Tag: 20th century Japan

Kuki Shūzō and Nishida Kitarō – Fascists or Subjects of Ideological Manipulation?

Christopher Goto-Jones makes the convincing argument that Nishida Kitarō did not promote facist ideologies, but instead that he expressed opposing political views with philosophical language. Goto-Jones argues that Nishida employed orthodox vocabulary in his political texts from the 1930s and 1940s in order to ensure that his texts would be published and also to avoid punishment from the increasingly totalitarian government.1 Nishida is often regarded as the founder of the Kyoto School, however unlike other groups of thinkers who are unified by an academic institution or an official organization, the Kyoto School can be used to loosely group together a diverse set of thinkers who did not formally organize.2 Although historiography on the Kyoto School is varied, the dominant view is expressed by James Heisig, who defines the school in terms of three central contributors: Nishida, Tanabe Hajime, and Nishitani Keiji.3 Although these figures may all be thought of as belonging to the Kyoto School, their philosophical thought differed greatly. This had adverse effects on Nishida in particular, the oldest of the three scholars, whose words were quoted out of context, thereby “manipulating his linguistic and ideological conventions into forms that resonated much more closely with the ultra-nationalist orthodoxy.”4 The language used by Nishida, necessitated by security concerns due to an overbearing government, created the possibility for ideological manipulation which resulted in Nishida’s thought being viewed as fascist.

The framework that Goto-Jones uses to exonerate Nishida from claims that he supported Japan’s brutal imperialism is a useful tool which can be instrumentalized in a discussion about Kuki Shūzō to show how the representation of Kuki’s ideas as fascist resulted from a lack of contextualization. Kuki is described as having been on the fringe of the Kyoto School, probably due to his teaching position at Kyoto Imperial University more so than due to similarities in philosophical orientation.5 Despite the fact that Kuki is not considered a central figure in the Kyoto school, and that his philosophy was markedly different than Nishidas, his ideas were also taken out of their original context and used to support facist ideologies. Similar to the process of de-contextualization of Nishida’s works which Goto-Jones describes as contributing to the false classification of this scholar as a fascist, Kuki’s writings have been taken out of their original context in order to support the claim that he was an active supporter of the fascist policies of the Japanese government.

In the case of Nishida, this ideological manipulation was undertaken by his fellow Kyoto School scholars, whereas in the case of Kuki it was done by scholars such as Leslie Pincus. Pincus argues that “By the late 1930s, Kuki had enlisted the tripartite structure of iki in the service of an ultranationalist imperial state.”6 In this view, Kuki’s vision of the aesthetic style of pre-Westernized Japan which he saw as a signifier of Japan’s capacity to excel in the modern world, as described in Iki no kōzō, provides an philosophical basis for Japanese domination in East Asia. As Yukiko Koshiro observes, Pincus’s failure to include Kuki’s other philosophical works in her study “dilutes the overall validity of her analysis.”7 Similar to the way in which Nishida’s works were taken out of the political context in which he wrote them to demonstrate his supposed support for fascist policies, Pincus uses Kuki’s Iki no kōzō without locating the text among his other contributions to show how it was used as a tool of cultural fascism. The alternative view, that “Kuki was unlikely to have been a willing and active conscript in serving the ideology that fueled Japan’s imperialism”, is more convincing because it accounts for the scholars lack of control over the ideological manipulations that their work is subject to.8 Goto-Jones’ analysis of Nishida’s works is a useful framework for an investigation into the political orientation of Kuki because it demonstrates how a philosopher’s work can be enlisted in fascist state policy, regardless of the author’s intentions.

  1. Christopher Goto-Jones, Political Philosophy in Japan: Nishida, the Kyoto School and Co-Prosperity (London, 2009), pp. 81-86. [↩]
  2. Bret Davis, ‘The Kyoto School’, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Summer 2019, [accessed 14 November 2020]. [↩]
  3. James Heisig, Philosophers of Nothingness: An Essay on the Kyoto School (University of Hawaii Press, 2001), p. 3-7 and 275-278 as cited in Davis, ‘The Kyoto School.’ [↩]
  4. Goto-Jones, Political Philosophy in Japan, p. 105. [↩]
  5. James Heisig, Thomas Kasulis, and John Maraldo (eds.), ‘Philosophers of Nothingness: An Essay on the Kyoto School’, in Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook (Honolulu, 2011), p. 829 [↩]
  6. Leslie Pincus, ‘In a Labyrinth of Western Desire: Kuki Shuzo and the Discovery of Japanese Being’, Boundary, 18: 3 (1991), p. 154. [↩]
  7. Yukiko Koshiro, ‘Review of Authenticating Culture in Imperial Japan: Kuki Shūzō and the Rise of National Aesthetics (Berkeley, 1996), by Leslie Pincus’, The Review of Politics, 59: 3 (Summer, 1997), p. 607. [↩]
  8. Hiroshi Nara, The Structure of Detachment: The Aesthetic Vision of Kuki Shuzo (Honolulu, 2004), p. 6. [↩]

Anarchism as Modernity: The Arishima Cooperative’s Contribution to a Global Narrative.

On Arishima Takeo’s liberation of his tenant farmers in 1922 and declaration of cooperative ownership, he created a space for the proliferation of anarchist thought in a completely new and undefined sphere.[1] Consequently, the Arishima cooperative farm in Hokkaido can be used to redefine traditional notions of anarchism as ‘anti-modern’ and trace the movement of Japanese anarchism into a global sphere.

20th Century anarchism was characterised by a total rejection of state in favour of social revolution.[2] Revolutionary discourse focused on a cultural transformation with emphasis on the individual. In historiography, therefore, it has been misunderstood as introspective and anti-modern due to anarchist’s intellectual isolation from the recognised structure of the state.[3] Furthermore, the proliferation of isolated Japanese anarchist communities has resulted in depictions of these groups as remote spheres with little connection to the globalised world or political trends.[4]  These ideas were reversed by Sho Konishi, who traces the expansion of anarchism to the ‘opening’ of Japan in the 1950s (Kaikoku) where the cultural and intellectual spheres of Russia and Japan merged.[5] He believed that anarchism adopted a transnational and global character which propelled it into modernity.

This is exemplified in the development of the Arishima cooperative farm and its creation of a new space and time. This did not isolate the community but distinguished them from their origins as tenant farmers and consequently propelled them into the sphere of modernity with a new identity. The Cooperative Living Handbook contained a history of the farm and was used to affirm membership in the cooperative.[6] As such, it became a physical demonstration of the connection with a shared heritage that had been constructed around the new freedom of the cooperative. The book served to create a new timeline of history as a reconstruction of the past that legitimised their liberation and placed them firmly in a trajectory of modernisation.

Additionally, the division of space was significant in the construction of a new space and time. Monuments and objects commemorating original members of the cooperative were placed in the centre of the community and used to mark out meeting forums.[7] These were viewed as symbolic objects which affirmed the overturning of the old ideological order in favour of liberation. They reflected the desire for a similar process in the wider political structures of Japan. The physical demarcation of space with such objects suggests that tenants sought to separate their new freedom as a new sphere of possibility which had no relation to the community’s past constraints as tenant farmers. It further implies that for the Arishima farmers, time renewed and began again upon their liberation. As such, this demonstrates that, far from internalised, the cooperative saw itself at the forefront of progress, looking forward into a devolved era of change.

Moreover, the Arishima cooperative did succeed in integrating itself into a wider global narrative. The farm held festivals, including the Autumn Harvest Festival and children’s Olympic festivals, which were open to outsiders and became known throughout the region.[8] Not only did the cooperative look forwards, but it aimed to do so in conjunction with surrounding communities. The proliferation of anarchist thought across the region is exemplified in the adoption of Anarchism by the Hokkaido-wide industrial cooperative in 1926.[9] Additionally, the Agricultural Industrial Cooperative Association published its journal ‘Kyoei’, which sought to promote ‘world thinking’ amongst agricultural labourers. Within this, we can see the Arishima anarchist thought centred within global anarchist thought as the communities sought to educate and connect with the wider world as their practices of mutual aid ‘sogo fujo’ united with wider global narratives of mass liberation.

The Arishima anarchist cooperative can therefore be used to trace the evolution of anarchist thought from a local sphere to global narrative. The vision of the farmers at the forefront of progress allowed for the creation of a new space and time through physical means. This allows for a revision of Japanese anarchism as modern and international. Throughout its evolution, the Arishima Cooperative remained engaged with the intellectual spheres around them as they forged their community to become a vehicle of progress which symbolised a new modernity.

[1] Sho Konishi, “Ordinary Farmers Living Anarchist Time: Arishima Cooperative Farm in Hokkaido, 1922–1935.” Modern Asian Studies, vol. 47, no. 6, (2013), p.1845.

[2] Arif Dirlik, Anarchism in the Chinese Revolution, (London 1991), p.29.

[3] Sho Konishi, “Ordinary Farmers”, p.1848.

[4] James Scott in Sho Konishi, “Ordinary Farmers”, P.1848

[5] Sho Konishi, Anarchist Modernity: Cooperatism and Japanese-Russian Intellectual Relations in Modern Japan, (Massachusetts 2013), p.2.

[6] Sho Konishi, “Ordinary Farmers”, P.1858.

[7] Ibid, P.1867

[8] Ibid, p.1878, p1882.

[9] Ibid, p.1884.

‘Bushido’ anarchists: The irony of rebellious martyrdom in Imperial Japan

Post-Meiji restoration Japan is known for being a highly nationalistic society with limited freedom of expression and little room for other ideologies than the nationalistic ideology promoted by the state. In Mikiso Hane’s Reflections on the Way to the Gallows we meet, among others, Kanno Sugako (1881-1911) and Kaneko Fumiko (1903-1926) – two women who lived in this time of nationalism and who ungrudgingly gave their lives for their beliefs and rebellions against the Japanese state and society. What struck me the most when reading the stories Kanno and Kaneko is their unyielding faith in their ideological cause right up to their deaths and, their honesty and transparent witness statements, and their bravery. Ironically enough, the way in which Kanno and Kaneko met their deaths can be argued to be exemplary of the values propagandised by the Japanese government at the time. Indeed, as Kanno was executed and Kaneko committed suicide in prison they displayed similar characteristics to the modern ‘Bushido’ values1 which had been integrated into Japanese society in this period as they fostered a ‘Japanese spirit’.2

 

The perhaps most famous anarchist in this period was Kotoku Sushui, who’s idea of anarchism was rooted in various critiques of imperialism, nationalism and militarism – he also had a complicated personal relationship with Kanno Sugako. Kanno’s and Kaneko’s anarchist beliefs were more personally motivated and more shaped by their individual animosity towards the authorities and hierarchies of the Japanese society they lived in, unlike Kotoku who was arguably more ‘intellectually’ motivated. Kanno exemplifies her opposition towards the existing society by writing, during her time as substitute editor of the newspaper Muro Shimpo, that ‘[w]omen in Japan are in a state of slavery. Japan has become an advanced, civilized nation, but we women are still denied our freedom by an iron fence’.3 Her critique is clearly a personal, and radical feminist one, attacking Japan’s modernity for not being thoroughly modern – particularly when it comes to its treatment of women. This feminist anarchism is particularly personal to Kanno since the social pressures and expectations put on women in this Japanese society instilled her with shame and guilt as she was raped at age 15. Kaneko’s beliefs were, likewise, shaped by her difficult upbringing where she was the subject of abuse and neglect from both her parents and grandmother. This led her to reject the contemporary ideals of the family hierarchy and filial piety – which was also supposed to permeate Japanese society as a whole. During her interrogation she explicitly draws the connection between what she sees as the unjust morality expected from the weaker part, both in society and in the family when she says:

From the standpoint of the weak, morality means an agreement that calls for one’s submission to the strong. This moral principle is common through all ages and all societies. The primary aim of those in power is to preserve this moral principle as long as possible. The relationship between parents and children is also based on this principle. It is only coated over with the attractive-sounding term ‘filial piety.’4

 

For their spreading of radical ideas and their alleged participation in conspiracies to assassinate the emperor, they were both tried and sentenced to death. It is not entirely clear whether these conspiracies were real or not, but they nevertheless both unrepentantly admitted to their involvement. Kanno, in her final statement, articulated that she had no regrets, she likened herself to a martyr giving her life to a higher cause, that she would ‘die without whimpering. This is my destiny’.5 Kaneko also admitted to the accusations levelled at her. In her interrogation she states that, because of her own experiences with ‘oppression by all sources of authority – I decided to deny the rights of all authority’ and ‘[f]or this reason I planned to eventually throw a bomb and accept the termination of my life’.6

Kanno was executed along with 11 other conspirators in 1911. Kaneko was, together with her ‘co-conspirator’ Pak Yeol, initially sentenced to death. However, the emperor pardoned them and they were offered life sentences in prison instead. Pak Yeol accepted the offer but Kaneko tore the pardon to shreds and committed suicide instead. Both of these faithful sacrifices to the cause of anarchism and defiance to Japanese society are, tragically and ironically, very similar to the warrior ethos promulgated by the very same society they were rebelling against.

  1. Christopher Ives, Imperial-Way Xen: Ichikawa Hakugen’s Critique and Lingering Questions for Buddhist Ethics (Honolulu, 2009), p. 32 [↩]
  2. Ibid., p. 13 [↩]
  3. Mikiso Hane, Reflections on the Way to the Gallows: Rebel Women in Prewar Japan (Berkeley, 1988), p. 53 [↩]
  4. Ibid., p. 119 [↩]
  5. Ibid., pp. 56-57 [↩]
  6. Ibid., p. 122 [↩]