Tag: Japan

The creation of modern Japanese science fiction through utopian fiction and the Second World War

 

Today, East Asian, and especially Japanese, science fiction and popular culture is immensely popular in the West. As Bolton, Scicery-Ronay Jr., and Tatsumi point out, this wave of science fiction from Japan was reliant on newer forms of communication, like television, video games, etc., while also being prominent in more traditional forms such as books.1 However, the cultural explosion happening in post-war Japan did not happen in isolation. According to Yoriko Moichi, Japanese utopian (and dystopian) literature is heavily influenced by Western utopian literature introduced after the Meiji Restoration and the subsequent opening up of Japan.2 Moreover, the modernisation and industrialisation happening in Japan both after the Meiji Restoration and after the war also impacted the post-war boom of science fiction. Lastly, the horrors of the Pacific War itself also helped to cement more dystopian and moralising science fiction at the forefront of the post-war movement, which then resulted in the initial popularisation of Japanese science fiction in the West.

 

Yoroki argues that the bleak science fiction created right after the war was dystopian because the war made a utopian society impossible to imagine, and that the futuristic and industrial science fiction literature of this period was ‘a little light weight’.3 This may be so, but the science fiction that was created as a direct result of the war did not only appear in traditional literature but also in the newer ones, thus resulting in a post-war dystopian culture which proved to be immensely influential. The most obvious example of such a post-war work of science fiction is the 1954 film Gojira, or Godzilla, King of Monsters!, which opened the floodgates for the subsequent popularisation of Japanese science fiction in the rest of the world. There is little doubt that Gojira is a representation of the horrors endured by the Japanese towards the end of the war. The monster is even awakened from his sleep by American nuclear testing in the pacific, alluding strongly to wartime America and its nuclear bombs. The film is also a strong critique of U.S.-Japanese post-war relations where Japan is being coerced by, and also collaborating with, the monster from the sea.4

 

The massive popularity of dystopian science fiction in new mediums in the years after the war thus led more of it, and more of it being exported to other parts of the world. With the technological and economic advancement of Japan in the 1970s and 80s the genre evolved into a more futuristic one, but there was still a strong dystopian element to it, as can be seen in famous an influential works such as Akira (1982/1988) and many others.5 Today, the world of Japanese-inspired science fiction is, of course, not always dark and dystopian, but much of it – and maybe the best of it –have strong dystopian elements. Thus, the utopian literature popularised in Japan after the Meiji restoration in conjunction with the horrors of the war and subsequent introspection in Japan created an initially distinctive, and highly influential genre of science fiction which has subsequently been hugely popular across the world on a plethora of different media.

  1. Bolton, Christopher, Csicery-Ronay Jr., Istvan and Tatsumi, Takayuki, Robot Ghosts and Wired Dreams: Japanese Science Fiction from Origins to Anime (Minneapolis, 2007), p. vii. [↩]
  2. Moichi, Yoriko, ‘Japanese Utopian Literature from the 1870s to the Present and the Influence of Western Utopianism’ Utopian Studies 10, (1999), pp. 90-91. [↩]
  3. Ibid., p. 95. [↩]
  4. Igarashi, Yoshikuni, Bodies of Memory: Narratives of War in Postwar Japanese Culture, 1945-1970 (Princeton, 2000), pp. 115-118. [↩]
  5. Bolton, Scicery-Ronay Jr., and Tatsumi, p. ix. [↩]

Music and the 1942 symposium: a Kyoto School microcosm

In July 1942, about half a year since the attack on Pearl Harbor and the advent of total war, there was arranged a symposium titled ‘Overcoming Modernity’ where members of the Kyoto School and other Japanese thinkers of various kinds wrote essays on, and discussed, how Japan was to overcome modernity. The symposium largely failed to come up with many concrete answers to the problem since the discussions largely ended up focusing on the semantics of the problem posed and other details. Indeed, the leader of the two-day roundtable discussions, Kawakami Tetsutaro, began the conference by admitting to the ambiguity of the theme of the symposium.1 One sub-theme discussed in the first day of the conference was the role of Japanese music in overcoming modernity. This sub-theme is perhaps the most unique one discussed at the symposium, but it also encapsulates many of the larger themes of the conference and of the Kyoto School in general.

The symposium at large was in agreement that Japan had a particular ‘spirit’ or ‘nature’ which made it stand out from the rest of the world, and that this spirit had been contaminated by outside cultures over many centuries. The way of overcoming what they saw as a Western-dominated modernity was to restore this Japanese spirit, not by going backwards but by going forwards.2 This somewhat paradoxical way of seeing the historical progression of Japan is furthermore mirrored in a fundamental paradox of the Kyoto School thinking as illustrated by the founder, Nishida’s combination of Eastern philosophical traditions and more modern Western methodological philosophy,3 which ended up creating a school which was both fundamentally critical of Japanese and Western philosophy, ideology and culture.

This is where the discussion on the role of music in the overall Japanese spirit comes in. The most prominent talker on this topic was Moroi Saburo, a ‘composer and music theorist’.4 Like most other participants of the symposium Moroi argued that the impure modernity was a thing that had to be overcome by finding the true Japanese spirit, which was to be done by creating something new for the future, inspired by both the traditional Japanese and by the Western. In terms of music, Moroi sought to create a new style of music which maintained the Japanese spirit and at the same time incorporated certain elements from Western music.5 This was because Moroi saw modern Japanese music as corrupted by Western influences, but he thought that certain elements of Western music would be useful if combined in the right way. What he specifically admired about Western music was the spirituality of it.6 Thus, in order to find the true Japanese music to compliment the true Japanese culture and spirit there had to be created a new kind of music, combining traditional Japanese music (which focus on narrative) and Western music (which mas more focused on feeling), which would then assist Japanese society in general to overcome modernity.

Interestingly, this overall criticism, both in the discussion about music and in the discussions in general, came to support a teleological view of history where Japan was seen as destined to be the next great power. Moroi argues that different European countries have, after the Middle Ages, been the leading countries in terms of music, and also art in general, in different decades. Therefore, based upon a nationalist belief in Japanese superiority, it is now Japan’s turn to be a leading country within music and the arts. This belief is also based on a belief in the degradation of Western culture.7 This sentiment of Western deterioration and Japanese progress was matched by other symposium participants. Such a teleological and nationalistic view was exactly what made the Kyoto School, and the 1942 symposium in particular, come under much criticism for being too supportive of the Japanese wartime ideology after the war.8 Then again, the Kyoto School and also the symposium were criticised at the time for not being nationalistic enough.9

Thus, from a symposium which did not deliver many clear answers about how to overcome modernity and the development of the Japanese spirit, the perhaps most niche point of discussion acted as a microcosm for the entire 1942 symposium itself. Japanese music, much like Japan itself, was, in the eyes of the symposium participants, in need of a revival as both had been corrupted by outside – mainly Western – influences. The way of reviving them was, however, not by going back to the originals, but to incorporate specific Western elements. Where the symposium goes beyond the thinking of Nishida, and flirting with a more nationalistic ideology was the teleological conviction held that both Japanese music, culture and empire was due a place in the sun.

  1. Calichman, Richard F., Overcoming Modernity: Cultural Identity in Wartime Japan (New York, 2008), p. 151 [↩]
  2. Ibid., pp. 12-13 [↩]
  3. Davis, Bret W., The Kyoto School, 9 April, 2019, <https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/kyoto-school/> [13 November 2020] [↩]
  4. Calichman, p. 212 [↩]
  5. Ibid., pp. 173-175 [↩]
  6. Ibid., p. 172 [↩]
  7. Ibid., p. 173 [↩]
  8. Davis, 2015 [↩]
  9. Goto-Jones, Christopher, Political Philosophy in Japan: Nishida, the Kyoto School, and Co-Prosperity (New York, 2005), p. 117 [↩]

The American Encounter with Buddhism: What it tells us about Japan and it’s Pursuit of Modernity

In the second chapter of The American Encounter with Buddhism, 1844-1912: Victorian Culture and the Limits of Dissent, Thomas Tweed discusses American engagement with Buddhism in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Tweed explains that, “This study analyzes the public conversation about Buddhism (in English) and focuses on Euro-American Buddhists.”1 The author describes a contradictory engagement with Buddhism in America: the chapter starts off with evidence of Buddhism’s proliferation in America, but quickly turns to consider the many factors which limited American support of Buddhism. In addition to shedding light on American reactions to Buddhism, Tweed’s chapter, “Shall We All Become Buddhists?” points to major differences in Japanese and Chinese engagement with overseas populations, and illuminates in particular the Japanese relationship with modernity. 

In his discussion about Asian-American Buddhists, Tweed asserts that “The Japanese provided greater support for their immigrant Buddhist communities than the Chinese. They apparently did so, in part, in response to Christian missionary efforts.”2 As evidence for this assertion, he points to the 1898 decision by the Japanese Jodo-Shin-shu (True Pure Land Sect) to send two representatives to the United States to study immigrant spiritual practices and the subsequent move by the Kyoto headquarters to send two missionaries, officially recognizing the Buddhist mission in America. Tweed’s observations are useful in a discussion of Japanese reactions to Western industrialization and modernization. Just as the arrival of Mathew Perry’s “black ships” in 1854 threatened Japanese sovereignty, Christian missionaries’ attempt to convert Japanese immigrants in America jeopardized the future of one of the major Japanese religious traditions. Japanese powers intervened to preserve Pure Land Buddhism in America and therefore prove that it was a religion suited for the modern age. Tweed points out that as opposed to Japanese powers, the Chinese did not send missionaries to their American immigrant communities.3 The resulting poor adherence to Buddhism that Tweed notes among Chinese-Americans mirrors China’s failure to institute the systematic program of modernization undertaken in the Meiji era in Japan.  

Both the adoption of Western ideas about Chinese-Americans and the copying of certain Western elements of Buddhism that Tweed observes also represent manifestations of Japan’s pursuit of modernity. Although they largely arrived after the Chinese, “Japanese immigrants, often repeating American criticism of the Chinese, tried to distinguish themselves from the “lower class” Chinese who seemed unable to assimilate.”4 This adoption of western beliefs allow Japanese-Americans to elevate themselves to a status above Chinese-Americans, and therefore separate themselves from a “less developed” nation. In addition, Tweed comments that “A limited amount of Americanization and Protestantization also occurred in Japanese Pure Land Buddhist communities before World War I.”4 The construction of Buddhism along Western lines demonstrates Japan’s attempt to Westernize within the traditional Japanese framework of Pure Land Buddhism. Modern Western powers attained global primacy through intense industrialization and a Christian civilizing mission, Japan sought to do the same by utilizing the discursive tradition made available by Buddhism. 

This pattern is indicative of the new conceptualization of religion which emerged in mid nineteenth century Japan “as both transcending the profane society and responsible for improving and ‘civilizing’ its mores.”5 Religion was now seen as a force separate from the state, that could be used as a tool in Japan’s civilizing and modernizing mission. The Japanese policy regarding Buddhism in America mirrors the propagation of Christianity as a “civilizing religion” by Western powers and is a reaction to the introduction of Western modernity which reached Japan, along with Perry’s ships, in 1854. 

 

Bibliography 

Tikhonov, V. M, Social Darwinism and Nationalism in Korea – The Beginnings, 1883-1910: Survival as an Ideology of Korean Modernity (Brill, 2010). 

Tweed, Thomas, The American Encounter with Buddhism, 1844-1912: Victorian Culture and the Limits of Dissent (UNC Press Books, 2005). 

 

 

  1. Thomas Tweed, The American Encounter with Buddhism, 1844-1912: Victorian Culture and the Limits of Dissent (UNC Press Books, 2005), p. 38 [↩]
  2. Ibid., p. 36 [↩]
  3. Ibid., p. 35 [↩]
  4. Ibid., p. 37 [↩] [↩]
  5. V. M. Tikhonov, Social Darwinism and Nationalism in Korea – The Beginnings, 1883-1910: Survival as an Ideology of Korean Modernity (Brill, 2010), p. 113. [↩]

‘Truth’ in Muso Soseki’s ‘Sermon at the Dedication of Tenryu-ji Dharma Hall’.

 

Muso Soseki’s sermon reveals a Truth exclusive to Zen Buddhism. In Western thought, Truth is often presented as something concrete and revelatory, which reveals the inner nature of someone or something. It is seen as an explanatory interpretation with a finite definition as it sheds light on something which was unknown. Furthermore, Truth in the West is revealed by presenting one’s inner nature to others and granting permission of access.[1] However, in Muso Soseki’s sermon, and other teachings of Zen Buddhism, Truth is presented as personable and flexible. It is not revealed outwardly to others but guarded as something personal and exclusive.

‘I join with my true master…and with all the others throughout infinite empty space…’.[2]

Truth is first discovered within the self, and then shared within the protected community of Zen masters and their disciples. In this quote, Soseki presents the concept of the self, or ‘I’, with a connection to the ‘true master’. This suggests that primarily, an awareness of self is needed to facilitate a connection with the Zen community and reveal the Truth. Consequently, Truth in Zen Buddhism is discovered within one’s being and can only be found through introspective thought and awareness. Truth is envisioned as the essence of thought, indicating that its personal nature lies in its abstract properties and can only be discovered when a true understanding of the self is obtained. This contrasts to a Westernised view of Truth as something given to and shared with others. In conflict, Soseki sees Truth as something you present to yourself, and not others.

Building on the personal nature of Truth, Soseki demonstrates that Truth is not something that is concrete, but mutable depending on the context and recipient. ‘All the others’ implies that Truth has multiple avenues, perspectives and identities. Here, Soseki creates an image of the unity of minds. An individual’s personal Truth combines with all Truths in a mystical environment of non-thinking to discover the ultimate Truth. Other Zen teachers, particularly Dogen also saw the mutable nature of Truth, as he believed reality is a series of individual and personal delusions we impose on the self. For example, Dogen’s use of the Mountain Sutra exemplifies that reality can have multiple meanings and possibilities. ‘One must not doubt’ that the mountains walk just because they do not walk like humans.[3] Therefore, Truth has no limits, only endless possibility and flexibility of the individual mind.

Soseki implies that ‘All Truths are the same Truth’.[4]

Soseki encourages a correspondence with the intellect of self, and the intellect of the higher, greater truth of the Buddha; ‘the same Truth’. As such, after Truth is established within the individual, it can be shared in a personal experience with a Zen master. This view of Truth reflects the importance of the master-disciple relationship within Zen practice. This relationship is guarded by the Zen emphasis on an ancestral lineage which descends from Shakyamuni himself. Zen teaching is limited to those who have a claim to this lineage and as such, the nature of Truth is shared and protected within this community. Both master and disciple engage in ‘katto’ together, in which both internalise their thought within the self, but also become entwined in the Boddhidharma.[5] This process of realisation is achieved through a Truth which is not concrete but acts as the fusing of two minds. As such, the Truth of Soseki’s sermon is not finite, but part of a cyclical existence multiple Truths form the higher Truth of the Buddha. This idea of Truth is dramatically represented in the example of Huike, who cuts his arm off in a physical donation to the community.[6] This demonstrates a literal investment- his Truth is a part of him which must be physically dedicated to his master and the Zen community. In his conclusion, Soseki proclaims: ‘Look! Look! Shakyamuni is here right now on top of my staff’.[7] The Truth he has inherited from his master is literally present on his person. Truth in Zen Buddhism is personal, introspected and fuses with other, flexible Truths to form reality.

[1] T. P. Kasulis, “Truth and Zen.” Philosophy East and West, vol. 30, no. 4, (1980) p.458.

[2] ((De Bary, William, Sources of Japanese Tradition, Vol.1: From Earliest Times to 1600, New York 2002, p.329.

[3] Heisig, James, Kasulis, Thomas, Maraldo, John, (Eds.) Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, University of Hawaii Press, (2011), p.152.

[4] De Bary, William, Sources of Japanese Tradition, Vol.1: From Earliest Times to 1600, New York 2002, p.328

[5] Heisig, James, Kasulis, Thomas, Maraldo, John, (Eds.) Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, University of Hawaii Press, (2011), p.162.

[6] William De Bary, Sources of Japanese Tradition, Vol.1: From Earliest Times to 1600, (New York 2002), p.329.

[7] William De Bary, Sources of Japanese Tradition, Vol.1: From Earliest Times to 1600, (New York 2002), p.329.

 

Gender or: How Buddhism Learned to Stop Floating and Love the State

The focus of this week’s readings was on Buddhist world orders, and in particular the way in which the religion – and its followers – oriented themselves within the world. In particular, I wanted to understand how Buddhism was deployed in support of the Japanese state. At a first glance, it seems like such a move is impossible. Buddhism is an other-wordly religion which argues that ‘attachment’ to the material world brings about suffering.1 Nevertheless, Buddhism was used to legitimate Japanese power, the tension between this/other-worldly resolved. In order to understand how this was done, I took a look at several ways in which ‘Buddhism’, as an idea, was reinterpreted and imagined by the state. One such way was through gender. The extract below, from the journal Chūō Bukkyō (1934), demonstrates how Buddhism was reimagined in gendered ways, and how this helped resolved the this/other-worldly tension described.

Through a karmic connection Japan received a daughter from another home as its wife. With a sincere heart this wife worked hard to take care of our home, having children and then grandchildren. Our home, not her original home, has been foremost in her mind. Indeed, from early on, more than a daughter from another home, she has been our wife and mother. (( Ōta Kakumin, ‘Zokuhi zokkai’ in Chūō Bukkyō 18:3 (1934), p. 194 in Christoper Ives (tr.), ‘The Mobilization of Doctrine: Buddhist Contributions to Imperial Ideology in Japan’ in Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, Vol. 26, No. 1/2 (Spring 1999), p. 86 ))

This extract encodes Buddhism with the female gender (‘wife’, ‘home’, ‘children’) contra the Japanese state, which is coded male. This has two effects. Firstly, the term ‘wife’ is used to build a sense of unity between the Emperor’s law and Buddha’s law (王法佛法一如).2 ‘Marriage’ conveys the notion that the Japanese state is in line with the Heavenly Way (天道), and that there is a lot of doctrinal overlap between Buddhism and the state. The emperor, for example, plays the role of the buddha, looking out for his subjects-as-children with the compassionate heart (心). In turn, this gives the state spiritual-legitimacy, with the added bonus of elevating the emperor to an ethereal, buddha-like status.

Secondly, this gendering also imparts feminine stereotypes onto Buddhism, and presents us with an image of the religion as passive and – crucially – subjugated to men.3 This limits Buddhism’s influence within society by channelling its doctrine into areas that are ‘acceptable’ for its ‘gender’, so to speak. Any priests that choose to rebel against the state, therefore, are seen as stepping beyond the boundaries of their ‘gendered’ role. Thus, in siphoning Buddhism’s influence into specific areas, gender imposes boundaries onto the religion so as to limit its power. Buddhists are now no longer unconfined by space and time, like clouds.4 Gender confines Buddhism – and Buddhists – to specific realms that are appropriate and least disruptive to the state.

  1. Rupert Gethin, The Foundations of Buddhism (1998), pp. 70, 73 [↩]
  2. Christopher Ives, ‘The Mobilization of Doctrine: Buddhist Contributions to Imperial Ideology in Japan’ in Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, Vol. 26, No. 1/2 (Spring 1999), p. 85 [↩]
  3. See He-Yin Zhen, ‘On the Revenge of Women: Part 1: Instruments of Men’s Rule Over Women’ (1907) in Lydia He Liu, Rebecca Karl, Dorothy Ko (eds.), The Birth of Chinese Feminism: Essential Texts in Transnational Theory (2013) [↩]
  4. Hwansoo Kim, ‘The Adventures of a Japanese Monk in Colonial Korea: Sōma Shōei’s Zen training with Korean masters’ in E. Anderson (ed.), Belief and Practice in Imperial Japan and Colonial Korea (2017), p. 63 [↩]

Ogyū Sorai’s Paradoxes

Confucian philosophy cannot be disentangled from politics. The thinkers we have studied this week, Kongzi (孔子), Mengzi (孟子), Xunzi (荀子), and Ogyū Sorai (荻生 徂徠), all centred their works on trying to define the ‘right’ way to organise and run a society.  In asking these philosophical questions, we can infer that these thinkers were responding to what they perceived to be the decay of society, government – political instability, in short. Indeed, all the authors mention rather explicitly in all of their texts that following their thought will lead to the prosperity and success of their home states.1 In light of this dynamic between philosophy and politics, I think it makes sense to explore how Confucian thinkers tried to turn their philosophical ideas into a practical political policy. In particular, I will focus on the difficulties that come with trying to put ideas into action and will reference Ogyū Sorai as a case study to explore this.

I find Sorai to be an interesting case study because his thought is littered with paradoxes. ‘Paradox’, for my purposes, refers to an inconsistency between a thinker’s philosophical ideals and the actual political policies they promote. I will demonstrate this with reference to one of many paradoxes in Sorai’s thought: his argument for social equality.

‘In formulating the Way, the early kings focused on the problem of bringing peace and security to all-under-Heaven and posterity … Therefore, the early kings followed the mind of all people to love, nourish, support, and perfect one another.2

This extract shows us that social equality is an important part of Sorai’s thought. In arguing that ‘all-under-Heaven’ ought to experience peace and security, Sorai argues that it is the King’s ultimate duty to provide peace and stability to all of his people, irrespective of class. In order to do this, Sorai suggests that the King ought to help ‘all people … nourish, support, and perfect one another’. The King should give everyone a means of satisfying their basic needs, and also a way for them to attain some kind of virtue and act in good ways. Overall, Sorai appears to be using the Confucian belief in equality to argue for the creation of a society that works to benefit all individuals instead the very few.

However, we see this point turned on its head in another part of Sorai’s thought:

‘If the members of the military class lived in the country, they would not incur any expenses in providing themselves with food, clothing, and shelter, and for this reason their financial condition would be much improved … At present, the merchants are in the dominant position, and the military class is in the subordinate position because the military class lives as though they were at an inn where they cannot do without money and must sell their rice in exchange for money with which to buy their daily necessities from the merchants3

Here, we see Sorai contradict himself. He argues that the Samurai and military class ought to be privileged over the merchant class. Sorai argues that the Samurai ought to provide for themselves, not ‘live in an inn’ (i.e. travel around and live off of their income), so that they can reclaim the ‘dominant position’ in society over the merchants. In referring to ‘dominant’ and ‘subordinate’ positions in society, Sorai is telling us that power within a society ought to be hierarchical, not equal, which thus contradicts the sentiments Sorai expresses in the first extract and generates a paradox.

What are the implications that we can draw out from this analysis? One natural thought might be to say that Sorai was generally unsuccessful in turning his ideals into actual political thought. However, I do not think this thought is particularly charitable to Sorai. In this entry, I have only covered one aspect of his thought. Evaluating him, as a whole, would require a detailed analysis of all aspects of his thought. Instead, I think Sorai’s paradoxes demonstrate that philosophical ideas can become muddled when translated into political policy or put into action. This point, I am sure, will become especially salient in weeks to come when we begin to explore Confucian thought historically, analysing the way it influences and is used in historical events.

  1. See Kongzi 2.1, Mengzi 1A7, and Xunzi Chapter 23 in P.J. Ivanhoe; B. W. Van Norden (eds.), Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy, Hackett, 2005. For Ogyū Sorai, see W. T. De Bary; C. Gluck; A. E. Tiedemann; A. Barshey; W. M. Bodiford, ‘Ogyū Sorai and the return to Classics’, Sources of Japanese Tradition: Vol. 2: 1600 to 2000, Columbia University Press, 2010 [↩]
  2. Ogyū Sorai, ‘The Sage: Benmei (Distinguishing Terms)’ in W. T. De Bary; C. Gluck; A. E. Tiedemann; A. Barshey; W. M. Bodiford, Sources of Japanese Tradition: Vol. 2: 1600 to 2000, Columbia University Press, 2010, p. 290 [↩]
  3. Ogyū Sorai, ‘The Sage: Benmei (Distinguishing Terms)’ in W. T. De Bary; C. Gluck; A. E. Tiedemann; A. Barshey; W. M. Bodiford, Sources of Japanese Tradition: Vol. 2: 1600 to 2000, Columbia University Press, 2010, pp. 297, 298 [↩]