Nannü: He-Yin Zhen’s call for revolution

Who is He-Yin Zhen and why is her work so important? He-Yin Zhen was a preeminent anarcho-feminist who constructed her critique in an early twentieth century China marked by turbulent political, social and cultural reinvention. Her article On the Question of Women’s Liberation utilises nannü, an analytical term that frames the ideological and historical bases of institutionalised gendered social relations.

In The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts of Transnational Theory, Lydia Liu, Rebecca Karl and Dorothy Ko argue that He-Yin’s work represented a fundamental challenge to the conventional ideological foundations of patriarchal society, including that of progressive Chinese male intellectuals who also wrote about women’s rights. For instance, she critiqued Jin Tianhe’s The Women’s Bell for framing the struggle for equality within a nationalist rhetoric of self-strengthening, the slogan behind late Qing modernisations.1 From this perspective, the feminist movement became a means of reforming China in line with Western ideas of gender equality to restore the country’s global prominence as a modern nation, rather than for the sole sake of bettering the lives of women. He-Yin Zhen, on the other hand, saw the emerging movement as a chance to deconstruct traditional conceptions of gender as a source of power, not as a means of enabling women to become better agents of the nationalist cause, but for women to gain true independence in their own right. For instance, she brought these ideas into practice by incorporating her maternal surname with her traditional patrilineal surname, thus including the female element of her identity in a traditional conventionalised space.

While these divergences demonstrate the range of perspectives prevalent in China at the time, this argument can be taken further than Liu, Karl and Ko go by positing that progressive Chinese male intellectuals like Tianhe and Liang Qichao should not be defined as ‘feminists’ at all. While they may advocate for reforms that have characteristics that further women’s rights, such as ending the practice of foot binding or endorsing women’s education, their ultimate motivation to strengthen China undermines the core characteristic of feminism that believes in equality as a sufficient goal in itself. He-Yin expresses this point succinctly when she writes of ‘men’s pursuit of self-distinction in the name of women’s liberation’2, where these men critique the traditions that do not conform with their nationalist agenda and emulate Western powers in a manner that perpetuates the very social and structural hierarchy He-Yin seeks to overturn.3

Liu, Karl and Ko also discuss He-Yin’s solution to the misconception that the state could be anything but a system that perpetuates oppression.4 He-Yin’s anarchism and feminism were fundamentally intertwined. Her theory of shengji, defined as ‘livelihood’ and a more encapsulating term than ‘class’, thus critiques patriarchal capitalism, coloniality, and state tradition by foregrounding the gendered universality of nannü within each of these social systems.5 This attack on the state as a reproducer of conditions that systematically exclude and subordinate women diverges from many of her contemporary reformers, who largely sought to exchange the imperial dynastic regime with a republican state. He-Yin instead called upon women to be the agents of their own liberation, advocating for a social revolution to relieve society of the oppression of nannü. She argued that only with genuine motivation to uproot systems of material oppression will current power structures not be repeated, and women freed from the commodification of their bodies. (ibid., p.25.)) The very point she makes about such historic social hierarchies can be practically evidenced by confronting institutionalised, largely western, terms of reference in attempts to translate nannü.6 Confronting this will enable scholars to adequately acknowledge the discursive multiplicity in the global formation of feminist theory, in which He-Yin played a significant part.

  1. Liu, Lydia He, Rebecca E. Karl, Dorothy Ko (ed.) The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory (New York, 2013), p.7. [↩]
  2. He-Yin Zhen, ‘Question of Women’s Liberation’, in The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory, p.60. [↩]
  3. Hershatter, Gail, ‘Disturbances, 1840-1900’, in Women and China’s Revolutions (Maryland, 2018), p.84. [↩]
  4. Liu et al. The Birth of Chinese Feminism, p.23. [↩]
  5. ibid., p.22. [↩]
  6. ibid., p.10. [↩]

Morality in Anarchism and He-Yin Zhen’s Conception of Female Liberation

He-Yin Zhen is an early Chinese feminist and anarchist, who alongside her husband Liu Shipei, published the journal Natural Justice.1 Published between 1907-1908, it is in Natural Justice that He-Yin would articulate much of her feminist theories, in articles such as ‘On the Revenge of Women’, and ‘The Feminist Manifesto’. ‘On the Revenge of Women’ is a text which, through analyses of classical texts in Chinese literary canon, etymologies that embed in them the degradation of women, and the role of social institutions in formalising male domination of women, educe the “instruments of male tyrannical rule”.2 Examples from throughout Chinese history are used to argue that women had long been deprived of the right to bear arms, to hold political power, to be educated, and that in their hapless deaths they were denied their right to life itself.3 As with much of her other writings, the ultimate goal of the article is to advocate for a social, economic, and feminist revolution to the ends of the abolition of private property and the state, as a means of achieving true equality between men and women in the absence of the imbalance of power and wealth that results in domination and the oppression of women by men.4

Much like other Chinese anarchists of the time, He-Yin saw the necessity of a social revolution as a means of bringing an end to the oppression of the state, and to achieve true equality between men and women. The nature of the social revolution — the bounds of acts and acceptability, arguably constitute a standard of morality by which her feminist-anarchism is to be achieved. It is a standard of morality most explicitly articulated in the article ‘The Feminist Manifesto’, echoing ‘The Communist Manifesto’, of which the earliest Chinese translation can also be found in Natural Justice.5 The brief and direct nature of the article suggests her intentions towards the writing as a call-to-arms. In it, He-Yin lists seven actionable things which she implores women to carry out, as a means of combating four basic inequalities which she had identified: monogamy, maiden names, valuing daughters equally, raising daughters without discrimination, separation in marriage, rules for remarriage, and the abolish of brothels.6

Condemnation of prostitution and concubinage is a recurring point in her articles. Polygamy, too, is rejected even if extended to women, considered a transgression and a succumbing to lust.7 In imploring women to strive for the seven goals, He-Yin sees women’s role in rejecting the oppressive social institutions as paramount to achieving universal justice. The emphasis which she places on social revolution carried by women echoes the primacy which Chinese anarchists of her period accorded to social revolution and education in the struggle against the state for equality.

  1. ‘Biography’, in Lydia H. Liu, Rebecca E. Karl and Dorothy Ko (eds), The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory (New York, 2013), p. 51. [↩]
  2. He-Yin Zhen, ‘On the Revenge of Women’, in Lydia H. Liu, Rebecca E. Karl and Dorothy Ko (eds), The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory (New York, 2013), p. 146. [↩]
  3. Ibid., pp. 147,152. [↩]
  4. Ibid., pp. 107-108 [↩]
  5. ‘Introduction: Toward a Transnational Feminist Theory’, in Lydia H. Liu, Rebecca E. Karl and Dorothy Ko (eds), The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory (New York, 2013), pp. 5-6. [↩]
  6. He-Yin Zhen, ‘The Feminist Manifesto’, in Lydia H. Liu, Rebecca E. Karl and Dorothy Ko (eds), The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory (New York, 2013), pp. 182-183. [↩]
  7. Ibid., pp. 183-184. [↩]

Lesbian love in Chinese fiction in the 1920’s

The May Fourth movement in China changed many aspects of Chinese society, and during this time, writers, male and female, used this time to create space in fiction for female same sex love. Because of the lack of prevalence of female same-sex love in Chinese society at the time, female same-sex love or desire was seen, especially in the fiction written by women, in more subtle ways. Female same-sex love was also seen often by Chinese society as a temporary state for young women in same-sex schools. There were many stories of girls in schools having same-sex relationships, but the overarching theme of these stories were that the desire, love, or romantic or sexual feelings for each other would leave when they graduated school and got married. This view of female same-sex love as temporary shaped how lesbian fiction was written in the 1920’s and how different genders wrote about female same-sex love.

Female writers of female same-sex love in the May Fourth movement were more nuanced in their lesbian subtext than men, who wrote predominantly to show their fantasies of female same-sex love and to reassure themselves that it was temporary in order to keep their importance in the growing independent woman’s life. Lu Yin, a writer in the early 1900’s, wrote predominately about the spiritual, ideal and liberating love of female same-sex attachment, which surpassed cross-sex love and marriage1. Her short story “Lishi’s Diary” is a little more overt in its female same-sex love, with the character Lishi feeling more for her female friend Yuanqing than her male friend, Guisheng. She and Yuanqing plan to live together, but when Yuanqing is forced into a (heterosexual) marriage, she dies of melancholy2. Lu Yin also experienced female same-sex desire herself. When visiting Japan with her husband, she remarked on the communal baths. She was self conscious in being naked around other women, but when she finally looked around she “admired their bodies” as she prepared to leave the bath, and her “nerves were excited” on her way home3. Her rapture with the female body is suggestive of female same-sex love she may have felt in her life, in addition to her love of her husband.

On the contrary, female same-sex love fiction written by men was very different. They wrote “more explicitly about female-female physical behaviour” and their stories were seen more as fantasies of the male imagination of female-female eroticism. Yu Dafu, a writer in the early 1930’s, “deployed sexological characterisations” of female same-sex love to “metaphorically represent social disorder and national weakness”4.  His story about a “monstrous third-sexed woman” who seduced young school girls demonises female same-sex love and desire5.  Another writer, Zhang Yiping, writes about female same-sex love with the intention of, again, suggesting that it was simply a precursor to a heterosexual relationship. A woman confides in her boyfriend that she had a same-sex relationship when she was younger and that she had died, but it brought them closer together in the sharing of the memory6.

A notable cross section of the difference of female versus male written lesbian love, a female rewritten story of male written story becomes far more popular than the original. Two female students play Romeo and Juliet, fall in love, and then when one has to get married to a man, the other faints.  Ling Shuhua brings more animation to the “barren” version of Yang Zhensheng’s7. Yang attributes the affair to the “lack of a proper emotional outlet”, whereas Ling proves their love with true intimacy7.

The dismissal of female same-sex love as temporary in many ways in Chinese society in the 1920’s showed the inability for male dominated society to accept that their place in a woman’s life could be unimportant. With the changing world and the rising women’s independence movement in the 20’s there came the fear that men therefore had no place in an independent woman’s life. This is seen overtly and subtly through the constant critique that female same-sex love had to be temporary in order to reassure men of their place in the world.

  1. Sang, Tze-Lan D, The Emerging Lesbian: Female Same-Sex Desire in Modern China  (Chicago, 2003), p. 133 [↩]
  2. ibid, p. 140 [↩]
  3. ibid, p. 146 [↩]
  4. ibid, p. 156 [↩]
  5. ibid, p. 153 [↩]
  6. ibid, p. 155 [↩]
  7. ibid, p. 149 [↩] [↩]

Cai Yuanpei’s ‘New Year’s Dream’ and the contradictions in its views of foreign powers

Cai Yuanpei was a Chinese anarchist intellectual, at first associated with the Paris anarchist societies and later Republican minister of education and chancellor of the University of Beijing.1 This text, ‘New Year’s Dream’, was written at the height of the Russo-Japanese War and describes Cai’s dream of the future, in which China reaches a period of happiness and prosperity, having defeated foreign invaders of the country and instructed the world on how to achieve global peace.2

The text follows Yimin Zhongguo, an intelligent young man from Jiangnan who, having travelled around the world for his education, returns to China during the Russo-Japanese War. Yimin’s life and, in particular, his foreign education draws similarities with the author, who studied in Paris and Leipzig.

After entering into discussion with a group of strangers, in which he dismisses the celebration of New Year’s Eve as ‘just one day at random’ and accuses them of being selfish and idle, he goes home to rest. At this point his dream begins, which takes up most of the text and can be understood as Cai Yuanpei’s anarchist vision for the future.

In his dream he enters into a large assembly hall, its seating arrangement reflecting the country except divided according to China’s river basins, dialects and local customs rather than arbitrary provincial boundaries (as Cai would see them). A speaker begins to implore the audience that they must begin building the nation of China, lest their country becomes a battlefield for wars between Japan, Russia, England, Germany or France. He likens China’s population to selfish children who care only of their toys when their house is robbed, unaware that the money and deeds being stolen guaranteed their future. This argument is much the same that Yimin deployed on the idle strangers celebrating New Year’s Eve the day before.

The man then distributes a pamphlet with five proposals guaranteeing an effective administration of China: a survey of the land and of the population, a survey of the country’s planning and construction, discussions on employment, and ordinances dictating the life-cycle of a person (education between ages 7 and 24, work between ages 24 and 48) and their daily routine (8 hours work and 8 hours rest).

Another pamphlet is distributed, calling for the recovery of Manchuria: the eradication of foreign spheres of influence; and the dismantling of foreign concessions. Ways to grow China’s military strength are discussed at length.

After a discussion of Yimin’s next steps, his dream then accelerates into the future and describes a situation in which foreign powers repeatedly invade China but are ‘driven back every time’. The invaders convene in Berlin where they lament: “the love of the Chinese for their country is so pure that I fear there is no way to break it”!

Having defended their country, the Chinese propose the abolition of every country’s individual army and their replacement with a world army; this is so popular that other countries ‘took it as words from heaven’. From then on, there were no more wars, ‘and people lived happily and peacefully’ – although, Yuan adds of course, ‘with the happiness of the Chinese naturally greatly exceeding that of others’.

China reaches a Utopian state, with railways built across the country, a new easier-to-learn national language implemented, and designations such as ‘father’, ‘son’, ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ cease to have relevance.

Yim at this moment wakes up and, forgetting his previous dislike of New Years’ festivities, exclaims “Greetings! Congratulations! It is the New Year, a new world has come!”.

 

What is most interesting about Cai’s text is its seemingly contradictory views about foreign countries. Yimin is clearly a model Chinese citizen – smart, hard-working, and shrewd – a fact which might be owed to his education in the US (‘because he loved the ideas of freedom and equality’), Germany (‘the vanguard of technology’), France, England, Italy, Switzerland, and Russia. Cai, having also studied in Europe, clearly believed this education was both useful and a source of pride.

However, Cai laments the fact that Russia and Japan are at present warring over Manchuria, and fears for the future when the Yangtze region, Fujian or Guangdong might also be battlegrounds for foreign powers. When describing the invading foreigners of the future, he writes: ‘they looked at China and saw it as this wonderful melon that they had discussed carving up a number of times, and now their occasion had finally arrived’, describing them as malicious and power-hungry.

A further irony of this view is that, in Cai’s vision of the future, China sources her military strength from abroad. The speaker rejoices that ‘the cadets which we had sent to study in England have now returned’ and they plan to, instead of building their own warships, ‘send representatives to the largest shipyards abroad, and […] buy warships that are almost finished’. This contradiction – that one should expunge foreign influence, yet use foreign education and manufacturing to do so, is one of the defining contradictions of Chinese anarchist thought – a philosophy that originated outside of China, yet focused solely on China.

  1. Dirlik, Arif, Anarchism in the Chinese Revolution (University of California Press, 1991), pp. 117, 120, 156. [↩]
  2. Cai Yuanpei, New Year’s Dream (1704). Published in Andolfatto, Lorenzo, Hundred Day’s Literature: Chinese Utopian Fiction at the End of Empire, 1902-1910 (2019), pp. 199-212. [↩]

“Mr. Earnest”: Shifu and dedication to Anarchism

Liu Shifu grew up in a changing time in China’s history. He was born in the 1880’s and died of tuberculosis in 1915, but was still a major figure in the anarchist movement in China. There were many movements that were slowly forming in the time period of Liu Shifu, and his dedication to the movement helped shape it to continue after he was gone. The chapter The New Beginning: Shifu Launches the Conscience Society in the book Shifu, Soul of Chinese Anarchism by Edward S. Krebs detailed the later years of Shifu when he gains importance in China, started the Conscience Society and a printing press owned by himself and his close friends and family, spread his message through China, and unfortunately died of tuberculosis before his work is done. Shifu was astoundingly dedicated to his values of anarchism that he writes in 1912 with his close group of friends and colleagues, and they guided how he taught and lived anarchism for the three chaotic and jam packed years of his life before he died.

In 1912, Shifu and his close compatriots convened for the spring and summer, during which Shifu created a list of twelve points that were “essential” to his personal brand of anarchism.1 The twelve points were abstinence from meat, liquor, tobacco, servants, riding in sedan chairs or rickshaws, marriage, use of the family name, serving as an official, a member of a representative body, a political party, the army or navy, and religion.1 For the rest of his life, he committed himself to these values. While his colleagues would ride rickshaws to a block before their office where they printed their paper and taught about anarchism, and then walk the last block, Shifu would walk every day back and forth.2 When his doctor suggested that he eat meat in order to help his ailing health that turned into tuberculosis that killed him in 1915, he refused because of his promise to never eat meat, as it was seen as upholding the labor structure of the corrupt government. His values above everything else earned him the nickname of “Mr. Earnest” by his fellows, and was mainly a good way to describe Shifu in his quest for anarchism.2

There are many things that can be said about Shifu’s dedication to the cause of anarchism and his commitment to his values, however, there are places within his life where he seemed to be hypocritical in his values. Shifu’s continued closeness to his siblings and employment of them when printing the Cock-Crow Record in in the face of one of his 12 points, do not use a family name. His belief that family should not be especially important in an individuals life is forgotten when it came to his own siblings and their prominence in his employment of them. One of his sisters married one of his friends who was also intimately involved with his cause. His fathers support and familial monetary funds that went into his printing press also showed his blindness towards his values. “Did he fail to see the irony in this situation?” the text asked, voicing the question that I also had when thinking of his title as “Mr. Earnest”.3 Additionally, Shifu’s partner, Ding Xiangtian, felt no support or affection from Shifu when she was pregnant with their daughter in 1912.2 After she was born, he refused to create a public nursery to raise his child in.4  To him it was compromising his values, but in doing so, he was leaving his child to no education or support from her father.

While Shifu was determined to stay true to his values of anarchism and the twelve points that were made by the group in 1912, Mr. Earnest may have strayed from being totally earnest in his dedication to anarchism.

  1. Edward S. Krebs, Shifu, Soul of Chinese Anarchism (1998) pp. 102. [↩] [↩]
  2. Edward S. Krebs, Shifu, Soul of Chinese Anarchism (1998) pp. 115. [↩] [↩] [↩]
  3. Edward S. Krebs, Shifu, Soul of Chinese Anarchism (1998) pp. 108, 115. [↩]
  4. Edward S. Krebs, Shifu, Soul of Chinese Anarchism (1998) pp.116. [↩]

Paradise on earth: Uchiyama Gudō’s imaginations of a (Buddhist) anarcho-communist utopia

The utopian vision of Uchiyama Gudō (1874-1911), a Zen Buddhist priest who was executed for his purported role in the plot to assassinate the Japanese Emperor Meiji in 1910, offers a unique example of the fusion of Buddhist and socialist ideas in early twentieth-century East Asia. Throughout his writings, Gudō repeatedly imagines a vision of tengoku, explicitly evoking the Christian idea of “soteriological and eschatological” paradise rather than the Buddhist jōdo (Pure Land) or gokuraku (land of bliss).1 Although connections between Christianity and the development of socialist revolutionary thought in Meiji Japan by Rambelli help to contextualise the contemporary meanings and connotations of tengoku, it is arguably most significant in the negative sense; that is, the imagination of an earthly, anarcho-communist utopian ‘paradise’ over a Buddhist heavenly bliss.

Gudō’s (Buddhist) anarcho-communism formed part of a broader wave of emerging Radical Buddhism in late Meiji Japan. He was not alone in his focus on earthly paradise; contemporary anarchists like Tanaka Jiroku were similarly advocating ideas of genseshugi (‘this-world-ism’).2 In China, both Taixu (1890-1947) and Lin Qiwu (1903-1934)  developed similar imaginations of a “pure land in this world” where anarchist utopia and Marxism respectively were “one and the same” as the Buddhist Pure Land.3 Yet, not only do Gudō’s ideas predate many of these other anarchists, his utopian imagination also differs in a critical way in its absence of Buddhist spiritualism. Avoiding references to the pure land, Gudō situates his paradise purely in the earthly realm; in a way, he subverts Radical Buddhism, which views socialism and anarchism as paths to an explicitly Buddhist ‘pure land’, and instead proposes an anarcho-communist revolution in which consciousness and freedom is achieved through Buddhism (as Buddhism and socialism are two sides of the same coin) yet paradise itself is defined by its material, social and political conditions rather than ‘heavenly bliss’. For example, during his interrogation for his alleged role in the High Treason Incident of 1910, Gudo describes his intellectual conversion to anarcho-communism as a result of reading about the communal lives of the Buddhist sangha in Chinese monasteries4. However, this is framed from a specifically worldly perspective; it was the communal and egalitarian aspects of the sangha that appealed to Gudō, as opposed to their spirituality and religious practice. Thus, Gudō removes the distinction between Buddhism and anarcho-communism; he is not striving for a spiritual awakening to nirvana or pure land, but for a (Marxian) social revolution through labour unions to achieve “the ideal land of anarchist communism, where all are free and live a comfortable life”.5

As Rambelli emphasises, Gudō was seeking to transform the (earthly) world as a Buddhist anarcho-communist, rather than “striving for a socialist form of Buddhism”6. Paradise would be distinctively and exclusively anarcho-communist. Whilst inherently informed by the semantic, epistemological, and ontological frameworks of Gudo’s Buddhism, paradise on earth in its realised form seems more rooted in classical Marxism. Paradise would thus begin when the capitalist bourgeoisie “reject[s] the old crime of living out of his capital” and “realize[s] that all human beings must secure their clothing and food through their own labor”.7

Consequently, Gudō’s vision for paradise was both inseparable from his conception of Buddhism and yet fundamentally material. This fusion of Buddhism and socialism was the path necessary to achieve individual and collective consciousness to eliminate oppression and achieve freedom. Attaining social consciousness and establishing paradise would be achieved through Buddhism not because he imagined a future land of heavenly bliss, but instead because the worldly anarcho-communist ‘paradise’ envisaged by Gudō would be the true realisation of Buddhism on earth.

  1. Fabio Rambelli, Zen Anarchism: The Egalitarian Dharam of Uchiyama Gudō (Berkeley, 2013), p.31. [↩]
  2. Lajos Brons, A Buddha Land in This World: Philosophy, Utopia, and Radical Buddhism (Santa Barbara, 2023), p.76. [↩]
  3. Brons, A Buddha Land in This World, pp.92-95. [↩]
  4. Rambelli, Zen Anarchism, p.20. [↩]
  5. Uchiyama Gudō, Museifu Kyosan kakumei, quoted in and translated by Rambelli, Zen Anarchism, p.50. [↩]
  6. Rambelli, Zen Anarchism, p.30. [↩]
  7. Uchiyama Gudō, Heibon no jikaku, quoted in and translated by Rambelli, Zen Anarchism, p.63. [↩]

Tonghak: Did the religious movement play a positive role in the development of modern Korea?

Young discusses the continuation of the Tonghak religious movement through its transformation into Ch’ōndongyo in 1905, shortly after Korea became a protectorate regime to the Japanese state. This was a period of socio-political turbulence, as Koreans grappled with the slow decline of their national sovereignty till their annexation in 1910. Young emphasises
the antagonistic role the Tonghak and Ch’ōndongyo movements played in Korea’s political dichotomy through the late 19th and early 20th century1. The Tonghak movement was evidently far more than a religious sensation, as it played a critical role in reshaping the socio-political order, contributing to the reshaping of Korean society during modernisation. However, by the 20th century it led to political diversions that ultimately hindered Korea’s ability to unite to protect its culture as Japan began to impose its influence.

Tonghak was founded in 1860 by Ch’oe Cheu, who drew upon the roots of Buddhism, Confucianism, Daoism and local folk beliefs, as well as rejecting Western influences. One of the key elements of this new religion was that it offered an alternative to the Neo-Confucianist philosophy that were the foundations of the Chōson dynasty1. Confucianism stressed the consistent moral positioning of authority for the objective of social cohesion. The foundations of Tonghak as a movement that emphasised the strength and fundamental equality of all individuals regardless of their social class signified a clear desire to break from Korea’s hierarchical practices.

The worsening socio-economic conditions of the mid-19th century, from rural poverty and famine, to floods and outbreaks of cholera and smallpox, also provided the ideal setting for this new religious agenda2. The Tonghak movement utilised this upheaval to create an inclusive message, emphasising that these hardships were shared societal experiences, in order to build unity and reassure them for the future. Ch’ōndongyo texts portray these growing societal challenges as evidence of the government’s inability to navigate the complexities of modernity. Simultaneously, they presented the movement as being rooted in finding a solution for society to cope with the transition into a new era. They quote that “Daesinsa [the title of Ch’oe Cheu] made clear the fact that humankind has fallen into a state of confusion and degeneration and this has been a necessary situation to open the new era of Hucheon.”3. Whilst the spiritual foundations of this movement are central to its growth, the political context of the period evidently played a significant role in shaping the movement, highlighting the interplay between religious reform and socio-political change in Korea’s path to modernisation.

The Tonghak movement’s nationalist dimensions were treated on par with the Korean political movements of the late-19th century, such as the Kabo reforms (1894-1896), and the Independence Club, by the Chōson court as part of the attempt to build a new social order. Beyond this, Young goes on to examine the exploitation of the Tonghak in political movements, particularly Ilchinhoe, a pro-Japanese organisation whose advocacy to allow Japan to control Korea’s affairs tied Tonghak much closer to the Japanese than he had ever advocated for. Ilchinhoe consistently relied on its roots from the Tonghak movement to justify its support for the Japanese, arguing that government resistance and reform were a part of their heritage4. Despite Son Pyōng-hui’s decision to change the name of the religion from Tonghak to Ch’ōndogyo to reassert itself from these political movements, it is clear that the political dimensions of the Ch’ōndogyo had become so entrenched by the early 20th century that it was difficult to separate the religion from its new political context.

In summary, the Tonghak and Ch’ōndongyo movements played a vital role in reshaping Korean society by fostering a new critical engagement with its social order. Their influence was particularly notable in the empowerment of the southern peasant class, who began to perceive modernisation through a more critical lens. However, this success also left them vulnerable to political exploitation and foreign intervention, which ultimately contributed to the fragmentation of Korea’s cultural and political identity.

  1. Anderson, Emily. Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea. Springer, 2016 Ch 5: Young., Carl. “Eastern Learning Divided: The Split in the Tonghak Religion and the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1904–1910”, p.80 [↩] [↩]
  2. Kallander, George L. ‘Salvation Through Dissent: Tonghak Heterodoxy and Early Modern Korea’, University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2013, p.25 [↩]
  3. Ch’ondongyo Documents [↩]
  4. Anderson, Emily. Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea. Springer, 2016 Ch 5: Young., Carl. “Eastern Learning Divided: The Split in the Tonghak Religion and the Japanese Annexation of Korea, 1904–1910, p.93 [↩]

The Five Proclamations of Zhou and the Confucian Model of Kingship

Although Rujia is in the modern day inextricably associated with Kongzi, traditional accounts have generally rejected the notion that the philosopher invented an entirely new school of thought. Kongzi himself is said to have remarked “I am a transmitter and not an innovator; trusting and adoring the ancients, I would dare to compare myself to the old Peng.”1 Among Rujia Scholars, the ancient ways that Kongzi sought to transmit are best embodied in a canon of Five Classics. Among the canonical Classics is the Shujing, or the Book of Documents.

The Shujing is purportedly an anthology of court records going back to the reign of the mythical Emperor Yao. These records are collectively supposed to provide insight into the ancient ways that Kongzi and other Rujia scholars sought to emulate. In reality, however, many of the “records” are far younger than they are purported to be, as evidenced by archaeology as well as linguistic analyses of the text. A further 21 entries, though formerly viewed as authentic, have been since classed as apocrypha of the early centuries CE.2  The oldest stratum of the authentic Shujing consists of Five Proclamations by the Duke of Zhou on behalf of the underage King Cheng of Zhou. Although they date to several hundred years before Kongzi’s time, the Proclamations promote certain values that are very similar to those later embraced by Kongzi and his successors. 

The Proclamations continually emphasize the importance of the present monarch following in the footsteps of his forbears, completing whatever unfinished business that they had started and constantly looking to their example for guidance. At the same time, the Proclamations also call for the maintenance of the institutions of the deposed Shang Dynasty to at least some extent: “The punishments shall be determined by what were the regular laws of Yin (Shang)/ “Your Majesty, commence the rites of Yin and sacrifice in the new city…” The Proclamations likewise call for the reigning monarch to follow the examples of the former Shang kings who were righteous.3

This submission of the reigning monarch to the guidance of his predecessors can be said to reflect an extension of the central Rujia value of filial piety. As later stated by Kongzi, a son’s duties to his father do not end with the death of the latter, but continue beyond the grave: “If for three years [the son] does not abandon the ways of his [late] father, he may be called filial.”4 In the context of kingship, this is translated into the expectation that the reigning monarch should pursue more or less the same policies as his predecessors. Having ruled in the prior generations, the kings of the former Shang Dynasty can likewise be seen as spiritual fathers to the current Zhou monarch; thus, their legacy too must be honored. This means that the ruling king should preserve the institutions of the previous dynasty and continue to follow the example of its rulers. 

The calls to preserve the institutions of Shang are also very much in line with later Rujia attitudes towards tradition and innovation. Kongzi and other Rujia scholars were greatly concerned with preserving the supposed ways of wise rulers from antiquity. Indeed, the reason why the Classics including the Shujing were so prized was that they were believed to be primary sources on these ancient traditions. In practice, this meant that Rujia scholars generally preferred adhering to time-honored traditions to engaging in institutional innovation. The belief was that these ancient rulers behaved and governed in accordance with the natural order of the world; it was for this reason that their reigns were so long and prosperous. Conversely, the troubles of Kongzi’s own time were caused by the abandonment of the ways of the ancients under later Zhou rulers.  The Proclamations likewise call on the reigning monarch to look to the example of former Shang kings precisely because the latter were supposed to have governed in accordance with the will of Heaven. While the Shang kings governed well, their house remained in power and the realm prospered. But when the last Shang king, Di Xin, disregarded the will of Heaven, the realm fell into disorder and decline before the Heaven-fearing kings of Zhou stepped in and replaced the Shang.5 

The model of kingship portrayed in the Proclamations of Zhou bears striking parallels to that which was promoted by Kongzi and his disciples centuries later. Kongzi, who was well versed in the Shujing (at least in its contemporary form) would almost certainly been familiar with the Proclamations.6 It is very likely that the content of the Proclamations had a profound impact on the Kongzi’s beliefs. These beliefs would be passed on to the philosopher’s students from them to posterity. Thus, Kongzi was not wrong when describing himself as a “transmitter and not an innovator.” 

 

 

 

 

  1. Analects 7.1 [↩]
  2. Michael Nylan, “The Documents (Shu 书),” essay, in The Five “Confucian” Classics (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014), 123–36. [↩]
  3.  Qiu Kong and James Legge, “Zhou Shu,” essay, in Book of Documents One of the Five Classics of Ancient Chinese Literature Compilede by Confucius. English Translation by James Legge (1815-1897) (North Charleston, SC, USA: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform Dragon Reader, 2016). [↩]
  4. Analects 1.11 [↩]
  5. Legge, “Zhou Shu” [↩]
  6. Analects 7.18 [↩]

KANG YOUWEI’S USE OF REVIVALISTIC TRADITIONALISM: A DEPARTURE FROM HIS UTOPIAN IDEOLOGY?

Kang Youwei’s works and ideology present a complex amalgamation of modern Confucian thought, Kantian philosophy, and reformist political theory, making him a figure who reflects the complexities of the early globalization era in which he was active. In order to advance his agenda as a reformer and humanitarian activist, Kang Youwei leveraged his Confucian learnings to advocate for a new state of global existence modeled after the Datong, a word that refers to the utopian society imagined by Confucius.
In his chapter “The Moral Vision in Kang Youwei’s Book of the Great Community,” Ban Wang explores how Kang Youwei goes about advocating for his vision of the ideal moral community through, effectively “revising the Confucian moral tradition.”1 Wang’s in-depth analysis provides several points of interest, while this blog post will focus on one: Kang Youwei’s rhetoric and methodology in promoting his ideas of utopianism in Confucian thought. In the following analysis of the way Kang Youwei advocates for his modern, “revi[sed]]” version of Confucianism, I stipulate that in order to convey his points and appeal to his audience, Kang Youwei leverages traditional ideas of Confucianism to support his own, completely contradictory, understandings of the philosophy.
Previously, I have made blog posts about different religions and cultural traditions and how they’ve been used as agents of influence outside their place of origin. This exploration of Kang Youwei’s advocacy for Confucian universalism offers a different perspective in which Confucianism is an ideology that is threatened by “Western encroachment” and seeks to spread it’s influence not for the purpose of expansion, but for survival.2
In academic literature, Kang Youwei is portrayed as an almost revolutionary figure in Confucian thought. Justin Ritzinger, in his investigation of Taixu’s philosophy and influences, refers to Kang Youwei as a “famous utopian,” distinguishing him from his Confucianist predecessors due to his model for the perfect model for society. Rather than looking to the past for the perfect model of society, as had hundreds of generations of previous Confucian philosophers, including Kongzi, Kang chose to use a different source. His works center around the Datong, a utopian society imagined by Confucius. Although Confucius’s Datong had been previously explored, Kang’s use of the utopia as an achievable reality rather than a more abstract concept was new in popular Confucian thought. Bart Dessein summarizes Kang Youwei’s viewpoint on history, writing that he saw it as “a progressive process that would eventually lead to perfect happiness.”
Within Confucian philosophy, Kang Youwei’s interpretation represents an important departure from one foundational element of thought: revivalistic traditionalism. Revivalistic traditionalism is one method by which Confucianism grows and changes over time; it allows for social, political, and cultural progress, but requires a historical reference point in the Confucian tradition. Bryan Van Norden, who identifies revivalistic traditionalism as one of the five themes of Confucianism, writes that under its logic, “there is no higher standard of judgment than human civilization at its best.”3
It is understandable, then, that Kang Youwei urging his audience to strive toward a very reachable Datong was a shift in Confucian thought. However, although the premise of Kang’s stipulation involved a directly contradictory idea of history, the methods by which he advocates this perspective actually draw upon the logic of revivalistic traditionalism, perhaps using it as a guise for his more radical standpoints. In his writings advocating for a more harmonious world order, Kang Youwei consistently refers back to a time of Chinese relations with other regions that Ban Wang describes as being “based on ritual, tributary networks, commerce, and family ties under the aegis of Confucianism” rather than their present state during Kang’s time, which was “increasingly driven by ruthless competition, conflict, and domination.”4
After China’s 1885 conflict with France, Kang Youwei’s primary goal was to “restore certain aspects of the Confucian worldview.” Despite his ultimate goal of Datong, Kang Youwei consistently appeals to Chinese and Confucian history as anothing point to strive for — or to revive. For Kang, the cause of the dramatic shift away from Confucian thought and toward “ruthless competition” was “Western encroachment,” which he argues “broke up the fabric of traditional communities.”4
Contrary to what is popularly understood, revivalistic traditionalism and utopianism may not be mutually exclusive — if in premise than perhaps not in practice. It appears that throughout his teachings, Kang Youwei’s belief in a utopian future did not cause him to stray from the Confucian practice of reviving old traditions and revising them. In fact, Kang Youwei interacted greatly with early Confucian teachings and writings. In 1895, when his first petition to the Qing emperor failed to achieve its goals, Wang notes that Kang was forced to “move away from metaphysical arguments to a historical account of the evolution of government and society.”5 Although Kang himself may have preferred metaphysical arguments referring to Datong, he was able to adjust his strategies and rhetoric to suit traditional Confucian principles.
Ultimately, Kang Youwei presents an interesting example of a Confucian reformist, in that he often appealed to the very Confucian concepts that his ideology sought to change. If we view Kang’s teachings in a holistic perspective, however, we can see that his idea of Datong is perhaps just a radical manifestation of revivalistic traditionism, despite its overt departure from Confucian thought that idolized China’s past.

  1. Wang, Ban. Chinese Visions of World Order: Tianxia, Culture, and World Politics. (2017), pp. 87-105. [↩]
  2. Ibid [↩]
  3. Van Norden, Bryan W. Introduction to Classical Chinese Philosophy. (Hackett Publishing Company, 2011). [↩]
  4. Wang, 2017 [↩] [↩]
  5. Ibid. [↩]

The Creation of Identity and Community in Print

In his chapter ‘Piety in Print’, DuBois uses the Shengjing Times as a case study to trace the development of religion in print, as controlled by the Japanese, in Manchuria/Manchukuo. He argues that the images of religion presented related to both social trends and political needs, and the images tended to mirror the larger aims of Japan in the region. In his analysis, he refers to the theories of nationalism and community building of Anderson and Weber, which both include the role of print journalism/language in developing identities, ideas, and community. DuBois notes there is a key difference between their two theories however, turning on the question of whether mass media reflects existing identities or creates new ones:

‘In other words, the former [Anderson] shows publications expanding to fit the contours of an existing community, the latter [Weber] shows them creating a new one’.[1]

DuBois concludes that even at its most propagandistic, the paper was never able to simply impose its ideas onto its readership and that its later propagandistic messages probably ‘changed fewer minds than Weber’s example would suggest’.[2] Rather, the paper reflected existing identities, adhering closer to Anderson’s theory, due to newspapers being a product to be consumed and discarded at will and its readership holding the ability to simply disagree with its contents. This is illustrated best in the Shengjing Times’s attitude towards religious practices which promoted superstition; its theme of anti-superstition in its early publications (1906-1924) appealed to an intellectual readership and the iconoclastic May Fourth generation. DuBois argues that it was this image of religion the paper provided that was most successful, because it was a message its readership was keen to hear. Here we see the paper appealing to the pre-established intellectual community of ideas which subscribed to ideas of anti-superstition and anti-religious vision of social progress.

Perhaps Weber’s theory of community and identity building is instead demonstrated in the ‘revolution plus romance’ literary genre of China which appeared in the first half of the twentieth century. In his chapter ‘Revolution of the Heart’, Haiyan Lee provides a critical genealogy of sentiment and highlights the transformations of love as a concept of social and cultural life in twentieth century China. Through this literary genre, we see love used as a discursive technology for constructing individual and collective identities by the KMT and CCP, and literature participating ‘in (re)defining the social order and (re)producing forms of self and sociality’.[3] Love was supplemented to the revolutionary agenda, argued to threaten revolution and diminish revolutionary zeal. The genre therefore was able to use the concept of ‘love’, popular as a symbol of freedom, autonomy, and equality among the May Fourth generation, in order to promote the collective over the individual and further the revolutionary agenda.

Both the Shengjing Times and the Chinese literary genre of ‘revolution plus romance’ serve to illustrate the potential language has in the creation of identities and communities. While the Shengjing Times reflected existing identities and formed a community of readership based upon them, the Chinese literature aimed to form new identities aligned to the revolutionary movements. Overall, both demonstrate the use of language to further political agendas, and as case studies indicate both Anderson and Weber’s theories as feasible.

[1] Thomas David DuBois, Empire and the Meaning of Religion in Northeast Asia: Manchuria 1900-1945 (Cambridge, 2017), p. 87.

[2] Ibid., p. 107.

[3] Haiyan Lee, Revolution of the Heart: A Genealogy of Love in China, 1900-1950 (Stanford, 2010), p. 7.