Christian Confucianism

“China also walked in the great Way, but within the most recent one or two thousand years, China has erroneously followed the devil’s path, thus being captured by the demon of hell.”[1] – The Book of Heavenly Commandments

According to many 19th century Christian missionaries and supporters of Confucianism, the teachings of Christianity and Confucianism are based on opposing philosophies which cannot coexist.  Christians of the Taiping Rebellion even went as far as to describe Confucianism as “the devil’s path.”  However, there are many ways in which their ideas overlap and events such as the Taiping Rebellion demonstrate that Confucian ideals can be adapted through a Christian framework.  While most scholars view the Taiping Rebellion through the lens of class or nationalism, Carl Kilcourse argues in his book Taiping Theology: The Localization of Christianity in China 1843-1864, that the most important aspects of the rebellion are grounded in religion.  He describes the ways in which rebels adapted Christian theology and successfully integrated it with their own traditions, including Confucianism.  He argues that it was the ability to merge Christianity and Confucianism which made the movement initially successful.

Even though the rebellion’s leader Hong Xiuquan denounced Confucius, many aspects of the Taiping discipline reflect Confucian thought.[2]  Hong’s understanding of human nature shows that he was greatly influenced by classical education, especially the philosophy of Mencius, because Hong held an optimistic view of human nature.  Contrary to the Christian belief that original sin marks all of humanity as inherently evil, Hong’s belief that humans are naturally good reflects Neo-Confucian thought.  Additionally, the Taiping commitment to the Ten Commandments is reminiscent of the Confucian commitment to self-cultivation.  The idea that one can unlock one’s inner good nature by following the Ten Commandments seems to be based on the classic Confucian idea that one should commit oneself to learning and self-perfection.  The fifth of the “Ten Heavenly Commandments” is also connected to Confucianism.  The fifth commandment of filial piety is described in “The Book of Heavenly Commandments,” where it claims that, “the Lord God is the universal Father of all in the mortal world.”[3]  It adapts the Confucian principle that sons should be loyal to their fathers to portray the relationship between humanity and god as one of filial obedience.  Kilcourse uses the Taiping understanding of human nature, the Ten Commandments, and filial piety to show how much their Christian theology overlaps with Confucian tradition, demonstrating that despite Hong’s anti-Confucian rhetoric, he was greatly influenced by Confucianism.[4]

To explain the success of the Taiping ideology, Kilcourse uses the term “glocalization,” or the process of “localization [which] occurs when a foreign object, idea, or institution is taken to a new cultural environment, exposed to local influences, and thereby transformed into an original expression of the indigenous culture.”[5]  While Christians and Confucians alike declared the mutual exclusivity of the two ideologies, their principles and values were often adapted to compliment each other.  The ideas on which the Taiping Rebellion was founded draw from both Christianity and Confucianism, merging the two to create a foundation for the theology of the uprising.

 

[1] Theodore de Bary, Sources of Chinese Tradition: From 1600 Through the Twentieth Century, (Columbia University Press, 2001), ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/st-andrews/detail.action?docID=908711, 219.

[2] Carl S. Kilcourse, Taiping Theology: The Localization of Christianity in China 1843-1864, (Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 110.

[3] Bary, Sources of Chinese Tradition, 219.

[4] Kilcourse, Taiping Theology, 109-133.

[5] Ibid, 17.

The Interplay of Confucianism and Protestant Fundamentalism in the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom

“A fascinating example of the interplay between Chinese and Western ideas in a historical event of the first magnitude.”1 This summary, taken from the second volume of Sources of Chinese Tradition, neatly outlines the legacy of the Taiping Rebellion. This piece will argue that it is this interplay that contributed to the original success of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, due to the similarities between Confucian ideals and western Protestant Fundamentalism.

The importance of Protestantism in the foundations of the Taiping Rebellion cannot be overstated. As Thomas O’Reilly brilliantly explains, Protestantism as a denomination had come to China far later than Catholicism, and yet was quick to take hold. He points out that rather than focus on proselytising and active conversion, as previous Catholic efforts had done, the first Protestant missionaries instead devoted themselves to translation. In doing so, he argues that ‘the translated Bible constituted Protestantism’s most influential contribution to the Taiping Rebellion’. 2

However, translation alone does not account for the success of Protestantism in China. Reilly’s work, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom: Rebellion and the Blasphemy of Empire, details how the success of the Rebellion in part came down to the inherent similarities of Protestant Fundamentalism and Confucian teachings. In particular, Reilly notes the importance laid on the hierarchical system of the Heavenly Father (God), Jesus (the Heavenly Elder Brother), and the leader of the Rebellion himself, Hong Xiquan (the Heavenly Younger Brother). In demanding complete obedience to this structure, Reilly shows that Protestantism shared much of the same core values and dogmas as Confucianism. Hong, having been extensively educated under the Civil Service Examination system, was thus deeply rooted in Confucian ideology, and it was therefore no great issue to tie in the new western religion to these ancient ideals.

This return to Confucian ideals is echoed by Philip A Kuhn, who argues that Hong’s original aim of conversion ‘could best be accomplished by reconciling Christianity with the Confucian tradition’.3 Both Reilly and Kuhn note the importance placed on the adherence to the Ten Commandments, slightly altered from the Old Testament, but retaining much of the basic tenets. As well as this, Reilly mentions that the doxologies, or songs, were more likely to have been chanted rather than sung, and, more importantly, that ‘a report from the city of Suzhou states that that the singing of the doxology in that city included 28 verses of four to five characters each’, which naturally draws comparisons with the Three Character Classics.4 Of course, there were noticeable differences, notably in the granting of land to each family unit equally and the call that no-one should own private property.5 However, this speaks more to Hong’s plans for economic reform, and were as much rooted in the dissatisfaction and hostility to the Qing dynasty’s perceived failures as in religious doctrine.

Overall, it is clear that the reason for the early success of the Taiping Rebellion was due to the similarities between Confucianism and Protestantism. For a young man having dedicated his life to learning Confucian ways and being deeply disappointed in his failures, it is it perhaps easier to understand the allure that Protestantism held for Hong Xiquan. In integrating his classical education with the newness of western religion, he was able to marry the two together almost seamlessly. In the end, it was not a failure of religious belief and unity that saw the fall of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, but military, as it was weakened by internal power struggles and fracturing. It therefore stands as one of the major events of the 19th century in China and undoubtedly laid the groundwork for the later rebellions and uprisings of the 20th century and beyond.

  1. Theodore de Bary, William, Lufrano, Richard John, Wing-tsit Chan and Berthrong John, Sources of Chinese Tradition: From 1600 through the twentieth century, (2nd ed. New York, 2000), p. 213. [↩]
  2. O’Reilly, Thomas, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom: Rebellion and the Blasphemy of Empire, (Seattle, 2014), p. 57. [↩]
  3. Philip A Kuhn, ‘The Taiping Rebellion’, in John Fairbank (ed.), The Cambridge History of China: vol 10: Late Ch’ing, 1800-1911 (Cambridge, 1978), p. 269. [↩]
  4. O’Reilly, The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, p. 127. [↩]
  5. Sources of Chinese Tradition, p. 225. [↩]

The Motivations of Koreas Peasantry and its connection to the Tonghak Uprisings

‘The Tonghak Peasant Uprising had once been depicted as a spontaneous rebellion of disgruntled peasants that broke out suddenly in reaction to harsh exploitation by the notorious Venal.’[1]

Young Ick Lew and his article: The Conservative Character of the 1894 Tonghak Peasant Uprising: A Reappraisal with Emphasis on Chŏn Pong-jun’s Background and Motivation, puts into perspective the diversity of historiographical thought regarding the motivation behind the Tonghak uprising (1894). It is diverse because according to Young Ick Lew, many historians argue that the uprising was not fully motivated by Tonghak, instead it was formed under the groundings of a divided and corrupt society. This argument holds more strength because of the factors that put Korea into such a weak state, which left the governing system in chaos. One of these factors is the influence in which China and Japan had over Korea, which caused the country to essentially fight to keep its identity and culture in place. This desperation to reclaim Korea from the grasp of China and Japan has created different arguments on what caused the peasants to follow Tonghak and to form a class consciousness. One factor that should be highlighted is the absence of information regarding how these peasants became aware of the corrupt system in which they lived in.

When comparing this to the Russian Revolution the peasantry formed a class consciousness through education, which enabled them to understand their rights and place in society[2]. However, Young Ick Lew does not go into depth regarding why the peasants became highly aware of the injustice they faced. Young Ick Lew, instead uses other forms of debates surrounding class consciousness to explain why the peasants were eager to follow Tonghak religious group. There is an understanding that through more peasants joining the movement, they were becoming more aware of the corrupt politics within Korea.

Furthermore, what also strengthens Young Ick Lew’s argument of the peasantry motivations is what the Tonghak revolt represented to them. The leadership of the movement was also made up of peasant born individuals which perhaps symbolised a sense of hope for the peasantry, allowing them to feel more involved with the revolt and the political system with Korea. However, there are other motivations which are pointed out, which also coincide with other historians’ views within Sources of Korean tradition[3]. The motivations could be argued to be less of a movement and more of a revolution. This was as both articles state, due to the demands that the revolt made, which was arguably fair to all and would diminish all injustices by scraping the class system, but it would also mean strengthening this anti-foreigner state which the Tonghak followers had promoted.[4]

[1] Young Ick Lew, The Conservative Character of the 1894 Tonghak Peasant Uprising: A Reappraisal with Emphasis on Chŏn Pong-jun’s Background and Motivation (Duke University Press, 1990) p.159.

[2] Orlando Figes, The Russian Revolution of 1917 and Its Language in the Village (The Russian Review, 1997) p.324.

[3] Peter H. Lee; William Theodore De Bary; Yŏng-ho Ch’oe, Sources of Korean tradition (Columbia University Press, 2000) p.265.

[4] Young Ick Lew, The Conservative Character of the 1894 Tonghak Peasant Uprising: A Reappraisal with Emphasis on Chŏn Pong-jun’s Background and Motivation (Duke University Press, 1990) pp. 165-166.

Blog Entry Week 2


Thomas P. Kasulis in Engaging Japanese Philosophy: A Short History raises an intriguing issue when he confronts Maruyama Masao’s theory that Ogyu Sorai represented an early signal of Japan’s eventual descent into a racist and totalitarian state. In fact, Maruyama connects Sorai to Machiavelli because they both composed their political works to absolute rulers and sought to assist such rulers in maintaining their position, which they posited was more important than personal morality. Moreover, Kasulis claims that Maruyama in his post World War II analysis sees Sorai’s brand of Confucianism as an early example in Japan of politics being separated from any religious or moral principles, which can, in turn be used to explain and comprehend the ethnocentric and facist development of Japan. However, Kasulis makes a compelling argument that Sorai and his understanding of the role of Confuciansim was not just as a tool to provide support to a ruler or shogun’s ability to maintain their authority, but rather a mechanism to chart a path for leaders to be more virtuous and connected with the needs of those who they have authority over. On the one hand it is not hard to see Sorai and his concept of the “accomplished ones” or the ruling classes being an obvious signal and early warning sign of the future fascist and racist Japanese imperial state. Nonetheless, It seems that the Kasulis’ argument is that such an analysis is too simple and reductive. Sorai’s philosophy and Confucianism in general, albeit representing conservative principles, does not inextricably explain the development of the modern state in Japan. Kasulis seems to be arguing that such a post-World War II analysis needs to be confronted in order to better understand the philosophical reach and context of scholars like Sorai. Indeed, Kasulis explains that while Sorai takes a dim view of “Buddhist egalitarianism” and clearly understands that some individuals are simply better than others, he still tasks rulers with needing to be “attentive to the people’s concerns”. This is a much more nuanced analysis of Japanese Confucianism and its import. The interpretations by different Confucian scholars, shows a wide range of beliefs, on many different points along the political spectrum. This is further proof that governments and ideologies are often imbued with contradictory elements and bright lines connecting a philosophical position to a specific political outcome should be viewed with suspicion. In fact, it seems odd that Sorai’s veneration of the sage kings and his emphasis on reading and learning Chinese to properly emulate these sages would be precursor for the ethnoracism displayed by the imperial Japanese regime. Furthermore, Sorai’s respect for the ancient culture of another country does not seem to comport with the imperialistic and nationalistic tendancies that developed in Japan. Kasulis effectively suggests that it is too simple to trace a direct line from philosophers like Sorai to a racist, ethno-nationalist and imperialist Japanese society. While Sorai’s theories seem to neatly fit within a feudal world view it does not seem inevitable or reasonable that such views will lead to facism and racism. Kasulis is clear that his “agenda” is not the same as Maruyama, but obviously he has an agenda as well as well, which is to promote a more complex understanding of Sorai that focus on Sorai philosophy as an intellectual construct, rather than an explanation for how Japan developed politically. This forces one to take sides on whether certain political and philosophical thinkers are best to understand and evaluate independently, or to see them as proof of how state and political movements evolve. Why should a politically conservative philosophy necessarily lead to fasicism? Why should historians be quick to spot connections that support the analysis that suits them rather than to go where the analysis takes them. In a way Kasukis appears to be arguing against a form of outcome bias that connects Sorai to the eventual outcome of the Japanese state even though other factors could be the causal basis for the sins of imperial Japan. It is telling that Kasulis ultimately rejects seeing Sorai simply through either a Machiavellian or a Platonic lens. This may be a warning to historians to avoid seeing straight lines of development and to question trying to connect one moment to another without a critical analysis of whether the connection is truly accurate. The interpretations of historical philosophy and cultures with a set agenda can lead to pigeon holing and confirmation bias.


The Nature of Xunzi: Comparison between Mencius and Xunzi on the nature of human essence

Xunzi, as a prominent Confucianist thinker in the period of Warring States, has a very distinct point of view on how to interpret and practice Confucianism from that of Menzi. The core difference in their philosophies is the different understanding of human nature. Mencius argues that human nature is good; Xunzi holds an opposite point that human nature is bad. This divergence leads to the distinct interpretations of functions and practices of ritual which are emphasized by Kongzi. According to Mengzi, the ritual and standard of being righteousness originate from the good nature of people, and Xunzi does not believe that people could follow what is virtuous, “deliberate effort” which is the teaching and learning of rituals and standards of righteousness set up by sages is required to educate a person to become a gentleman.

This divergence between Mengzi and Xunzi leads to different ways of applying their philosophies to real politics. Xunzi’s theory, in the later time, contributes to the development of Legalism which is the fundamental ideology of the rulership in Qin. Comparing to Mengzi’s doctrine of good human nature, Xunzi’s theory seems to be more practical and welcomed by the ruling class, since it leaves more space for an external agency to intervene in people’s life. Soles differentiates these two by defining that Mengzi’s virtue-based theory is agent-centred and Xunzi’s theory is rule-based which makes it consequentialist. People do not have to have a good intention or motivation while practising good and righteous behaviours, if they follow certain rules, the result will be good. This good result is the harmonious social order.1 It seems that Mengzi holds a more idealistic philosophy, and Xunzi is more practical, since the effort of a government is valued, and the outcome of this external effort is a stable society longed for by every ruler.

Despite Mengzi and Xunzi hold opposite opinions on the nature of human essence, and practices based on their philosophies differ in real life. They are not naturally in opposition to each other. Though Xunzi denies that human nature is good, he admits that there is an internal motivation of people to become good. In Chapter 23 of Xunzi: “People desire to become good because their nature is bad.” ((Philip J. Ivanhoe and Bryan W. Van Norden Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy 2nd Edition, pp298-310.)) He does not deny people’s instinct toward virtue, he only thinks that a normal person cannot learn the right concept of virtue without external help. So, Mengzi and Xunzi have the consensus that people possess the incipient power toward virtue. Instead of only mentioning the importance of external intervention, the system of Xunzi is consist of both people’s longing for becoming good and the teaching of sages.

Another similarity between Xunzi and Mengzi is that they are both Confucianists. Though Xunzi’s philosophy gives many inspirations to Hanfeizi and Lisi who are important figures in Legalism. The reason why Xunzi is still considered to be a Confucianist, like Mengzi and Kongzi, is that he believes that society operates in a harmonious way when people behave virtuously and morally which differentiate from Legalism that a prosperous country is based on laws and creeds. From this perspective, Xunzi and Mengzi’s theories are very similar to each other, people’s virtue can be improved by practising ritual and righteous behaviours to ultimately form a harmonious society. Even the core of their philosophies is ambiguously similar. It is sometimes hard to distinguish whether an action is out of good human nature or the intention of being good.

The subject described by their theory has nuance. The good nature possessed by people in the description made by Mengzi is towards the self-cultivation of a person, a person here is viewed as an independent individual. For Xunzi, the bad result of the society being chaotic and unstable is created by many people choosing to follow their instinct of self-profiting. If a person does not live in a society that requires them to live collaboratively, then human nature described by Xunzi is not evil. It is evil because it can cause social chaos, but when the concept of society is no longer included in the discussion, the judgement on people’s nature cannot be simply categorized as “bad”.

  1. Soles, David E. ‘The Nature and Grounds of Xunzi’s Disagreement with Mencius’. Asian Philosophy 9, no. 2 (1 July 1999), pp. 130-31. [↩]

Xunzi and Human Nature: The Political Implications

“Now without teachers or proper models for people, they will be deviant, dangerous, and incorrect in their behaviour. Without ritual and the standards of righteousness, they will be unruly, chaotic, and not well ordered.”1

Xunzi, a third-century Confucianist philosopher argues within his writings that “people’s nature is bad”2 , and that they must ultimately make a deliberate effort to do good, through actions such as rituals and self-cultivation. Yet, as seen above, another way that Xunzi argues that humans can deliberately better themselves is by being taught and led to do good by their superiors, or as Xunzi states, ‘proper models’.

This piece argues that Xunzi’s statement above provides a theoretical platform for authoritarian rule of law in political spheres. The main reason behind this is that fundamentally if Xunzi’s moral philosophy is that humans possess an evil nature and that violence and chaos are the natural progressions, and thus the best way to avoid this is through specific social norms of righteousness and ritual, it is logical to argue that the state should also invoke such standards. Essentially, Xunzi’s authoritarian models of moral education can easily translate to authoritarian views in a political context. Eric Shwitzgebel corroborates this when focusing on the difference between Mengzi and Xunzi regarding their political philosophy, with Xunzi likely to have a more authoritative political philosophy.3   

This is evidenced as early as the 17th century when assessing the views set out by the Japanese Confucian scholar, Ogyu Sorai. who played an influential role in convincing the Shogunate to reform towards Confucian principles; ultimately being appointed the private secretary to Premier Yanagisawa.

As highlighted by Arthur Tiedemann, Sorai, upholding Xunzi as a philosophical and moral guide, prompted numerous legal and political changes, all driven by the idea that humans are inherently evil and can only improve through the means mentioned above.4 

This is evidenced when examining the political actions undertaken during Surai’s reform programme. Within this, Sorai recommended that free movement should be curtailed, as well as the fact that all people should be registered into ‘census registers’.5 

When reverting to the primary source above, the danger of Xunzi’s views on human nature is clear when putting it into the political context. By separating ‘proper models’ and the other (the rest of humanity) per se, Xunzi prompts a theoretical situation where a political system of authoritarian rule is validated.

This has been evidently shown when assessing the role of Sorai and his reform programme. Thus the argument is clear that there is an inherent interaction between Xunzi’s philosophical view on human nature and its role in indirectly promoting the political philosophy of authoritarianism.

  1. P.J. Ivanhoe and Bryan W. Van Norden, Readings in classical Chinese philosophy, (Indianapolis, 2005), pg. 299. [↩]
  2. Ibid, pg. 298 [↩]
  3. Eric Schwitzgebel, ‘Human Nature and Moral Education in Mencius, Xunzi, Hobbes, and Rosseau’, History of Philosophy Quarterly, 24:2 (2007), pg.15 [↩]
  4. Arthur Tiedemann, Sources of Japanese Tradition: 1600 to 2000, (New York, 2005),  p.219. [↩]
  5. ‘Ogyū Sorai: Confucian Conservative Reformer: From Journey to Kai to Discourse on Government’, in Huang C., Tucker J. (eds), Dao Companion to Japanese Confucian Philosophy. Dao Companions to Chinese Philosophy, (Dordrecht, 2014), p.173. [↩]

Lost in translation: Implications of Ogyu Sorai’s Rejection of the Wakun Method for Modern Readers

Ogyu Sorai (1666-1728) is perhaps best known for his political writings, yet his attitude towards language and the reading of Chinese texts is arguably of equal importance to any reader. As Thomas Kasulis outlines, the predominant way of reading classical Chinese literature in Japanese was the wakun method, in which a Chinese text was read with Japanese sentence structure and grammar. In doing so, this created what Sorai called a ‘bizarre and contrived hybrid” of both Chinese and Japanese1 . This simple description neatly gets to the heart of one of the greatest barriers of learning and interpretation of any reader: that of translation. In order to truly learn and understand classical Chinese texts, Sorai argued for learning the Chinese readings first, thus becoming familiar with the syntax and flow of spoken Chinese, and only then could one begin to translate it into more understandable Japanese.

Sorai argued that this ‘Japanification’ of Chinese readings and forcibly altered sentence structure led to an overcomplication and loss of information. Furthermore, he argued that since this translation itself came from the Heian era, it was by the time of the Tokogawa Shogunate some several hundred years out of date, and therefore written in an antiquated, archaic style that most ordinary Japanese readers would find it difficult to understand anyway2 .

His solution was to learn the original language before one can truly begin to understand its meaning. However, this is problematic for several reasons. Firstly, Kasulis points out that Sorai had the benefit of a classical education under the Hayashi family, and had the ‘rare skill’ of being able to read and understand both Classical and modern forms. He was then able to set up his own school in order to teach this new method, dubbed Nagasaki after the area with the highest bilingual population at the time3 .

Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, this approach has major implications for the modern reader. Learning a language outside of state-mandated education is often time-consuming and can be prohibitively expensive, whether engaging a private tutor or using some other form, such as an online service. Thirdly, there is the issue of breadth. Sorai, being first and foremost a Confucian scholar, had only to learn Classical and modern Chinese. A difficult task, perhaps, but a singular one to which he devoted himself. For those whose interests are not quite so narrowed, it could easily leave one overwhelmed, thinking that all languages of interest must be mastered before one could even attempt to study anything of note.

Fourthly, there is the simple question of whether Sorai was right at all. The Nagasaki method came under criticism even in his own lifetime, notably from another Confucian Scholar, Arai Hakuseki, who pointed out the illogicality of the method in general, since the bilingual residents, being predominantly fisherman, had learnt Chinese from sailors and so could hardly be placed in the same linguistic realm as the Sage Kings of old4 .Taking this criticism, it would seem to rather invalidate Sorai somewhat.

The final conclusion then, would seem to be a balance between Sorai and a more favourable attitude towards translation. By all means, learning and immersing oneself in a chosen language is desirable for life-long study, or even if one simply has a great love of a particular culture. However, to enforce learning and total understanding before even attempting to study a piece of literature outside of one’s native language is simply not possible in the modern world. A better way, therefore, would be to find our own Sorai, someone who has already done the difficult task of translation, and use that instead as the basis for study. Naturally there will be errors, and one may have to change or alter a sentence to fit with the individual demands and peculiarities of a different language, but this is inevitable. To reverse the well-known saying, its not the way that you say it, but what you say that is most important.

  1. Thomas P. Kasulis. Engaging Japanese Philosophy : A Short History. (University of Hawaii Press, 2018), p. 347 [↩]
  2. Ibid, pp. 348 [↩]
  3. bid, p. 349 [↩]
  4. Ibid, p. 349 [↩]

Human Nature: How Perception of Human Tendencies Alters the Definition of Confucianism

The influence of Confucianism in Chinese culture and throughout the world is undeniable, but Confucianism itself is difficult to define, both because it is rooted in deeply philosophical, existential questions, but also because it has been interpreted and redefined by so many generations of thinkers.  One critical aspect which differentiates different schools of Confucianism is how one answers the question of whether human nature is inherently good or inherently evil.  Even just a hundred years after the death of Confucius, his disciple Mencius redefined his teachings by basing Confucian philosophy on the principle that human nature is inherently good.  This so changed the foundation of Confucian belief that the new school came to be known as Neo-Confucianism.  On the opposite side of the spectrum are thinkers like Xunzi and Ogyu Sorai, who base their philosophical interpretations on the idea that humans are naturally inclined towards evil.  Although they all claim to be following and expanding on the teachings of Confucius, their approaches to Confucian teachings lead them in entirely different directions.

Daniel Gardner in his book, Four Books: The Basic Teachings of the Later Confucian Tradition, argues that the Neo-Confucian views of Mencius had a greater impact on Chinese education from 1300 to 1900 than almost any other figure, apart from Confucius himself.[1]  Mencius famously argues that “all men have a mind-and-heart that cannot bear to see the suffering of others: Today, no matter the person, if he suddenly comes upon a young child about to fall into a well, his mind-and-heart fills with alarm and is moved to compassion.”[2]  This belief in an innate sense of compassion influences his entire philosophy and it is the foundation of his belief that it is our duty to cultivate this compassion through self-reflection.  Gardner argues that it was required of anyone wishing to enter government service to internalise this philosophy of self-cultivation.  As a result, Confucianism, and its practice by those in official government positions, was a highly individualistic philosophy which recommended that the best way to serve others was by turning inward and through the perfection of oneself one could become an example for others.

Ogyu Sorai argued for the opposite approach.  He agrees with Xunzi that  humans are predisposed towards evil, claiming that “men are not sages, and that evil inevitably abounds while good is scarcely to be seen.”[3]  This pessimistic view of human nature leads him to the conclusion that humans cannot attain moral perfection on their own.  Arthur Tiedemann’s analysis of Sorai’s writings in Sources of Japanese Tradition: 1600-2000 argues that Sorai was convinced that traditional schools of Confucianism like Zhu Xi and Ito Jinsai, “had failed to fufill the basic aim of scholarship: to provide for the needs of the people and the general social welfare. The NeoConfucians were too preoccupied with metaphysics, philosophical idealism, and personal cultivation.”[4]  Other schools relied on the inner good nature of the individual to eventually lead them towards goodness and virtue, but Sorai thought this perspective was unrealistic because it placed too much pressure on the individual.  He argues that without established social and political structures to guide and support people, their material welfare would be neglected and as a result, the evil tendencies of human nature would be manifested.

The real opposition in these views lies in the contrasting ideas the true nature of human beings.  If, as Mencius claims, humans must look within themselves to find good, then Confucianism is a philosophy which focuses predominantly on the individual and encourages an almost religious approach to personal perfection through self-reflection and self-cultivation.  In this form of Confucianism, laws and government authority have little effect because one is expected to govern oneself and set an example for others.  But, if one takes Sorai’s view that humans possess a natural evil which they must overcome, it is necessary to look outside oneself, to social and political institutions to correct this inherent flaw.  In this sense, Confucianism is a philosophy which stresses the importance of community and advocates for the structure and support which rituals and laws provide to keep individuals in check.  These contradictory views both claim to be “fulfilling the Confucian teaching, not breaking with it,” but their social and political implications are vastly different.[5]  The way in which Confucianism is interpreted in this case determines whether it is defined as a religion or as a political ideology.

[1] Gardner, Daniel K., Four Books: The Basic Teachings of the Later Confucian Tradition, (Hackett Publishing Company, 2007), ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/st-andrews/detail.action?docID=1118881, p. xv.

[2] Ibid., p. 65.

[3] Tiedemann, Arthur, Sources of Japanese Tradition: 1600 to 2000, edited by Wm. Theodore De Bary, et al., (Columbia University Press, 2005), ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/st-andrews/detail.action?docID=908716, p. 220.

[4] Ibid., p. 218.

[5] Ibid., p. 219.

Revolution of the Heart – a brief explanation of Lee’s framework for emotional construction.

Revolution of the Heart: A Genealogy of the Love in China 1900-1950, Haiyan Lee’s post-structural analysis of a seismic shift in the emotional life of Modern China, seeks to reconceptualise the cultural construction of emotion. Lee references an exhaustive list of writers from the first half of the twentieth century, aggregating these texts and in doing so identifying a series of common tropes, scenes, stock characters, themes, and philosophies. As a result she is able to trace discourses on emotion, or rather, the fundamental essence of what emotion is, from the late Qing to the revolution, to the May the Fourth Movement in the late 1910s, up until the CCPs consolidation of power. That said, Lee focuses most closely on the effect of Romanticism on Chinese culture, and therefore hems in quite narrowly on the May Fourth and New Culture movements. Through this analytical focus, Lee formulates a framework by which one can effectively understand the astounding complexities of a  ‘genealogy’ of emotional structures, by establishing three discrete ‘structures of feeling’, the confucian(native), enlightenment(western), and revolutionary(synthesis), and tracing points of emergence, appropriation, and interpretation between the three. This brief piece will attempt to familiarise the reader with the basics necessary to understand this framework. 

Historiographically Lee’s framework disrupts a highly binary way of perceiving the Confucian and Romanticist construction of emotion, in referencing this Lee borrows from Sulamith Potter’s anthropological studies of Rural China. While this binary is, (as Lee argues), inaccurate, it is important to understand before deconstruction Lee’s framework. The ‘west’, or more specifically romanticism emphasizes the human being as being fundamentally differentiated from animals through its capacity to feel emotion. This notion, that one should principally be considered a ‘thinking feeling being’, has permeated fully throughout western culture. In this romanticist conceptualisation of the self, one places an innate value on being open an honest with ones emotions, as well as on emotions themselves, they view the expression of feeling as the means by which relationships are ‘created and renewed’, they therefore have an innate distrust of those who are not able to convince of their openness about their inner lives, because they have made one’s ‘emotions’ the experience of one’s inner life, the central legitimizing basis of all social relationships and actions. Simply put, the confucian construction of emotion does not ground the basis for social action in emotion, rather, it emphasizes the importance of meeting series of meeting a series of social expectations. It is not that the confucian construction of emotion fails to acknowledge the existence of an emotional inner life, but rather that within this context the “culturally shared code of expression and conduct” in the words of Lee, “does not have to be consistent with inner feeling” (Lee, 2006 pg.2). In essence, emotion was not thought of as a fundamental aspect of social life, the notion of ‘sincerity’, or clarity of intention, was therefore reserved for the proper enactment of a social expectation rather than the act of ‘baring one’s soul’. 

In formulating her framework, Lee adopts the working assumption that discourses of sentiment, (i.e new conceptualizations of emotions and their legitimacy,) open the individual up to new experiences of inner life on the basis of these evolving expectations. This notion also grounds Raymond William’s concept of structures of feeling, which Lee relies on in her framework. The  structure of feeling  captures social consciousness as lived experience in process, or in solution, before it is  “precipitated”  and  given  fixed  forms. It is essentially a cultural re-working of Marx’s base-superstructure idea, that changes in one’s material circumstance and lived experiences precipitate larger cultural and political changes, and generally not vice-versa.

With this in mind one can reasonably assert that Lee’s framework supposes that in the lived experience of hundreds of thousands of literati the very way in which emotion was capable of being perceived changed fundamentally over the course of the late 19th and early 20th century. This change was gradually integrated into the prevailing literary genres, then into the social action of the May Fourth Movement, and finally it manifested politically in the form of the abolition of arranged marriage.  

Yamamoto Senji: A Sexual Educator for the Japanese People

Since the beggining of the Meiji period (1868-1912) sexuality in Japan has been a topic of extensive debate among Japanese government officials and reformers. In Sabine Frühstück’s book, Colonizing Sex: Sexology and Social Control in Modern Japan, rather than partake in the debate, Frühstück’s goal is to “[examine] radical changes in the perception and description as well as the colonization of sex and sexuality;” more specifically, her “analysis centers on the strategies employed in the colonization of sex in Japan,” moreover “the techniques at work in the conflicts and negotiations that aimed the creation of a normative Japanese sexuality.”1 In other words, rather than focusing on the consequences of the actors of sexual colonization, she examines the interactions and debates between those who wished to colonize sex. Of the many varying actors referred to throughout the book, most of their thoughts on sexuality can be categorized into two main groups: those who wanted to establish control of sexuality, and those who were devoted to finding the truth about sex.

In Frühstück’s analysis all the actors referenced in her book have the goal of creating “a normative Japanese sexuality;” however, this blog will argue that not all of the sexologists in her book wanted to ‘colonize’ sex.2 A few aimed to find the truth about sex in hopes to disseminate that information to the public and have the people create their own normative sexuality based on correct information. This blog will mainly focus on Yamamoto Senji, the first of these ‘sexologists of the people’.

 

Previous to Yamamoto’s first successful publishing in 1925, sexual education and sexual studies were aimed towards the eradication of venereal diseases that were crippling the Japanese army. These studies were somewhat scientific, but their goal was to educate people on the dangers of sex. Frühstück explains that Yamamoto “declared war on ‘ancient sexual knowledge.’”3 In other words, previous sexual education was focused on venereal diseases and sought to repress sexuality causing people to fear sex according to Yamamoto. To combat this ‘colonization’, Yamamoto argued for “purely scientific sexual education;” he looked for “those who ‘loved the truth’” in hopes to free sexuality through truthful sexual education.4 Additionally, Frühstück explains that Yamamoto’s goal was to create a “science for humankind,” to make “scientific knowledge comprehensible and accessible to the wider public.”5 Yamamoto’s work was incredibly influential. Other sex researches followed in his footsteps to “popularize the knowledge of sex.”6

In this light, Yamamoto Senji was not one of the actors whose goal was to “‘colonize’ the sex and the sexuality of the Japanese populace,” as originally stated by Frühstück. His goal was to educate the masses on the truth about sex and have the people decide what was socially acceptable.7 That being said, although Yamamoto Senji does not fit Frühstück’s original claim in her introduction, he is still an incredibly important actor in the history of the sexual colonization of Japan and Frühstück’s reference to him and his work is apt.

 

  1. Frühstück, Sabine, Colonizing Sex: Sexologoy and Social Control in Modern Japan, (Los Angeles, 2003), pp. 1-2 [↩]
  2. Ibid. [↩]
  3. Ibid., p. 85 [↩]
  4. Ibid., pp. 86-87 [↩]
  5. Ibid., pp. 94-95 [↩]
  6. Ibid., p. 97 [↩]
  7. Ibid., p. 1 [↩]