The Capitalism of Christianity

The opening of Japan in the mid 1800s resulted in an intellectual exchange between Japan and the “Western” world as Western countries vied to establish ties with Japan and to exert their own cultural influence on the country.  While the general model for imposing cultural conventions is through capitalist systems, Christian influences took a different approach.  The prevalence of capitalism in the nineteenth century permeated all aspects of life in the United States and many European countries, including missionary work.  H. B. Cavalcanti uses the case of American missionaries in Latin America to demonstrate that even religion could be commodified and used as a means of exerting capitalist influences on other countries.  He describes the competition between American Christian denominations which “competed openly in the American religious market, vying for ‘shares’ of the country’s faithful (Finke and Stark 2000). Once those churches established foreign-mission programs, it was only natural that they tried to reproduce in host countries similar market conditions to the ones enjoyed at home.”[1]  While the spread of capitalism in the nineteenth century seemed to be an unstoppable force which, among its other political, economic, and social consequences, effectively exported Christianity globally, this was not the case in Japan.

Instead, the diplomatic relations between Japan and Russia led to a transnational exchange of ideas which led to the emergence of a form of religious anarchy.  Sho Konishi argues that this cultural exchange was highly influenced by the popularity of Russian literature translated into Japanese.[2]  Populist Russian literature introduced new, and complemented existing solutions to “social problems” which both countries were facing in the aftermath of their revolutions.  A running theme in translations of Russian literature was that “‘society’ began to be defined in this context as a problem of unfettered capitalism.”[3]  The socialist and anarchist themes in Russian literature built off pre-existing anarchist traditions in Japan, creating an anti-capitalist base among Japanese intellectuals.

This Russian translation culture was not only anarchist in nature, but Christian as well.  Konishi uses the popularity of Leo Tolstoy in particular to illustrate this fact.  Just as “Tolstoy became a dangerous apostate of the Russian Orthodox Church, he was gaining a widespread religious following in Japan, where many regarded him as a prophetic religious thinker and a saint.”[4]  But, the Christian ethic which was popularised by Tolstoy does not conform to either the typical Western Christian theology or the methods of its dissemination.  Instead, “The resulting conversions to what was called ‘Tolstoyan religion’ (Torusutoi no shūkyō) or ‘religious anarchism’ (shūkyōteki anākizumu) in Japan occurred in the total absence of the converter, that is, without a missionary or church institution.”[5]  Unlike the missionary organisations which operated in other countries, Christianity in Japan was not the result of capitalist systems imposing religious doctrines, but a unique religious theory which rejected the very idea of capitalism.  This “religious anarchism” was both a political stance and a utopian dream for a future universal human religion.

 

[1] H. B. Cavalcanti, “The Right Faith at the Right Time? Determinants of Protestant Mission Success in the 19th-Century Brazilian Religious Market,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 41, no. 3 (2002): 423–38, http://www.jstor.org/stable/1387454, 423.

[2] Sho Konishi, Anarchist Modernity: Cooperatism and Japanese-Russian Intellectual Relations in Modern Japan, 1st ed. Vol. 356 (Harvard University Asia Center, 2013), https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt1x07vz6, 95.

[3] Ibid., 74.

[4] Ibid., 93.

[5] Ibid., 95.

Tokugawa Women’s Education in Contrast to the Meiji Era

In “Norms and Texts For Women’s Education in Tokugawa Japan”, Tocco explores how a Confucian education impacted women during the Tokugawa era.  Throughout the chapter, Tocco makes it clear that women like Tsuda Ume who could read and write in both the Japanese syllabary and Chinese characters,  were, in point of fact, quite common in Japan’s urban areas across classes and that their education shared many of the same characteristics as men’s at the time. Furthermore, this higher level of education that women would receive, albeit specialized and honed towards the domestic sphere, as evidenced in writings such as Kaibara’s Great Learning For Women. Furthermore, women were given an education to the extent that they would be able to continue it on their own even after the roles that were dictated to them prevented them from continuing their education.[1] It is particularly interesting, then, that the era considered to be more passé and stagnant among historians is, in point of fact,seemingly more progressive and fits more closely to ideas of modernity than the Meiji era, considered to be a time of innovation on several fronts, including education. According to De Bary, Gluck, and Tiedemann, while the Imperial Rescript On Education (Kyōiku chukugo) provided the infrastructure for further education of the populace, women were largely excluded from the benefits of this reform since they were barred from public secondary and higher educational institutions.[2] While both had a clear Confucian focus and maintained the idea that women were better suited to the domestic sphere, I’d argue that women were better off in the Tokugawa era than during the Meiji era for this reason.

[1]Tocco, Martha C. “Norms and Texts for Women’s Education in Tokugawa Era Japan.” Essay. In Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Japan, and Korea, 193–218. University of California Press, 2003. https://web-a-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.st-andrews.ac.uk/ehost/detail/detail?vid=0&sid=3bccf320-85d3-4d1a-bf5c-82ceef6dc1a9%40sdc-v-sessmgr01&bdata=JkF1dGhUeXBlPXNzbyZzaXRlPWVob3N0LWxpdmU%3d#AN=108495&db=nlebk.

[2]  Theodore, De Bary Wm, Carol Gluck, and Arthur E. Tiedemann. “Education of Women in Meiji Japan.” Essay. In Sources of Japanese Tradition 2, 2:81–115. Columbia University Press, 2006.

 

Kongzi’s Revivalistic Traditionalism: A Tool for Chinese Influence?

In Bryan Van Norden’s Introduction to Classical Chinese Philosophy, he outlines the five elements of Confucianism that Kongzi emphasized throughout his Confucian teachings during his lifetime. Each element is still prominently showcased in societies with Confucian cultural traditions and influences today. This posting will specifically focus on one of the five elements and explore how it manifests differently when its values are taught and implemented outside of Confucianism’s birthplace in China. 

Revivalistic traditionalism, as Norden refers to it, is one of the most significant and unique elements of Confucianism. Unlike the parallel Western philosophies of the classical period, such as those that Plato perpetuated, it derives its moral inspiration from human civilization of the past, rather than from a higher world, like Platoism’s abstract utopian idealization of society. Norden explains that under Confucian philosophy, moral progress that is made via rejecting elements of tradition ought to be done by appealing to “other values, beliefs, and practices within that same tradition.”

This assertion becomes more interesting when we consider the spread of Confucianism outside of China. When Kongzi’s values were implemented and spread in societies like Joseon Korea, the traditions of China, not Korea, were “revived” and studied to form government structures that suited Neo-Confucian ideals. Theodore de Bary and JaHyun Kim Haboush, when analyzing the sources of Neo-Confucian thought in Joseon Korea, note that Chong Tojon, a royal chief advisor and key orchestrator of Confucian-thought proliferation, carefully studied and derived philosophy from the rulers of the classical Three Dynasties of China, using them as a model for “sage kings.” The teachings of Kwon Kun, another notable Korean Neo-Confucian thinker, strongly emphasizd the wide intellectual scope of Confucianism by encouraging the thorough understanding of both Buddhism and Taoism — prominent cultural traditions that were spread to Korea from China.

Joseon Korea’s tendency to look to Chinese cultural and historical traditions for guidance — as opposed to using its own — has a profound impact on Korean culture as their government adopts Neo-Confucianist agenda. Kongzi’s revivalistic traditionalism does not unfold in Korea as a self-derived moral investigation, and as a result, Confucianism becomes an agent of Chinese influence in addition to a state-sponsored school of thought. Martina Deuchler identifies four distinct aspects of Korean culture that Neo-Confucianism helped shift as it spread throughout the state, including ancestor worship and funerary rites, succession and inheritance, the position of women and the marriage institution, and formation of descent groups. Each of these cultural features were directly influenced by the Chinese traditions that formed Neo-Confucianism before it spread to the Korean peninsula.

Kongzi’s element of revivalistic traditionalism, when implemented outside the context of China, takes on a very different role. Instead of encouraging self-derived moral change, it helps elevate Chinese traditions and history rather than promoting societies to engage in the introspection as it was originally intended. Although regions can develop their own understandings and interpretations of Confucianism over time, the initial presence of a strong Chinese cultural influence is undeniable, and can be societally transformative wherever it is implemented.

Anarchists as the tragic hero of China’s twentieth century revolutionary stories

Upon reading various scholarly literatures on the topic of anarchist movement in early 1900s China, it had increasingly appeared to me that anarchists resembled the figure of tragic heroes of the twentieth century whose downfall was doomed from the very beginning due to the fatal flaws in their nature.

At first glance, anarchism is an ideology primarily characterised by its renowned opposition towards any form of hierarchical governance and authority. However, one needs to bear in mind that the abolition of government and state does not mean the abolition of rule and order for an anarchist. Instead, anarchists’ mistrust in state stems from their disbelief in political governance and revolution’s ability to solve prevailing social problems at their time. They believe that, regardless to the political ideology one follows, all political revolutions only ever result in the substitution of one ruling group with another, and all political institutions only ever represent the interests of the minority that possesses wealth and power. Hence, previous social problems, such as oppression and inequality, will persist.1 Anarchist revolutionaries subscribe to the idea that only social revolution (as opposed to political revolution) and moral education can bring about their idealistic worldly society, advocating the maintenance of an orderly and harmonic society through self-governing. Most anarchists rejected all kinds of instrumental use of anarchism in achieving one’s own political enterprise, and declared that all those who seek to realise anarchism ideals through political movements fail to be real anarchists.

Non-surprisingly, this is where anarchist ideology attracts criticism. Many early twentieth century Chinese intellectuals attacked the anarchist for being too idealistic and overlooking the realities of Chinese society, in which the education level of the general public is far from sufficient to uphold self-governance, and external political influence posed significant threat to the survival of the nation.2 Although publicly influential, Anarchism’s fundamental rejection of political means and hierarchical organisation had hindered its advocators’ ability to develop it further than a decentralised social movement.

However, due to this unavailability of the established revolutionary methods, twentieth century Chinese anarchists are themselves confused along the way to figure out how to achieve their vision of a good society. This is why some anarchists, aware of the inherent weakness in their own ideology, comply with other revolutionary groups—such as the Revolutionary Alliance, the Communists, and the Guomindang—temporarily to achieve their own end goals. They adhere to political parties where they see congruency with their own vision, with the hope that it would help to overcome the deficiency in their own ideology. They are wanderers who were confused on the way to realise their own ideals of a revolutionised society. Various other revolutionary groups had welcomed those anarchists and their philosophies in the early stage of their revolutions, as they see value for their own cause in the popularity anarchism had acquired among the people. But once they achieved their own revolutionary goal, all turned their back to purge anarchism out of their system, precisely due to anarchism’s very anti-political establishment nature. In this sense, anarchists are pure idealists who are used, betrayed, and extinguished, in the revolutionary climate in early twentieth century Chinese society.

For anarchists, the only way forward is to reimagine the possibility of reforms, be that anarchist education, be that social revolution etc. Shifu, a prominent Chinese anarchist had once come close to a new path by linking anarchist message with the labour movement before his premature death, which is a potential direction for future anarchists to look towards.3

  1. Dirlik, Arif, Anarchism in the Chinese Revolution (1991), p.93 [↩]
  2. Ibid., p.93 [↩]
  3. Krebs, Edward S., Shifu, Soul of Chinese Anarchism (Lanham, 1998), p.13 [↩]

Predicting your own Fate

Kotoku Shusui explains in his seminal treatise, Imperialism (1901), that patriotism is one of the twin pillars of imperialism along with militarism. (Robert Thomas Tierney, Monster of the Twentieth Century: Kotoku Shusui and Japan’s First Anti-Imperialist Movement,1 Kotoku argues that politicians, in league with capitalists, for their own selfish gain foment hatred towards foreigners to seek imperial gain and to distract citizens from local disparities and troubles, “they seek to divert the hatred that individuals feel towards one another onto foreign enemies in order to derive profits for themselves.”2 He further notes that these same politicians and capitalists then savage anyone who has the temerity to challenge this hatred of foreigners, “[t]hey reproach anyone who refuses to go along with this project by saying: “You are an enemy of the nation, a traitor.”3 Looking back on the carnage of the experiences of the First and Second World Wars, Kotoku’s statements seem prescient. This hatred of the other and the effort to demonize dissent provides valuable insight into the conflagration that the “wildfire” of imperialism will bring. Moreover, Kotoku’s warnings about patriotism and militarism seem to foreshadow his own doom and that of the Japanese socialist movement in the aftermath of the High Treason Incident.

Kotoku writes, in reference to the socialist movement in Germany post Bismarck that “we realize clearly that a patriotism based only on an empty bride in military victory and a hatred of enemy nations can only be a hindrance to the mutual respect and spirit of brotherhood among different peoples of the world.”4. This demonstrates the challenge that patriotism presents in discouraging cooperation between workers in different nations and also helps explain the Japanese government’s calculated plan to use the High Treason Incident in 1910 as a basis to neutralize opposition to their imperialist ambitions. Indeed, Kotoku and numerous other socialists were rounded up after an assassination attempt on the Emperor that constituted the High Treason Incident. In the end, twenty-four of the suspects were convicted and sentenced to death, eventually, Kotoku and ten other suspects were hanged in 1911. Throughout this process the government and their willing allies in the press were quick to label those involved as “traitors”, hauntingly echoing Kotoku’s own warning about how the imperialists utilize patriotism to demonize dissent.5 Robert Thomas Tierney notes that while there was really no connection between the imperialist annexation of Korea and the High Treason Incident, the idea of a “conspiracy” gave the government “an important weapon to discredit its enemies” who were opposed to their imperialist agenda.6 Similarly, Japanese papers, in league with the government, sought to connect the alleged plot against the Emperor with Korean opposition to the Japanese annexation, suggesting that there was “coordination between Japanese socialist and colonized Koreans.”7 This seems to directly follow the imperialist playbook as laid out by Kotoku with the imperialistic government seeking to drum up hatred towards the Koreans as Japan’s annexation plans progressed. At the same time, the government also sought to direct anger towards anyone, in this case, the socialists, who opposed imperialism by branding them, traitors. Thereby the government was able to ensure that any anger or difficulties that workers and poor were experiencing could be funneled against foreigners and dissidents, rather than the government itself, as essentially predicted by Kotoku.

Kotoku, towards the conclusion of Imperialism, explains that imperialism destroys freedom and equality and “exacerbates the inequalities in the world. There is no greater danger to civilization than imperialism.”8 This sentiment also appears to apply to the danger imperialism represented for him personally. However, Kotoku did not seem to be afraid of his position, early on staking out his opposition to Japanese patriotism, “ I cannot bring myself to extol the love of country that arises when men hate and attack their enemies, as is the case with the patriotism of all times and places.” (( Id. at 158.) In fact, Kotoku’s principles ultimately seem to have sealed his fate, but they are consistent with his position that if the world does not confront and stop imperialism “we face a future as bleak as the darkest circle of hell.” (( Id. at 206.)

  1. California Scholarship Online, 2016), p. 143. [↩]
  2. Id. at 149. [↩]
  3. Id. [↩]
  4. Id. at 157. [↩]
  5. Id. at 128. [↩]
  6. Id. at 127. [↩]
  7. Id. at 129. [↩]
  8. Id. at 205. [↩]

The Value of Education: A Comparison of Confucianist and Anarchist Objectives

A common element of Anarchism and Confucianism is the value both philosophies place upon education, and the role education held, whether theoretically or in practice, in propagating their objectives. In their chapter ‘Propagating Female Virtues in Choson Korea’, Deuchler explores the role of literature for ‘indoctrination’ in promoting Neo-Confucian ideals and virtues among elite women which proved to ensure the stability of the domestic realm, and subsequently the stability of the state and society functioning under Confucian hierarchy. Through exposure to works such as Elementary Learning (1189), Illustrated Guide to the Three Bonds (1432), and Instructions for Women (1475), virtues and morality were to be transplanted into the household, and women were to act as ‘the guardians of Confucian norms in the inner realm’ in Korea.[1] Too, Tocco in their ‘Norms and Texts for Women’s Education in Tokugawa Japan’ discusses the extent of women’s education within Tokugawa Japan, and provides example of a woman’s education as accessed through moral guides and texts whose foundations lay in Neo-Confucian ethical precepts which stressed the importance of filial piety and kinship. Both Deuchler and Tocco illustrate well how the education of women in preparation of their managerial and ethical domestic responsibilities came to play a role in the upholding of a Confucian hierarchical society and ideals of filial piety.

A direct comparison between Confucianism and Anarchism can perhaps be made in their conflicting objectives; the Confucian upholding of hierarchy versus the anarchist aims to dismantle hierarchy and those social institutions which serve it, namely state institutions, and familial structures. The value of education therefore is found and placed in competing goals.

Dirlik in Anarchism in the Chinese Revolution (1991) emphasises the perceived importance of education among early twentieth century anarchists in achieving revolutionary change. Education is presented as an ‘instrument of revolution’, a tool to create a self-awareness/revolutionary consciousness which would in turn allow for a successful, conscious uprising to dismantle those institutions.[2] Education within anarchist philosophy is also presented as the equivalent of revolution, for there is no distinction made between process and goals of revolution: revolution is a necessary condition for the possibility of anarchist education, but revolution cannot be achieved without education. An anarchist education therefore taught truth and public-mindedness – freedom, equality, and the ability for self-governance – as the means and ends of anarchist revolution.

Kanno Sugako (1881-1911), a central figure in the early Japanese anarchist movement, clearly voiced the need for women to develop self-awareness, and is reflective of wider anarchist ideas on the importance of education in achieving this social consciousness:

‘For us women, the most urgent task is to develop our own self-awareness […] women with some education and some degree of social knowledge must surely be discontented and angry about their status.’[3]

Here she also suggests how education may allow for women to think critically of their status within society. Kanno implies the importance of education in achieving self-awareness, and suggests that this self-awareness of women’s status in society is not recognised to a great extent. Yet, she also suggests that some degree of education must be enough to make one critical of their status – perhaps even one of a Confucian grounding. This seems to conflict slightly with one argument presented by Deuchler, that Japanese women, through their ‘indoctrinating’ education, were complicit in and ‘contributed to the perpetuation of the Confucian system’ which in turn served to promote hierarchy and uphold patriarchy.[4] While this may be true on a macro-scale, their use of the term ‘indoctrination’ suggests those educated women themselves were uncritical, and it is this implication I find dubious. With little evidence written by women themselves proving as a limitation in their work, no outright rejection of a system which suppressed the visibility of women at this time does not necessarily mean there was no critique or ‘self-awareness’. Rather, it serves as a reflection on the success of the patriarchal system in limiting women’s purpose to the domestic realm.

Despite the value of education being found competing goals, both philosophies emphasised the importance of moral teaching. The moral aims of Confucian education however were confined within the family, and were to ensure good Confucian household and the teaching of children Confucian moral values, whereas moral education among anarchists aimed to achieve a public revolution of morality as to achieve its humanitarian goals. This apparent divergence from private teaching of filial piety towards a public revolution promoting equal respect across humanity is interesting, and raises the question of whether the popularity of anarchist ideals within China and Japan was viewed as, or came as a rejection of traditional values of Confucianism.

 

[1] Martina Deuchler, ‘Propagating Female Virtues in Chosón Korea’ in Dorothy Ko, JaHyun Kim Haboush and Joan R Piggot (ed.) Women and Confucian Cultures in Premodern China, Korea and Japan (Berkeley, 2003), p. 152.

[2] Arif Dirlik, Anarchism in the Chinese Revolution (Berkeley, 1991), p. 90.

[3] Mikiso Hane, Reflections on the Way to the Gallows: Rebel Women in Pre-war Japan (Berkeley, 1993), p. 53.

[4] Deuchler, ‘Propagating Female Virtues in Chosón Korea’ in Women and Confucian Cultures, p. 165.

Russian literature: An important and popular media to disseminate ideas in Japanese anarchism

In the book Anarchist Modernity, the author Sho Konishi reveals the interplay of Japan and Russia in the formation and evolvement of anarchist ideas. On the side of Russian thinkers, like Mechnikov, are fascinated with the cause and result of Meiji Ishin. His view on modernity and civilization is based on the observation of Ishin later influenced Kropotkinism and Japanese intellectuals who would turn this vision into one of the most important conceptual foundations for modern cultural life in Japan.1 On the side of Japan, a huge amount of translated literature flows across the boundary of these two nations and becomes popular and very influential among Japanese thinkers. That’s why Sho Konishi pays particular attention to translation as a methodological strategy. Russian literature is an important medium for the intellectual communication between Russian and Japan. These translated texts are very popular among Japanese readers, even some of the texts are banned by the government, they are still circulated by readers privately. Reasons for their importance and popularity among Japanese anarchists are the unique function of Russian literature and the cultural foundation of Japanese anarchism.

Literature and novels can become important media are not just because they are more entertaining than any other genre. In TSFL, the program established by Mechnikov and continued by Russian revolutionary exiles, translation courses are taught, many graduates from this program later become active participants in translating Russian literature into Japanese. One of the most prominent figures in this group of people is Futabatei Shimei.2 Compared to the literature style in other nations, Russian literature carries the responsibility of educating the people and improving society. Writers in Russia are convinced that literature should contain intellectual and ideological meanings and they will act as the tool of awakening people to fight for a better life and world. Philosophy, ideologies, and thoughts are expressed through literature.3 Futabatei also shared this similar thought: “To awaken the people, they had made the pen into the point of a spear. There was a difference of only one step between the pen and a bomb.”4 The belief in the capability of literature also affected Chinese writer Lu Xun, who imitates Gogol wrote A Madman’s diary in the hope of awakening Chinese people. Russian literature is an honest mirror of Russian ideology, by investigating what kind of Russian literature is popular among Japanese anarchists, Sho Konishi is able to find out what kind of ideology or thoughts was welcomed and embraced by them.

The other reason why Japanese anarchists are attracted to Russian literary works is because of their social and cultural focuses. The themes of Russian literature are mostly social, cultural, and religious. For example, Tolstoy’s Resurrection has a focus on the social and everyday life aspect with religious elements, a nobleman comes to realize the miserable life commoners live in. Japanese anarchists have the focus on people of the society rather than the people of the nation. Both Kotoku’s definition of the concept of heimin and artists Yamamoto’s creative print Ryofu (Fisherman) reflect this idea.((Ibid, p. 169-70.)) Anarchist revolutionaries do not aim to reform the political structure, they believe that only social revolutions can ultimately improve and change the lives of people, and advance the civilization process of humans, any form of government cannot achieve this goal. The emphasis of Russian literature fits the core idea of Japanese anarchists. This similarity becomes the motivation of Japanese anarchists to be more interested in and to promote the reading of Russian literature.

These inner qualities of Russian literature, as the carrier of Russian ideology and the lens of looking into commoners in cultural and social life, are factors of its importance in disseminating ideas in Japan, especially its influence on Japanese anarchist movement.

  1. Konishi, Sho, Anarchist Modernity: Cooperatism and Japanese-Russian Intellectual Relations in Modern Japan, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013, p.32. [↩]
  2. Ibid, p.130. [↩]
  3. Liu, Wenfei, E Guo Wenxue Yanjianglu, The Commercial Press, 2017, pp.185-6. [↩]
  4. Konishi, Sho, Anarchist Modernity, p83-4. [↩]

The Twelve Point Pledge’s: The Human Body and Anarchism.

Shifu was a key figure in the Chinese social revolutionary movement, in particular the Chinese anarchist movement. Throughout his short life (1884-1915), Shifu oversaw the organisation of multiple anarchist and revolutionary groups including the Conscience Society (Xinshe) in 1912. Established in Hangzhou, the Conscience Society was formed as an anarchist self-improvement group that took up many similar practices to other anarchist groups such as the Promote Virtue Society created by The Paris Group. These self-improvement practices are most evidently seen when assessing the group’s ‘Conscience Society Covenant’. This can best be described as “an anarchist behavioural code tailored to the needs of an awakened Chinese moral elite.”1  The Conscience Society Covenant, otherwise known as the ‘Twelve Point Pledge’s’ were as follows:

(1) Do not eat meat.
(2) Do not drink liquor.
(3) Do not smoke tobacco.
(4) 4. Do not use servants.
(5) Do not ride in sedan chairs or rickshas.
(6) Do not marry.
(7) Do not use a family name.
(8) Do not serve as an official.
(9) Do not serve as a member of a representative body.
(10) Do not join a political party.
(11) Do not serve in the army or navy.
(12) Do not believe in a religion.2 


The most compelling element of the ‘Twelve Point Pledge’s’ is the first 3 pledges. This is because they do not directly relate to anarchism at its core; that being a movement committed to the abolition of government, and thus by association, bureaucratic institutions such as religion and, the institution of marriage. The question thus stands, how do the first three pledges relate to anarchism? 

Edward Krebs writes that during the spring and summer of 1912, Shifu wrote a series of essays to amplify his ideas on several points in the covenant.3 From these essays, we gain insight, not only into Shifu’s anarchism but also into the reasoning behind the first 3 pledges.

Firstly, Shifu’s belief in vegetarianism, on the surface, seems hardly essential nor relevant in regards to anarchism. However, Shifu’s inspiration can be drawn back to two key figures in social revolutionary history: Leo Tolstoy and Li Shinzeng. Both these figures were firm believers in the interconnected nature of a vegetarian lifestyle and anarchism. Furthermore, Shifu used these figures as inspiration in arguing that “vegetarianism was essential to non-violence and good health.”4 Thus, when assessing Shifu’s views on vegetarianism, we gain a true understanding as to why Shifu includes ‘Do not eat meat’ as his first pledge within the Conscience Society Covenant. To truly see a change in the world, we must also change our own habits.

Regarding the following two pledges (2 and 3), Shifu presents us with a scientific explanation behind their inclusion. Shifu notes that alcohol produces euphoria and thus undermines the brain’s ability to function.5 When focusing on the third pledge, Shifu offers a chemical analysis of tobacco, drawing conclusions from both western scientists as well as Li Shizeng. ((Ibid.)) Citing these two pledge’s, Shifu discusses the importance of science and its interconnected relationship to moral behaviour, and thus, anarchism.

Critically, he argues that those who want to improve society must also strive to treat their own bodies in a matter of accordance with these scientific findings. The main reason behind this is quite similar to the view set out regarding the first pledge. To improve society, one must also strive to improve their own body. This is exemplified by Shifu when he writes, “everyone should improve his own renge [human nature/quality] in order to assist the progress of society and mankind; if we develop our renge… everything we do will accord with the truth.”6

Therefore, when focusing on the first three pledges, we can understand why they were included, despite their lack of overt relation to anarchist ideals. In Shifu’s eyes, the commitment to the reforming of society begins with the reformation of one’s personal habits and way of life. Thus, there is a clear focus on physical practices such as eating, drinking and smoking. When assessing Shifu’s explanation for the first three pledges it is, therefore, clear to see their relation to anarchism and Shifu’s ultimate aim in socially reforming society.

  1. Krebs, Edward S. Shifu, soul of Chinese anarchism. Lanham, Md: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. 1998. pg, 101. [↩]
  2. Ibid. pg, 102. [↩]
  3. Ibid. pg, 103. [↩]
  4. Shifu wuncen [Shifu’s Collective Writing’s], pp. 85-92 [↩]
  5. Krebs, Edward S. Shifu, soul of Chinese anarchism. Lanham, Md: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. 1998. pg, 103. [↩]
  6. Shifu wuncen [Shifu’s Collective Writing’s], pg. 100. [↩]

Were the Ilchinhoe justified in their support of the Japanese, 1909-1910? A look at collaboration in a colonial setting

In December 1909, the Korean organisation the Ilchinhoe proposed a Japanese-Korean ‘merger’ that they believed would instil new life in Korea as a nation with Japan as its saviour.[1] Instead, the merger is attributed to starting the chain of events that led to Korea’s brutal annexation by the Japanese that lasted thirty-five years.

Yumi Moon’s article ‘Immoral Rights: Korean Populist Collaborators and the Japanese Colonisation of Korea, 1904-1910’ explores the idea that the Ilchinhoe, who are remembered in Korean history as ‘notorious collaborators’, need to be considered in a colonial context so that their actions may be explained.[2] This blog post will consider if Moon’s article provides justification to the Ilchinhoe’s support of the Japanese in the lead to up the annexation of Korea in 1910.

To understand why the Ilchinhoe collaborated with the Japanese, Moon urges historians to avoid contemporary moral views as it becomes a ‘major hindrance’.[3] Historians need to consider the setting and conditions of those who are being colonialised so they can grasp why certain groups chose to work with those who are doing the oppressing.

 So, for the context of Korea and the Ilchinhoe, Moon places a great emphasis on the point that the Ilchinhoe movement was populist. She quotes Margaret Canovan, writing, ‘Populists claim legitimacy on the grounds that they speak for the people: that is to say, they claim to represent the democratic sovereign’.[4] Therefore, the Ilchinhoe were doing what they believed was best for the Korean people. They viewed Korea as a ‘backwards’ nation while Japan was a “civilising’ empire’ that could protect Korea’s prosperity.[5]

Looking at the Ilchinhoe’s view with a contemporary mindset will result in a negative judgement of the group. However, using Moon’s argument that the colonial context must be considered allows for one to see that the Ilchinhoe genuinely believed they were doing what was best for Korea. Their logic was ‘Independence through dependence’, and that Korea needed to understand what it was and wasn’t capable of so that Japan could guide them as a ‘friendly ally’.[6] The Ilchinhoe always advocated for the rights of Korean people and did not wish for Korea to lose its independence; what they wanted was for Japan to revitalise their government.

In the end, the Japanese used this to their advantage and were able to annex Korea with ‘relatively little bloodshed’ thanks to the Ilchinhoe’s collaboration efforts.[7] Moon’s final argument urges an understanding that the Ilchinhoe, the colonised, had no agency or control over how the Japanese, the colonisers, acted. Ultimately, the Ilchinhoe may have had good intentions that they believed represented what the Korean population wanted but were misguided in trusting the Japanese. Japan ended up ignoring what was proposed in the merger and used it as proof that Korea was not able to be independent at all which led to the annexation.  So did Moon’s article justify the Ilchinhoe’s actions and shed a more positive light on their organisation? That depends on how naïve one would believe the Ilchinhoe were in thinking the Japanese wouldn’t take complete control over Korea. However, Moon does provide substantial evidence that suggests their collaboration was in the Korean people’s best interest.

[1]Carl Young, ‘Eastern Learning Divided: The Split in the Tonghak Religion and the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1904-1910’ in Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea ed. Emily Anderson (Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), p.93

[2] Yumi Moon, ‘Immoral Rights: Korean Populist Collaborators and the Japanese Colonisation of Korea, 1904-1910‘, The American Historical Review 113:1 (2013), p.20

[3] Ibid. p.22

[4] Ibid. p.27

[5] Ibid. p.33

[6] Ibid. p.32

[7] Ibid. p.42

The Etymology of the Christian God in Chinese

Translation, especially between languages as separate as English and Chinese, has never been a simple task, and it will never be one – however, this is not just in literary terms of conveying meaning, feeling and themes. This task, as demonstrated by the missionary arguments over the translation of God, can also have overt and important political overtones. The debate of how to translate God existed since the day of Matteo Ricci and the first Jesuit missions to China in the 15th century, and has involved many different terms. The most important and illustrative of these debates in my opinion is that of the Protestant missionary debates surrounding the terms Shangdi and Shen, taking place in the 19th century.

The term shen, literally meaning god or spirit, was utilized in an early partial translation of the Bible by a Catholic missionary, Jean Basset (1).  Thomas H. Reilly in his seminal work, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom discusses the problem with this translation, in that the term shen is somewhat generic term – without the signifier of capitalization that is present in English, Basset, and other translators that used this term had to rely on contextualization to signify shen as referring to the single Christian god (2). According to Reilly, even with contextualization, it was not always clear to Chinese audiences if shen referred to the Christian God, or multiple gods (3).  In short, it didn’t capture the essence of the Christian God – it’s singularity and it’s totality. Jean Basset’s partial translation was copied and spread amongst the missionary community, ending up with a Protestant missionary by the name of Robert Morrison, who would use Basset’s work as the basis for his full translation of the New Testament (4). Reilly presents that shen was argued for in the missionary debates of the 19th century over translating God in a way, because of it’s generalness, that it was closer to the apostolic model of the New Testament – that Shangdi referred to a pagan god, and it could not be associated with the Christian God, being too mired in Chinese cultural baggage (5).

Shangdi, which can be literally translated to sovereign on high is described by Thomas H. Reilly as being ‘incendiary’ (6). While initially used by Matteo Ricci and the Jesuits before a Papal Decree banned it’s use, the term was most notably in Walter H. Medhurt and Karl Gützlaff’s translation of the Bible (7). In a manner of speaking the argument for Shangdi drew on similar concepts to the argument for shen, just reframing them. The proponents of the term drew on it’s connection to Chinese culture as a strength, that Shangdi described a single grand god – that the ancient Chinese that wrote about Shangdi were monotheists writing about the Christian God (8). Most importantly, the term was also deeply politically charged, associated with the imperial title (9) the concept of the Mandate of Heaven (10), and when discussed in a Christian context, implies that the Chinese emperors are guilty of blasphemy (11) . Reilly presents the Protestant missionaries as being deeply aware of the political connotations of this term, citing several passages from Medhurst in particular to demonstrate this (12).

The contrasts between the two terms are obvious – the neutral, yet bland shen and the more evocative, but baggage carrying Shangdi. However the arguments for and against these terms I think paint a picture of how the missionaries approached the challenges of translation. Both terms were backed by an appeal to tradition – apostolic, western tradition in the case of shen, and the Chinese classics in the case of Shangdi. To Walter Medhurt, the political implications were not incidental, as much as they were a part of the overall goal of integrating the Christian God into Chinese culture. This perhaps can be seen as a minor saga in the key problem by Christian missionaries – if Christianity should be meshed with existing Chinese culture and systems, and if so, how to approach that task.

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