must reform Japan from within, removing European influence and realising Japan’s goal of conquering the eight corners of the world.3

Following the end of the Second World War the movement had another revival – or, perhaps, a renaissance of the 1920s – and once again becomes a movement advocating for global peace, prosperity and connectedness. Shimonaka, despite being ‘purged’ in 1947, championed world peace, nuclear disarmament and the liberation of colonised peoples in Asia and Africa until his death.4

Lincicome’s book mostly fails to engage with what one might consider the most important part of education; the children. He does not write about the number of children being taught according to the principles of the reformists, nor the impact their organisations had on the education system. Ultimately, it is an intellectual history of around a dozen thinkers spanning a century. For a study of the ramifications of the Japanese education which has been in use for the past century, perhaps another book is required; but for a deep analysis of one of Japan’s forgotten yet most interesting ideologies, Lincicome’s history of internationalist education should not be missed.

  1. Lincicome, Mark. Imperial Subjects as Global Citizens: Nationalism, Internationalism, and Education in Japan (Lexington Books, 2009). [↩]
  2. Ibid, p. 87. [↩]
  3. Ibid, p. 91. [↩]
  4. Ibid, p. 116. [↩]

Esperanto and the Non-War Movement – Japan’s view on the globe

The first global concept of cosmopolitanism begat in classical Greece, with their view of cultural idealism that would transcend the constraints of traditional locales. But without a institutionalized organizational frame, their beliefs were just that – an ideal.1 It would only be from the mid-nineteenth century onwards that a more institutionalized frame would form, one of the cognitive orientation – the language Esperanto.2 Instead of imagining a world which transcended national boundaries like the Greeks, nineteenth century cosmopolitans envisioned a common language that would promote global citizenship. Common language would give individuals attachment to a concept of world society and rid the world of problems such as miscommunication.3

 

In the case of the use of Esperanto in Japan, it would significantly develop in particular after the Russo-Japanese war, 1904-05. When introduced, it quickly begat a trend with the Japanese annual assessment of leading trends newspaper, the ‘Asahi shinbun’, enthusiastically following, themselves proclaimed, biggest craze of 1906.4 The idea of Esperanto would spread through the studies and discussion of elites and nonelites in noninstitutional spaces such as coffee shops and rural homes.5 It would be in these out of state influence hidden pockets that individuals would start to practice their imagination of world order and peace.

 

 

 

Indeed, Esperanto would challenge the image of the foreigner [gaijin] and enemy. During the Russo-Japanese war, 1904-1905, the notion of ‘worldism’ became distinct from the nation-state centered notion of world order and international relations.5 Esperanto began to be referred as a “world language” [sekaigo] in post Russo-Japanese war.6 This change came hand-in-hand with the invention of “the people”, an imagination of “heimen”, an idea of a people without the state as the subject. Unlike the Marxist proletarian masses of class struggle, this notion was birthed from the significant Non-War movement in Japan.6 And it is this Non-War movement, with its use of Esperanto, that would challenge the vision of the dehumanized version of the enemy.

 

 

 

The Non-War movement revolved greatly around the language and imagery of ‘heimen’, with ‘hei’ meaning ‘plains/ level or horizon’ and ‘min’ – ‘people’. ‘Heimen’ became a term embracing ‘everyone’.7 Non-War supporters viewed war as representing a retrogression of human progress and civilization. Instead, with the use of ‘heimen’, the notion could serve to replace the national, social and ethnic hierarchy with a concretized notion of humanity that extended beyond the territory of the nation-state.7

 

 

 

The Russian common people, as portrayed by one of the leading Japanese papers ‘Shiikan heim’, began to be drawn as instruments of exploitative elites and the government in Russia.8 Japanese readers would now discover that the demonized enemy was, in fact, an exploited people under the social and political elites, who were too much similar to their own national Japanese.

 

 

 

For Kotoku Shusui, one of the leading figures of the Non-War movement, empathy was a naturally occurring sentiments in all human beings and thus was the most natural foundation for the conduct of international relations. ‘Sokuin dojo’ – ‘happens to you’.7 He envisioned a more ethical transnational community based on the idea of the empathetic nature of human beings.7 He saw that patriotism and nationalism, the ‘othering’ of others, artificially bound and territorialized ethics.7

 

 

 

Overall, both the Non-War movement and the rise of Esperanto in Japan led to a change in perception of the foreign world which was out to get you. Both were important to reintroduce the factor of humanity in the minds of a people who were heavily militarized and alienated from global society. The world was not the enemy – language and empathy was the new language to communicate in, to understand one another and bring an end to war and strife. If only most Japanese leadership thought so too.

 

 

 

Biblgiography:

 

KONISHI, SHO. “Translingual World Order: Language without Culture in Post-Russo-Japanese War Japan.” The Journal of Asian Studies 72, no. 1 (2013): 91–114. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23357508.

 

John Boli and George M. Thomas, Constructing World Culture, “Constructing a Global Identity: The Role of Esperanto”, Stanford University Press, California (1999)

  1. John Boli and George M. Thomas, Constructing World Culture, “Constructing a Global Identity: The Role of Esperanto”, Stanford University Press, California (1999), p. 129. [↩]
  2. Boli, Thomas, Constructing World Culture, p. 129 [↩]
  3. Boli, Thomas, Constructing World Culture, pp. 129-130 [↩]
  4. Konishi, Sho. “Translingual World Order: Language without Culture in Post-Russo-Japanese War Japan.” The Journal of Asian Studies 72, no. 1 (2013), p. 91 [↩]
  5. Sho. Translingual World Order, p. 92. [↩] [↩]
  6. Sho. Translingual World Order, p. 94. [↩] [↩]
  7. Sho. Translingual World Order, p. 96. [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩] [↩]
  8. Boli, Thomas, Constructing World Culture, pp. 130 [↩]

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 Japanese 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

 

Tanaka’s doctrine of Nichirenism firmly justified Japanese military expansion and imperialism around the world. Although it predates the Russo-Japanese war, it both predicts and hopes for 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

The Taiping Rebellion was a large-scale civil war in China between 1850-1864, in revolt against the perceived weakness of the Qing dynasty in the face of foreign incursion. Taiping ideology utilised elements of both Chinese and Western tradition to frame their goal of establishing a Heavenly Kingdom on earth, a theocratic monarchy in opposition to the Chinese dynastic empire. This post will discuss the Taiping’s attempts to unite ingrained cultural values with their radical ends, leading to a complex fusion between revolutionary innovation and established structures.

A clear example of this convergence is the structure of authority imposed by the leader of the movement, Hong Xiuquan. Thomas O’Reilly argues that Taiping religion at the time was a ‘form of Christianity influenced in part by Chinese native sectarian traditions’.1 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 as a source of power. Hong sought to derive personal legitimation by presenting himself as both a messianic figure and a senior member of the holy family. While it could be said that prioritising loyalty to God and rulers above that to one’s own family inverted the Confucian emphasis on filial obedience, ultimately it is more convincing to interpret this as an intentional coalescence of political and religious moral authority within relatable familial structures that people could devote themselves to.

Furthermore, the Taipings used the traditional vocabulary of the ‘Mandate of Heaven’ to frame their argument that the current imperial system needed to be replaced with the new Kingdom of Heaven. Famine and economic depression in the 1840s, harsh taxation, and weakness against foreign interference undermined the authority of the imperial government and opened discussions about the loss of the Mandate. The Taipings could therefore justify their revolution as 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 circulated in 1852, claimed 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.

 Moreover, although the Taipings were often critical of Confucianism’s associations with the established elite, there were times when the very organisation and phrasing of their own core texts was in direct reference to traditional Chinese convention. 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. Furthermore, the Youxue Shi provided simple formulations of the basic Protestant-inspired principles followers of the Taiping were expected to follow. The phrasing and structure of this document is however evocative of the San Zi Jing, a Confucian teaching device for children that was designed for easy memorisation and recitation.4  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. 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 Chinese 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.5 This 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.

The Taiping’s fusion of traditional established values and new conceptions of social organisation was ultimately unsuccessful in creating the utopia they sought. In the end, a failure to enlist external support or maintain a stable political leadership would see the Taiping Rebellion disintegrate and collapse.

  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 [↩]