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Contents

• Foreword and Acknowledgments ix

• Introduction 1

• 1 Prologue: Looking Backward 3

• 2 The Civilized and the Barbarian 17

  • Civilization: Where Confucian Ritual Obtains 18
  • Japan: A Land of Splendid Barbarians 22
  • Innate Japanese Superiority: The Rise of Kokugaku 30
  • The Excellence of Western Barbarians 40
  • The Mito Synthesis: Japan as Middle Kingdom 51

• 3 Knowledge and Hatred of the West 58

  • The Road to National Isolation: Misconceptions of Sakoku 58
  • Aizawa’s View of Christianity: Conquest Without Warfare
  • The Threat from the North: Russia 76
  • The Threat from the South: Spain and (New) England 86
  • Western Learning and Confucian World View 97

• 4 Aizawa and his New Theses 100

  • Rangaku and Expulsion by Force: Takahashi Kageyasu 101 The World Situation in 1825 as Seen in New Theses
  • New Theses on Domestic Reform 112
  • The Sages and Their “Expedient Device”
  • Kokutai and “A Long-Range Policy” 123

• 5 Epilogue: Looking Ahead 135

• Translation: New Theses 147

  • Prefatory Remarks 149
  • What is Essential to a Nation [Kokutai] (I) 152
  • What is Essential to a Nation [Kokutai] (II) 172
  • What is Essential to a Nation [Kokutai] (III) 184
  • World Affairs 193
  • 6 The Barbarians’ Nature 200
  • 7 National Defense 214
  • 8 A Long-Range Policy 245

• Appendix 281

• Notes 283

• Selected Bibliography 315

• Glossary 327

• Index 333

Foreword and Acknowledgments

Do you wish to be an author? Do you wish to make a book? Remember that it must be new and unusual, or at least have great charm.

-Voltaire

This book is a scholarly introduction to, and an English translation of, New Theses (Shinron), a political tract that a Japanese. Confucian named Aizawa Seishisai (Yasushi) composed in classical Chinese during the spring of 1825. My rather lengthy introduction describes the historical background and significance of this document-in what I hope is a new and unusual way.

New Theses was Aizawa Seishisai’s most famous and important work. He wrote it as a confidential memorial, and presented it to the daimyo of Mito domain, Tokugawa Narinobu, two months after the Edo bakufu had issued its famous Expulsion Edict of 1825. Narinobu not only refused to submit New Theses to the bakufu as Aizawa desired, he forbade circulation of the tract for fear of punitive measures that Edo leaders might take against Mito. Tokugawa Nariaki, who succeeded Narinobu as daimyo in 1829, was far less circumspect toward the bakufu, and as a result, New Theses began to circulate throughout Japan in manuscript form. Japanese language versions of the text appeared in the 1850s,’ and this made it possible for only moderately educated members of Tokugawa society to sample its contents. New Theses had a political and social impact probably unmatched by any other single work during the final decades of bakufu rule. It was a virtual bible to activists in the “revere the Emperor, expel the barbarian” movement which swept through

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Japan during the 1850s and 1860s, and the work gives us precious insights into the mentality of the so-called patriots of high resolve (shishi). Thus, New Theses is essential reading for anyone studying late Tokugawa or Restoration history. Prominent shishi such as Maki Izumi, Hirano Kuniomi, Yokoi Shōnan, and Yoshida Shōin venerated Aizawa, and made pilgrimages to visit him in Mito. Bakufu leaders such as Kawaji Toshiakira and Abe Masahiro also were among the readers of New Theses before its publication in 1858¹

One reason for the work’s popularity was that it discussed many pressing issues of the day in language that allowed differing interpretations: Almost everyone active in late Tokugawa politics found support in it for policies he advocated. The text took on a life and significance of its own, apart from the author’s intentions. Samurai of ability, but low rank, welcomed Aizawa’s call for opening avenues of political advancement to them at the expense of their hereditarily entrenched social betters. Daimyo and their advisors trying to push through reforms were delighted to find Aizawa arguing against overly centralized bakufu control and for more domain autonomy. Yet authoritarian bakufu leaders might interpret Aizawa’s section on “National Defense,” for example, as supporting more, not less, centralized bakufu control. Then again, more radical bakufu reformers found support in Aizawa’s proposal to overturn Ieyasu’s control measures because these were outdated and unsuited to the needs of Japan as a whole. Finally, loyalist shishi derived inspiration from New Theses to move for even more radical changes: to eliminate the bakufu and restore imperial rule.

We should note in passing that New Theses moved men’s spirits not only in the late Tokugawa era; it had long-range implications for nineteenthand twentieth-century Japan. Meiji leaders actually carried out two of Aizawa’s proposals: to establish centralized government control over Shinto shrines throughout the nation, and to create an emperor-centered state religion. Another idea Aizawa forwarded-to exploit foreign crises as a pretext to justify authoritarian controls and Draconian austerity at home-was adopted in the 1930s and 1940s. As Hashikawa Bunzo has noted, the regimentation and militariza-

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tion of life depicted in New Theses provides all too disturbing a reminder of wartime Japanese society. Finally, the idea of kokutai, which Aizawa formulated as a result of Western learning, would become immensely potent in modern Japanese politics. This study, however, deals with Aizawa’s thought and knowledge of world affairs up to 1828, when he published the anti-Christian tract, “Some Call Me Disputatious” (Kikōben). In short, I discuss Aizawa and New Theses primarily for their historical significance in his own age. Concepts like kokutai, “honoring the emperor,” and “the expulsion of Western barbarians” grew up and attained popularity in the second half of the Tokugawa period. Therefore the historian should examine them in that historical context, and try to remain free of the biases of his own age.

Reliable biographical information on Aizawa is sketchy² During the Sengoku period his ancestors emigrated from present-day Shizuoka prefecture to a village in the northern part of what is now Ibaraki. When Tokugawa Ieyasu’s youngest son, Yorifusa, obtained a fief there as a collateral house to the shogunal family, Mito domain came into being. At that time, Aizawa Sōbei moved to the castletown of Mito and served the domain in the ignoble post of bait-bird snarer; his primary duty was to capture the small birds fed to his lord’s hunting falcons. It was two hundred years before the Aizawa family attained full, if lowly, samurai status. This happened during the life of Kyōkei, Seishisai’s father, who must have been a man of considerable talent, for he was entrusted with the domain’s rice storehouse in Ōsaka. Kyōkei stressed the importance of education for his son, and in 1791, the young Aizawa began to study under the gifted eighteenyear-old Fujita Yukoku (1774-1826), originally the son of a merchant dealing in secondhand clothes.

Yūkoku and Aizawa knew full well that their lowly family origins imposed severe political and social restrictions. No matter how enlightened their reform proposals might be, participation in domain government was forbidden to them under the rigid Tokugawa order. As previous studies have stressed, Fujita and Aizawa espoused “attacking and expelling barbarians” (jōi) and played up the foreign “crisis” partly to justify their

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appointment to domain office and to force through unpopular reform programs. Moreover, their appointment to such positions of authority depended on support from Tokugawa Nariaki (1800-1860), who became daimyo in 1829. Aizawa remained close to Nariaki, and he was politically active and influential until his own death in 1863. In 1831, he was named head of the Mito Historiographical Institute, the Shōkōkan, and in 1841, he became head of the Mito Domain School, the Kōdōkan. By this time he was receiving a total annual stipend of 350 koku, and in the 1850s, this rose to 450 koku, which made him a man of power and high standing in Mito.

Foreword and Acknowledgments

appointment to domain office and to force through unpopular reform programs. Moreover, their appointment to such positions of authority depended on support from Tokugawa Nariaki (1800-1860), who became daimyo in 1829. Aizawa remained close to Nariaki, and he was politically active and influential until his own death in 1863. In 1831, he was named head of the Mito Historiographical Institute, the Shōkōkan, and in 1841, he became head of the Mito Domain School, the Kōdōkan. By this time he was receiving a total annual stipend of 350 koku, and in the 1850s, this rose to 450 koku, which made him a man of power and high standing in Mito.

A discussion of texts is called for, since there are variant manuscripts of New Theses, or Shinron. What historians now consider the definitive Shinron text is the 1973 recension published by Iwanami shoten in volume 53 of its Nihon shiso taikei series. The editors, Imai Usaburo, Seya Yoshihiko, and Bitō Masahide, based their recension on two texts: Aizawa’s original brushwritten manuscript preserved in the Archives and Mausolea Department of the Imperial Household Agency, and the 1857 wood-block edition published by Gyokusando. I have followed the 1973 Iwanami edition, but have checked it against the 1857 Gyokusando text and an earlier Iwanami bunko edition of 1931. Many, if not most, of my notes to the translation rely on the headnotes to the 1973 Iwanami edition. I have also consulted the complete modern Japanese translation of Shinron by Hashikawa Bunzō³ and the short selections translated into English appearing in Ryusaku Tsunoda, ed., Sources of Japanese Tradition.

In all quotations and references to Shinron made in my introduction, I cite page numbers to the Japanese version in the 1973 Iwanami edition. However, I have based my translation on both the classical Chinese original (also contained in the Iwanami edition) and the Japanese version. In certain contexts, I have disregarded the Japanese version and followed a reading of the classical Chinese original judged more appropriate. I have curtailed or omitted from my translation certain of Aizawa’s glosses that seemed tedious or superfluous. Such deleted portions, which amount to less than 5 percent of the entire text, consist mainly of lengthy quotations from the Chinese classics.

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Aizawa inserted these for pedantic as much as for documentary or explanatory reasons, and they have little meaning for modern Western readers. I have transliterated Chinese philosophical as Chinese, given in Wade-Giles romanization, not as Japanese. In some of my notes, I was content to identify Aizawa’s quotations simply as being from a certain classic, such as the Book of Changes, for example, without citing specific editions and page numbers.

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Theories and philosophies of translation differ, and I think it proper to present mine explicitly here rather than to leave them for the reader to discover on his own. All translations, but particularly those from classical to modern languages, involve interpolation and interpretation. The translator cannot help taking certain liberties with the text if he is to capture the spirit of the original and still produce idiomatic prose. I have remained very close to Aizawa’s original text, but have rejected the strict literalism that some translators prefer because it produces stilted, ponderous English prose. This, I hope, has allowed me to convey faithfully-and with no significant loss in meaning-the rancorous polemic tone that is crucial to Aizawa’s tract. New Theses has immense significance as a historical document because it roused late Tokugawa shishi to violent action; they did not hurl it aside in disgust because it was boring. The historical significance of the work warrants making it accessible to Western readers. I hope the translation will stand on its own, apart from the scholarly introduction to it, and I would be happy if the general reader found it useful and enjoyable. Specialists and other critical readers are urged to compare the translation with Aizawa’s original for accuracy and style. If my English version allows modern readers to understand why the original provoked such strong reactions among late Tokugawa shishi, my efforts will be rewarded.

In reading New Theses as a historical document, we must be wary of succumbing to what Herbert Butterfield has called “the transference into the past of an enthusiasm for something in the present. “7 We should not allow an enthusiasm for egalitarianism, or international good will, or the liberal tradition, to color our judgments of Aizawa and other Tokugawa thinkers. For example,

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they freely employed what we would consider offensive pejoratives:“stupid commoners” for Japanese townsmen and peasants; “barbarians,” “foreign beasts,” or “dogs and goats” for Western peoples; and “Shina” for China. But these epithets reflect biases integral to the world view shared by virtually all men of their period, class background, and education. The historian translating a document from another era does his readers a disservice if he softens its tone or substitutes less-offensive English wording in an attempt to make the author seem less prejudiced. To seek historical understanding by accepting those prejudices for what they were in Aizawa’s day is not to approve of them.

This book results from several years labor in Japan and the United States. Although I take full responsibility for any errors, flaws, or shortcomings in the final product, I wish to acknowledge gratefully a few of the many persons who have expended much time and effort on my behalf.

My undergraduate mentors at UCLA from 1969 to 1972, Fred Notehelfer and Robert Epp, deserve thanks for getting my study of Japanese history off on the right foot and for their continued support and encouragement over the past decade and a half. Both read the manuscript and offered valuable advice. Robert Epp in particular should be credited for performing the arduous task of first-round editing. Few lines in the manuscript escaped his red pencil, and if, as I hope, my writing has attained some degree of clarity, I owe it to his painstaking help. No student could be blessed with a more caring, dedicated teacher.

From 1972 to 1979, Ienaga Saburo and Matsumoto Sannosuke of Tokyo Kyōiku Daigaku guided my graduate research in Japan. Both men are scholars and gentlemen for whom I have the greatest respect. Prof. Matsumoto’s lectures and writings have shaped my understanding of Japanese political thought to an enormous extent. In addition to this personal instruction and guidance, Prof. Matsumoto graciously checked about half of my English translation of Shinron against the original and saved me from many embarassing mistakes-even when my stubbornness thoroughly tried his patience. Yamamoto Takeo of the Historiographical Institute at Tokyo University was unsparing with his

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time in helping me read old documents written in cursive script. Without his help, I could not have done the research for Chapter 3. Bitō Masahide’s graduate seminar in early-modern Japanese history at Tokyo University was an enormously enriching experience. No one studying Tokugawa thought in general or Mito Learning in particular can remain indifferent to his scholarly achievements. Kitaoka Shin’ichi offered comments from the standpoint of his speciality-modern political history. He was the first to suggest that I add a concluding section outlining developments to 1890: Chapter 5 is the result. Igarashi Akio, Eizawa Kōji, Kurihara Takashi, Hirayama Kazuhiko, and Suzuki Masayuki-all of Tokyo Kyōiku Daigaku-provided academic advice and friendship throughout my stay in Japan.

From 1979 to 1982, Marius B. Jansen was my main advisor at Princeton; his scholarly guidance and warm personal encouragement will not be forgotten. Prof. Jansen has endured with humor, grace, and broadmindedness all criticisms and challenges posed to him by this, his most namaiki of students. Martin Collcutt and Ann Waswo read and reread drafts of the dissertation; because of their incisive criticisms, the present work has attained a measure of structural coherence. I would like to thank Martin also for his kind and sympathetic counsel during my Princeton years and beyond. Willard Peterson taught me Chinese philosophy for its own sake; due to his instruction, my ideas on the Middle Kingdom world view were sharpened and refined. Richard Bowring kindly read the dissertation and through his discussions, he has shown me what an intellectual historian can gain from the application of literary theory. Keith Hazelton cheerfully solved my word-processing crises at all hours of the day and night; if not for him, the manuscript would still be in the computer.

Harvard’s Japan Institute, under the Acting Directorship of Albert Craig, provided me with office space and a postdoctoral fellowship from 1983 to 1984, which enabled me to revise the dissertation into publishable form. I also received generous financial support from the Japanese Ministry of Education, Tokyu Foundation for Inbound Students, and the Nomura Foundation while in Japan.

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Among those who read the manuscript while I was revising it for publication, Sally Hastings and Torii Masaru made numerous suggestions to improve style. Henry D. Smith, James Polachek, Watanabe Hiroshi, and Ronald Toby gave me pages upon pages of insightful comments, and I have incorporated much of their advice in my revisions. Prof. Watanabe, a young scholar specializing in East Asian political thought on the Faculty of Law at Tōdai, was especially generous with his time and knowledge. Ronald Toby kindly allowed me to read his State and Diplomacy in Early Modern Japan while it was still in manuscript. Anyone familiar with the works of Watanabe and Toby will, when they read my book, realize how much I have learned from them. Ronald Egan, my editor at the Council of East Asian Studies, Harvard University, combined Sinological expertise with saintly patience. I consider myself lucky to have profited from his thoughtful and meticulous editing.

Finally, Yoshida Toshizumi, my sempai at Tokyo Kyōiku Daigaku, helped me obtain many of the unpublished archival materials in Japan without which I could never have completed this study. He, more than anyone else, drilled and instructed me in the reading of Tokugawa documents; I will never forget the monthly sessions we spent at his home in Mito poring over Aizawa’s writings. It is to Yoshida that I have incurred my greatest debts, both scholarly and personal; and it is to him that this book is dedicated.

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