Inoue Enryo: A Philosophical Portrait 1438471882, 9781438471884

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Prologue
Part 1. Toward the Eastern Capital
1. Imperial Restoration
2. Civilization and Enlightenment
3. The True Pure Land School
4. New Buddhism
5. Scientific Religion
Interlude on Occidentalism
Part II. The Love of Truth
6. A New Culture of Discussion
7. Language Modernization
8. Positive Truth
9. Tokyo University
10. The X-Club
11. Crossroads of World Philosophy
12. The Love of Truth
13. Upward Philosophy
14. In the Paradigm of Philosophy
Interlude on Enlightenment
Part III. The Protection of Country
15. The Truth and the Good
16. Man of the World
17. Education
18. Japanese Ethics and National Polity
19. Mystery Studies
20. The Philosophy Academy Incident
21. Crisis and Resignation
22. Darwinism and Empire
23. Late Life
Interlude on Progress
Part IV. The Philosophy of Buddhism
24. Not Kantian
25. Identity Realism
26. deus sive natura
27. Historical Critique
28. Living Buddhism
29. Peace of Mind
30. Religious Pragmatism
31. The Mahayana
32. Causality
33. Institutional Reform
Epilogue: In the Temple Garden of Philosophy
Abbreviations
Chronological Table of Inoue Enryo's Life
Cited Works by Inoue Enryo
Chinese Translations of Inoue Enryo's Works
Notes
Works Cited
Glossary of Sino-Japanese Terms
Index of Names and Western Terms

Citation preview

INOUE ENRYŌ 井上圓了

INOUE ENRYŌ 井上圓了 A Philosophical Portrait

Rainer Schulzer

On the cover: Postcard printed on the occasion of the 35th anniversary of Wadōkai in 1911. Memorial Archive of Nagaoka High School. Reproduced courtesy of Nagaoka High School Alumni Association. State University of New York Press Published by State University of New York Press, Albany © 2019 State University of New York All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY www.sunypress.edu

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Schulzer, Rainer, 1975- author. Title: Inoue Enryō : a philosophical portrait / Rainer Schulzer. Description: Albany : State University of New York Press, 2018. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017058364 | ISBN 9781438471877 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781438471884 (e-book) Subjects: LCSH: Inoue, Enryō, 1858-1919. Classification: LCC B5244.I534 S38 2018 | DDC 181/.12—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017058364

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Contents

List of Illustrations  /  vii Acknowledgments / ix Introduction / xi Prologue / 1

Part I. Toward the Eastern Capital 1. Imperial Restoration  /  7 2. Civilization and Enlightenment  /  11 3. The True Pure Land School  /  17 4. New Buddhism  /  23 5. Scientific Religion  /  31 Interlude on Occidentalism / 37

Part II. The Love of Truth 6. A New Culture of Discussion  /  45 7. Language Modernization  /  49 8. Positive Truth  /  57 9. Tokyo University  /  67 10. The X‑Club  /  73 11. Crossroads of World Philosophy  /  77 12. The Love of Truth  /  87 13. Upward Philosophy  /  97 14. In the Paradigm of Philosophy  /  109 Interlude on Enlightenment / 115

vi Contents

Part III. The Protection of Country 15. The Truth and the Good  /  127 16. Man of the World  /  137 17. Education / 147 18. Japanese Ethics and National Polity  /  157 19. Mystery Studies  /  165 20. The Philosophy Academy Incident  /  175 21. Crisis and Resignation  /  183 22. Darwinism and Empire  /  189 23. Late Life  /  199 Interlude on Progress / 207

Part IV. The Philosophy of Buddhism 24. Not Kantian  /  219 25. Identity Realism  /  223 26. deus sive natura / 227 27. Historical Critique  /  231 28. Living Buddhism  /  237 29. Peace of Mind  /  245 30. Religious Pragmatism  /  253 31. The Mahāyāna  /  259 32. Causality / 267 33. Institutional Reform  /  277 Epilogue: In the Temple Garden of Philosophy / 287 Abbreviations / 293 Chronological Table of Inoue Enryō’s Life  /  295 Cited Works by Inoue Enryō  /  299 Chinese Translations of Inoue Enryō’s Works  /  307 Notes / 311 Works Cited / 333 Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  /  371 Index of Names and Western Terms  /  389

Illustr ations

Figure 1. Photograph of Inoue Enryō and Family (ca. 1915)  /  22 Figure 2. Chart of Inoue Enryō’s System of the Sciences  /  112 Figure 3. Photograph of Inoue Enryō (ca. 1890)  /  143 Figure 4. Photograph of Inoue Enryō (ca. 1918)  /  206 Map 1. Inoue Enryō’s World Travels  /  138 Map 2. Inoue Enryō’s Lecture Tours  /  200

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Acknowledgments

F or suggesting Inoue Enryō as a research topic, I am indebted to Professor Klaus Kracht of the Department of Japanese Studies of Humboldt‑ Universität zu Berlin, where I studied from 2002 to 2009. My initial understanding of East Asian thought owes much to his excellent lectures on the Japanese history of ideas. The dissertation project was made possible through a scholarship from the German Institute for Japanese Studies in 2010 and a visiting fellowship at Toyo University’s Inoue Enryo Memorial Research Center from 2011 to 2015. The directors of the respective institutes, Professor Florian Coulmas and Professor Takemura Makio, first brought my fledgling academic career on its way. I am deeply grateful for the trust and encouragement I received from both professors and their institutes. The permission to reproduce photographs and maps as well as the generous financial support by the Inoue Enryo Memorial Research Center for the English language editing of this book I particularly want to acknowledge. The editing was mainly done by Dr. Paula Keating, to whom I am truly grateful. During my five years at Toyo University, I was highly fortunate to gain the opportunity to learn from two eminent scholars: Professor Takemura Makio (Buddhist Studies) and Professor Yoshida Kōhei (Chinese Philosophy). Both epitomize excellence in their respective fields and I benefited immensely from their scholarship. My gratefulness to Professor Miura Setsuo from the Inoue Enryo Memorial Research Center is beyond words. Without him this book would not have been possible. He generously shared the knowledge he acquired through decades of research on Inoue Enryō and patiently responded to my endless questions. Above all, I want to express my deepest gratitude to my philosophy teacher, Professor Volker Gerhardt, to whom I owe my orientation in thinking. ix

Introduction

Ich lehre euch den Freund, in dem die Welt fertig dasteht, eine Schale des Guten,—den schaffenden Freund, der immer eine fertige Welt zu verschenken hat. —Also sprach Zarathustra

I n contemporary Japanese media as well as in Western research, Inoue Enryō (1858–1919) is best known for his Mystery Studies, which earned him the humorous title, Doctor Specter or Ghost Doc. But Enryō was much more than his nickname suggests. He was a key figure in several important processes in modern Japanese intellectual history: the reception of Western philosophy, the emergence of Modern Buddhism, the decline of superstition, and the permeation of the imperial ideology. Enryō was one of the most widely read authors of his time and one of the first Japanese authors ever to be translated into Chinese. Through his large body of writings, the distance learning program at his Philosophy Academy, and his extensive lecture tours over the course of almost three decades, Enryō is likely to have reached more people than any other public intellectual of modern Japan until the end of World War I. Enryō also left noteworthy institutional traces in modern Japanese society. He founded the first—and still existing—Philosophical Society of modern Japan. His private Philosophy Academy developed into Toyo University which is today one of the ten largest Japanese research universities. And finally, Enryō bequeathed the wondrous space known as the Temple Garden of Philosophy in Tokyo’s Nakano ward. What he did not bequeath are memoirs—but this is not the reason why this study is primarily a philosophical portrait and not a biography. xi

xii Introduction

The eminent scholar Sueki Fumihiko wrote about Inoue Enryō in 2004: “Although his thought was not necessarily deep, in his scale as promoter of enlightenment he is worth being reconsidered” (60–61). The present study follows this suggestion by particularly emphasizing the broad practical range and wide theoretical horizon as the preeminent feature of the historical figure Inoue Enryō. What distinguished the Meiji period most clearly from the preceding periods was Japan’s new global outlook. Enryō is one pioneer of today’s remarkable panoramic outlook of modern Japanese humanities. His bold universal claims, on the other hand, stand in stark contrast to contemporary finely subdivided and detailed historical investigations. In his keen universal purview, as well as in the scale of his projects, the historical figure Inoue Enryō inherited a certain greatness. This greatness is obscured if the focus of examination becomes too narrow. Today, many of Enryō’s beliefs are common sense and many of his achievements taken for granted. To adequately assess his philosophical views and enlightenment activities, it is necessary to meet him on the expanse of his own horizon, namely, to view him from the perspective of world history. Wider perspectives, however, do not just bear the risks of being insufficiently substantiated by scholarly evidence, there is also the danger of being deceived by the overmodulated and jingoist zeitgeist, which Enryō, in his bold confidence, also exemplifies. Six years of research may justify the endeavor to provide the basic historical coordinates for an assessment of the figure Inoue Enryō in the context of world philosophy. It is the method and the argument of this book that such an assessment is only possible if the validity of Enryō’s views is taken into account. The critical portrait presented here is therefore not only about a philosopher but is itself philosophical. A concise outline of the systematic investigations interwoven with the chronological and thematic structure of the book may provide orientation for the reader. In Parts One to Three of this book Inoue Enryō is portrayed in bio­ graphical order. Part One, Toward the Eastern Capital, describes the intellectual influences the young Enryō received on his way to Tokyo. The concentration of power into the emperor system (chapter 1) and the widely resounding formula “Civilization and Enlightenment” (chapter 2) during the early Meiji period prefigured Enryō’s own life‑long slogan, “Protection of Country and Love of Truth.” Chapter 3 broaches the contentious debate about the Protestant character of Enryō’s Buddhist order, the True Pure Land School. New historical details about the early pioneers of modern Buddhism in Kyoto presented in

Introduction  xiii

chapter 4 prove that the notion of Protestant Buddhism was not an orientalist projection, but that it originated from the Buddhist Enlightenment movement itself. This finding is the basis for the argument unfolded in chapter 5 and the following “Interlude on Occidentalism”: Instead of discrediting the pioneers of modern Japanese Buddhism in terms of identity politics, the first scholarly endeavor should be to examine the validity of their arguments. Part Two, The Love of Truth, covers Enryō’s encounter with Western philosophy at Tokyo University and his successful establishment as a leading intellectual of his time. The new culture of academic discussion initiated by the scholars of the Meiroku Society (chapter 6) and the related topic of language modernization (chapter 7) shed historical light on the circumstances through which not only modern Japanese philosophy, but East Asian humanities in general today communicate in a terminology that was coined in Japan during the Meiji period. In order to substantiate this claim, elements of a conceptual history of truth in modern Japanese are presented in chapter 8 as backdrop to the first logical discussion of scientific truth in the writings of Nishi Amane. The approach of conceptual history is complemented by an institutional perspective in chapter 9. It was Katō Hiroyuki who institutionalized the philosophical idea of truth as the organizing principle of the newly founded Tokyo University. In chapters 10 and 11, the contents of Enryō’s philosophy course at East Asia’s first research university are introduced. Through his teachers Toyama Masakazu and Ernest F. Fenollosa, Enryō encountered the scientific worldview as promoted by Herbert Spencer and the other members of the Londoner X‑Club (chapter 10). The fact that Katō Hiroyuki, for reasons of academic comprehensiveness, integrated not only Chinese philosophy but also Buddhist studies into the Faculty of Letters made Enryō’s curriculum a veritable “Crossroads of World Philosophy” (chapter 11). The outcome of the preceding chapters facilitates the analysis of Enryō’s own concept of truth in his early writings. Enryō adopted both the scientific worldview and the philosophical idea of truth, and applied them in religious discourse. Whereas Christianity cannot hold against the challenge posited by modern science, Buddhist doctrine can be reconstructed in philosophical terms without appealing to scriptural authority (chapter 12). The coincidence between Western metaphysics and Buddhist thought that Enryō discovered was mediated by the Hegelian notion of ascending dialectics that he learned from Fenollosa. This kind of “Upward Philosophy” meant a departure from the

xiv Introduction

down to earth concept of truth as found in Nishi Amane and Katō Hiroyuki (chapter 13). In “In the Paradigm of Philosophy,” the last chapter of Part Two, an overview of Enryō’s writings is given by introducing his own system of the sciences. The new philosophical metalanguage afforded Enryō the opportunity to unfold modern humanities in its whole breadth. It is my thesis that Enryō was instrumental in spreading the new academic terminology not only in Japan, but also in China. In the following “Interlude on Enlightenment,” it is argued that the idea of unprejudiced research, as it was institutionalized with the foundation of Tokyo University, is not an Enlightenment event due to its affinity with the European Enlightenment: the term Enlightenment simply functions as reference to the historical acceptance of ideas we still consider as valid. In Part Three, The Protection of Country, the full breadth of Enryō’s activities as educator, promoter of enlightenment, and ideologist of the emerging Japanese empire are introduced. The first chapter provides the theoretical background for the narrative: the intricate relationship between Enryō’s practical nationalism (“Protection of Country”) and his theoretical universalism (“Love of Truth”), which he himself did not consider contradictory, is discussed. The result of the examination about “The Truth and the Good” (chapter 15) can be summed up in the proposition that the philosopher who speaks the truth about the good does good. Chapters 16 and 17 portray Enryō as a modern globetrotter and an inspiring educator concerned with safeguarding the East Asian cultural heritage. In chapter 18, it is pointed out that Enryō’s embrace of the Imperial Rescript of Education meant that his Japanese ethics indeed lack universal validity. However, his Mystery Studies, by not only denouncing irrational religious beliefs theoretically, but by also standing for this conviction in the form of a large‑scale campaign against superstition, represents the best evidence for Enryō’s claim that loving the truth does indeed benefit the country (chapter 19). The general denial of Enryō’s achievements in this field reveals a self‑contradiction on the part of postmodern scholarship. The very idea of academic truth upon which the respective scholarship itself relies is ignored. Whereas Enryō’s Mystery Studies display no contradiction between love of truth and protection of country, the Philosophy Academy Incident signified the concrete historical collision of Enryō’s core principles. The Imperial Meiji State could not tolerate free ethical investigation as pursued in the Philosophy Academy (chapter 20). The incident was one factor in the crisis of the years 1903 to 1905 that led to Enryō’s retirement from the Academy (chapter 21).

Introduction  xv

In chapter 22, another problematic element of Enryō’s thought is brought into the picture. Although Enryō’s affirmative attitude toward war disappeared in his later writings, Social Darwinism, which was spread in Japan by the founder of Tokyo University, Katō Hiroyuki, was also a constant feature of Enryō’s philosophy. Katō Hiroyuki’s naturalist concept of descriptive truth deceived him and others about the specific kind of validity ethical ideas inhere. Chapter 23 rounds up the biographical portrait by introducing Enryō’s activities during his “Late Life,” namely his lecture tours to spread the message of the Education Rescript and the creation of the Temple Garden of Philosophy. Just as the Interlude after Part Two argues for the rehabilitation of the concept of Enlightenment, the Interlude following Part Three attempts the same for the idea of progress. As long as progress is not misunderstood as the natural outcome of evolution, the concept is an indispensable practical component of political action. The criticism of the idea of progress as metaphysical metanarrative obscures its character as a postulate implied in every purposive act. Part Four, The Philosophy of Buddhism, does not follow chronological order, but reconstructs the essential lines of Enryō’s Buddhist thought and reform ideas. The discussion turns more philosophical insofar as those elements of Enryō’s Buddhist philosophy are emphasized that appear fruitful for contemporary discourses. Starting point of the examination is the claim that Buddhist doctrines are misunderstood if they are analyzed as pure theory. Enryō’s Buddhist metaphysics does not hold up against the criticism of philosophical speculation as brought forth in Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason (chapter 24). The same applies to the philosophy of Identity Realism as proposed by Inoue Tetsujirō (chapter 25), and also to Spinoza’s pantheism which Enryō regarded as comparable with Buddhist monism (chapter 26). Chapter 27 sets the stage for the affirmative account of Enryō’s Buddhist ideas in the remainder of the book. The “Historical Critique” of East Asian Buddhism, that it would go astray from the ideas of its Indian founder by supposing reified notions of essence, substance, and monism, does not apply to Enryō’s project. Enryō’s account of Buddhism is not historical, but is an attempt to prove Buddhism’s philosophical consistency and its benefits for modern civilization. The chapter on “Living Buddhism” outlines Enryō’s proto‑sociological approach, which perceives Buddhism as a living social organism that develops in accordance with civilization. Buddhism’s vitality attests to its capability to

xvi Introduction

adjust to historical change and guarantees its engagement with society (chapter 28). Enryō’s basic stance that Buddhism is applied philosophy is discussed in chapter 29 by comparing his views with the Treatise on the Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith. The examination confirms that suchness is not a metaphysical concept but rather a guiding notion to be applied in meditation. The general character of Buddhist thought as being conducive to peace of mind is specified in the following chapter as “Religious Pragmatism.” In Buddhism, insight is verified by its efficiency in reducing spiritual suffering. This pragmatic criterion of truth allows for a plurality of soteriological means, and hence can be characterized as a Buddhist concept of religious tolerance (chapter 30). The Mahāyāna added a second criterion of truth in Buddhism, namely that of compassion. If compassion does not flow from insight, awakening cannot be authentic (chapter 31). The cardinal virtue of compassion is complemented by an account of the ethical dimension of the Buddhist concept of causality in chapter 32. Causality is the prime example for Enryō’s key premise that Buddhism applies theory in religious practice. The doctrine of cause and effect guarantees that Buddhism is in accordance with modern science in theoretical regard. In practical regard, causality provides Buddhism with a sound ethical foundation. Three interpretations of the practical dimension of causality are extrapolated from Enryō’s writings: karma as consequentialism, as the principle of retribution, and as a postulate of conscience. The last chapter of the book reviews Enryō’s “Institutional Reform” proposals that resulted from his philosophy of Buddhism. Rather than Enryō’s secularized notion of state‑protecting Buddhism, it is Enryō’s repeated call for Buddhist overseas missions in support of Japanese expansion that exemplifies Buddhist nationalism (chapter 33). Enryō’s placement of Buddha, Confucius, Socrates, and Kant as the Four Sages of World Philosophy in the center of his Temple Garden of Philosophy provides an opportunity to distinguish between philosophical syncretism and eclecticism in the Epilogue. Whereas syncretism compromises its theoretical elements by integrating them either too forcefully or too loosely into one system, eclecticism is the original attitude of the philosopher. The framework Enryō bequeathed can be interpreted as an appeal to survey comprehensively in order to select the best from the various strands of world philosophy. This study was accepted as dissertation thesis by the Philosophy Depart­ment of Humboldt‑Universität zu Berlin in 2012 and presented the same year

Introduction  xvii

as gift to the 125th anniversary of Toyo University. On this occasion, Toyo University established the International Association for Inoue Enryo Research, of which I became a board member and an editor of its online journal. On the homepage of the Association, I compiled the Inoue Enryo Research Database, which provides regularly updated materials such as bibliographies, electronic texts, and glossaries. Since 2012, I have substantially revised and enlarged my thesis for publication. Through the database, the journal, and this book a historical figure is brought onto the horizon of Western research that had until today only been covered fragmentarily by English language research. The only previous study that has attempted a balanced account of the complete range of activities and ideas of the multifaceted phenomenon Inoue Enryō was an article by Kathleen Staggs in 1983.

Prologue

I n On the Use and Abuse of History for Life (1874), Nietzsche warns against the expectation that historiography will have conclusive results and instead encourages historical writing to mark the historical moment by “heightening it to a comprehensive symbol” (KSA 1: 292). The narrative of the Iwakura Embassy is the apotheosis of this ideal of historical writing about the Japanese Meiji period (1868–1912). There is hardly a political, social, or cultural problem of emerging modern Japan that cannot be meaningfully discussed by drawing upon a specific moment during the Iwakura Mission. The embassy itself was a singular event in world history: leading members of the government, accompanied by an escort of more than one hundred people, went on a journey around the globe visiting more than ten western nations for more than twenty months. Apart from being a rather unsuccessful diplomatic mission to negotiate treaty revisions, the embassy had the one aim: to observe, to learn, to record. This undertaking began in December 1871, at a time when such travel first became possible. It was a mere two years before, in 1869, that saw the completion of the transcontinental North American railway in the May and the opening of the Suez Canal in November. During the second half of the nineteenth century the ever‑accelerating industrialization of the West occurred alongside the globalization of infrastructure. As Jules Verne recounted in his famous novel from 1873, it had become possible to travel Around the World in Eighty Days. Already while crossing the Pacific Ocean debate sparked among the delegates about whether civilization meant that chopsticks were to be abandoned in favor of a knife and fork. This episode foreshadowed the cultural identity crisis Japan went through in the following years of rapid westernization; a 1

2 Prologue

crisis, some might argue, Japan still has not overcome. The first country the embassy visited was the United States of America. At the formal reception in San Francisco, Itō Hirobumi, the single most influential statesman of the Meiji period, gave the so‑called Sun Disc Speech: To‑day it is the earnest wish of both our government and people, to strive for the highest points of civilization enjoyed by more enlightenment countries. Looking to this end, we have adopted their military, naval, scientific, and educational institutions, and knowledge has flowed to us freely in the wake of foreign commerce. Although our improvement has been rapid in material civilization, the mental improvement of our people has been far greater. . . . Japan cannot claim originality as yet, but will aim to exercise practical wisdom by adopting the advantages, and avoiding the errors, taught her by the history of those enlightened nations whose experience is her teacher. . . . The Red Disc in the center of our national flag shall no longer appear like a wafer over a sealed empire, but henceforth be . . . the noble emblem of the rising sun, moving onward and upward amid the enlightened nations of the world.1

In London, the embassy had an audience with Queen Victoria (Kido 1983, 2: 285). The British Empire during the Great Victorian Boom was at the height of her power. London, with its stock markets and its underground railway, was the capital of the modern world. An island smaller than Japan, Britain was the center of a global empire. Only two months before the Japanese embassy arrived in London (August 1872), the opposition leader and later prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli, had delivered a speech at the Crystal Palace (June 1872), in which he vowed to “recur to national principles” and to “reconstruct as much as possible our Colonial Empire.” Historians point to this speech as the signal for the start of the Age of Imperialism. Four years later, in May 1876, Queen Victoria was crowned Empress of India. In Paris, the embassy visited the Bibliothèque Nationale, which, with a repository of three million volumes, was most likely the largest library in the world at the time. This venerable place brought forward doubts about rapid westernization: “It is the accumulation of knowledge over hundreds and thousands of years which gives rise to the light of civilization” (Kume 2002, 3: 60). The corridors of old books reminded the ambassadors of their East Asian

Prologue  3

heritage. The compiled wisdom of the Sòng (960–1279) and Míng (1368– 1644) dynasties, as well as centuries of Japanese literary tradition, were not to be hastily discarded. Another epoch‑making moment occurred in Berlin in March 1873 at the evening reception with Imperial Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, founder of the German nation‑state. The German Empire, after victory against France, had been proclaimed in the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles only two years earlier in January 1871. In his dinner speech, Bismarck expressed sympathy with the young Japanese nation, which still had to fight for its independence. He directed honest words at the delegates: “Today nations all appear to conduct relations with amity and courtesy, but . . . behind the façade lurks a struggle for supremacy and mutual contempt” (Kume 2002, 3: 323). Despite his cynical view on international politics, Bismarck was almost self‑contradictory when he assured that “[i]t is not the objective of Germany to possess colonies in the Orient like those of England and France, or to spread its influence in that area. Germany, wishes to cultivate eternal and genuine friendship with Japan” (Kido 1983, 2: 300). Indeed, it was Germany that, about seventy years later when Japan plunged herself and her neighboring countries into the catastrophe of World War II, firmly allied itself to Japan in a radical affirmation of the Darwinist struggle for supremacy. After several stops in major Asian ports (i.e., Calcutta, Saigon, Hong Kong, etc.), by that time all dominated by European powers, the embassy returned to Japan in September 1873. The margin of difference between developed and less‑developed European countries had convinced the ambassadors that the sweeping changes in the leading Western nations had occurred only during the last few decades. Hence, it was not too late to jump on the train, but progress had to be immediate. Indeed, it was only a couple of years later that the gap became insurmountable and large portions of the world had to wait more than a century before imperial rule had ended and they could try and catch up.2

Part I 

Toward the Eastern Capital

1

Imperial Restor ation

I noue Enryō 井上円了 (old writing 井上圓了) was born 1858 in a village named

Ura 浦 (lit. riverbank) in today’s Niigata prefecture on the northeast coast of Japan’s main island. He grew up in a Buddhist parish temple, named Light of Compassion Temple 慈光寺. In his childhood Inoue Enryō witnessed the unmistakable signs of social change. And it was not long before he realized that not only Japan but also the whole world had entered an unprecedented age of transformation. Politically, Japan’s modern era began when Enryō was ten years old. This was during the year 1868 when the civil war between the old feudal regime and the forces around the fifteen‑year‑old Emperor reached the vicinity of his home. Nagaoka castle, located about ten kilometers away, had served as the residence of the regional lords for about 250 years. When it burnt down the smoke was visible from Enryō’s village. The revolutionary process, which ended feudal particularization and concentrated power in the imperial institution, was the beginning of a far‑reaching political dynamic. The channeling of power into the emperor under the slogan “restoring imperial rule” 王政復興 began in 1868, was constitutionally cemented in 1889, and eventually culminated in the totalitarian Japanese state during the 1940s. The text that contained all key ideas of modern Japanese nationalism was the New Thesis (1825) by Aizawa Seishisai. The widely circulated ideological manifesto of the Late Mito School advocated the nativist idea of an ancient “unity of [imperial] reign and rites” 祭政一致. The emperor, as a direct descendant of the sun goddess, was regarded as the divine high priest of ceremonies, serving the community of the living nation and its ancestors. Aizawa in fact not only called for the unity of reign and rites, but also demanded the “union of politics and teaching” 治教同帰, 7

8  Toward the Eastern Capital

which foreshadowed the indoctrination based on the Imperial Rescript on Education since around the turn of the century.1 It was due to the quasi‑religious reverence for the emperor that the political restoration of 1868 brought with it a cultural revolution. The creation of a modern State Shintoism demanded the abolition of the traditional religious syncretism. The civil war was not yet over when the new government released a series of measures for the “separation of Gods and Buddhas” 神仏分離 . These orders led to a chain of events that must have had an even deeper impact on the very young Enryō. During the preceding Edo period (1603–1868) the prosperous Buddhist orders were protected by the feudal regime and their parishioner system was interlinked with governmental administration. At the beginning of the new era, the deprivation of state support triggered the resentments that had been built up over many years to erupt in an outburst of violence against Buddhist priests and temples; an event unheard of in Japanese history. Aizawa had cited in his New Thesis the severe persecutions of Buddhism by the Táng dynasty (618–906) in 845 as a reasonable model to follow (1825, 80–82) and in several domains restrictive measures and enforced laicization had occurred already before 1868. Yet, the ferocity of the “Buddha‑smashing” 廃仏毀釈 riots during the years 1869 to 1874 took even the new government by surprise. During the persecution, shrines all over the country were violently purged of Buddhist images and statues, tens of thousands of temples were closed or destroyed, and countless priests forced into laity (Collcutt 1986). For a young boy who was brought up to follow his father into priesthood, the atmosphere during the years of persecution must have been existentially threatening. Enryō was being educated in his family temple during these years of political unrest and hostility toward Buddhism. During the Edo period, temple schools had played an important role in the education of children in the peasant class. The fact that Enryō experienced the Buddha hall of his home temple as a place of learning surely played an important role when Enryō later dedicated his life to education. However, although it was received within the compound of his home temple, his school education was free of Buddhist content. The curriculum was thoroughly Confucian, almost identical to that of the Samurai class during the previous era. The only new aspect to this curriculum, based on the Four Books and Five Classics, was the introduction of classes to practice “debate” 会議 (Tsuchida 2009). This democratic element

Imperial Restoration  9

points to the other political trend during the early Meiji years. The “concentration” of power in the imperial institution was thwarted by a dynamic of “dispersion” of the public sphere (Maruyama 2012, 99). The political crisis caused by the approaching Western powers demanded broader political debate and pragmatic consideration of new measures. During the last years of the feudal regime the censorship that had been enforced successively since 1790 (Kornicki 1998, 339–52) was broken up and the call for “official debate and public opinion” 公議輿論 became widespread.2 The dual character of the Restoration in the dynamics of concentration and dispersion of the political sphere is apparent in the Imperial Oath 御誓文 of April 1868. The oath that was pledged to the gods by the young emperor, whose reign was soon to be proclaimed as the era of “Illuminated Politics” 明治 (Meiji), was in fact a programmatic statement by the new political leaders (Breen 1996): 1. Assemblies [会議] shall be widely convoked and all matters decided by open discussion [公論]. 2. Uniting the hearts high and low, government shall be vigorously pursued. 3. By letting commoners, in the same way as officials and military, all pursue their aspiration, the hearts must not be demoralized. 4. Evil customs of the past shall be overcome and [government] based upon the just path of heaven and earth. 5. Knowledge shall be sought throughout the world and the imperial foundation greatly invigorated.

The notoriously ambiguous five articles exhibit both the “search for top‑down control” (concentration) and the “desire for bottom‑up participation” (dis‑ persion).3 The unification of society (Article 2) under strong imperial rule (Article 5) points to the authoritarian aspect of the oath. On the other hand, articles three and four can be interpreted as the liberal, progressive side of the program. By abolishing class boundaries, granting freedom of movement and occupation, and basing politics on natural rights, Japan was to become a nation‑state in the modern sense of the word. The promise of political debate (Article 1) and the will to learn from abroad (Article 5) moreover echo the overwhelming consciousness that unprecedented measures had to be taken. The necessity of information about the West became more and more obvious.

10  Toward the Eastern Capital

Before the government itself finally went on a tour to inspect the West, books about Western civilization were widely read bestsellers. The most prominent example, Conditions in the West (1866, 1868, 1870), which Enryō read as a boy of not yet sixteen, was written by Fukuzawa Yukichi, the most influential figure of the Japanese Enlightenment movement.4

2

Civilization and Enlightenment

I t is expedient to differentiate between the first and second generations of the Meiji period. The revolutionary first generation, whose members became the founding fathers of modern Japan, had still been socialized in the old feudal system. The set of intellectuals and pioneers of Western Studies, who in 1873 formed the influential Meiroku Society 明六社 (lit. Society of the 6th [Year] of Enlightenment), belonged to this first generation. Besides Fukuzawa all of them were government officials and it was under their political influence that Japan’s first modern education system was implemented in 1872. Among the newly established schools was the Nagaoka School for Western Studies, where Enryō began to learn English in 1874.5 The teachers of English and other Western subjects in the Nagaoka School had studied in Tokyo, in Fukuzawa’s private school, known today as Keio University.6 Enryō’s schoolbooks and reading lists during that period provide fascinating insight into one of Japan’s earliest modern curricula (Schulzer 2012). The English and American textbooks about European history, economics, geography, and science gave the second generation, or New Generation of Meiji Japan (Pyle 1969), a decisive cosmopolitan outlook. Among the books at Enryō’s disposal, we find several works and translations by founding members of the Meiroku Society: Fukuzawa Yukichi (1835–1901), Mitsukuri Rinshō (1846–1897), Katō Hiroyuki (1836–1916), and Nakamura Masanao (1832–1891). Enryō was later to become personally acquainted with several of the Meiroku Society scholars; indeed, Katō became one of his mentors, Nakamura his Chinese teacher at Tokyo University, and the private educator Fukuzawa was an important role model for Enryō throughout his life. It is remarkable that in a society which now as in the past 11

12  Toward the Eastern Capital

is characterized by a strong emphasis on the principle of seniority some of Enryō’s teachers were less than fifteen years older than he. Generally, students and teachers are likely to be at least one generation apart. That this was not the case demonstrates how fast change was occurring in Japan during this time. The second generation of Meiji Japan was the first generation that had been fully socialized in the new era. About the vigorous presence of this “Rising Generation” (April 27, 1889) during the 1880s, the Japan Weekly Mail noted that, “[n]o intelligent observer . . . can fail to be struck by an extraordinary outburst of intellectual activity.” Meanwhile, Enryō’s training in the Chinese classics continued in the Nagaoka School. It was common among the educated elites in Japan to write Chinese verse and so we are left with a collection of Chinese poems by the seventeen‑year‑old Enryō. Among these poems from 1876 we find a “random verse” 雑詠 that captures well the optimistic feeling of departure during the early Meiji years.7 Aspiring to see civilization in the world Begin anew day by day Traveling across the waters in steamships Driving across the land in rolling cars Among the four seas, all are brothers Our neighborhood stretches past the horizon Those who were once strangers Now are seen from the same village

In the already‑mentioned work Conditions in the West, Fukuzawa described civilization as a state in which “the big helps the small and the strong protects the weak” (95–98). Enryō uses a quotation from the Analects for expressing the same hope for a peaceful world: “Among the four seas, all are brothers” (Ana. 12.5). The following line in the poem is a quote from classical sources too, but meaningfully modified. The original line by the Táng poet Wáng Bó (ca. 650–676) reads, “Our neighborhood seems to stretch past the horizon.” Enthusiasm for the new possibility of travel made Enryō feel that neighborhood indeed “stretches past the horizon.” A young man awakened to the idea of globalization is unlikely to come back once he has left his village. Instead, Enryō was to travel the world three times and develop a decisively global outlook.

Civilization and Enlightenment  13

An episode from the Nagaoka School for Western Studies gives further evidence regarding Enryō’s adolescent dream about the brotherhood of man. In fact, the episode tells of Enryō’s future in multiple ways. At the age of eighteen he became an assistant teacher at the Nagaoka School and thereupon convened a little group, which he named the Harmony and Equality Circle 和同会. Every Saturday afternoon Enryō met with students of the Nagaoka School for the purpose of concerted reading, discussion, or writing (Tsuchida 2009, 68–73). This episode from Enryō’s adolescent years not only testifies to his willingness and ability to teach, but also his desire to give his ambitions concrete social forms. During whatever stage in his later life, Enryō time and again founded societies, schools, journals, or other institutions. His foremost institutional heritage is, of course, Toyo University, founded by Enryō as the Philosophy Academy in 1887, however, even the Harmony and Equality Circle is continued today at the Nagaoka School. The cover of this book shows a postcard printed on the occasion of the society’s thirty‑fifth anniversary. The motif of Enryō as a founding figure runs through his biography from the convening of the Harmony and Equality Circle in 1876 until the announcement of the Religion of Philosophy based in the Temple Garden of Philosophy in his very last writing of 1919. Enryō’s Harmony and Equality Circle has another noteworthy aspect to it, namely its name. Enryō reported that he chose the name alluding to a passage from the Analects, which says that the virtuous man is “affable but not conformist” 和而不同 (Ana. 13.23). What Enryō did with the quote was not to modify it; instead, he dropped the negation before “conformist” 同 (dō). In effect, Enryō made an outright contradiction of the honored classic by bringing forth his own interpretation of dō 同 as “equality.” This can be interpreted in several ways. It shows Enryō’s cognizance of the new value of political equality in the name of which the old class boundaries were abolished and the new education was made available to everybody. Yet, it also underlines Enryō’s awareness of the change of the time. In Enryō’s imagination, a new era of harmony and equality had begun in which everything from the past had to be turned around. Even the most authoritative classic of all, the Analects, had to be corrected. The name of Enryō’s student circle, therefore, foreshadows the late Enryō’s peculiar effort to rewrite some of the most honorable texts of the East Asian tradition (see chapter 23). And last but not least, Enryō’s forthright

14  Toward the Eastern Capital

reinterpretation of the phrase from the Analects was exactly what the passage originally encouraged us to do, namely, not to be conformist. Another poem from the same period, nominated in its caption as “spontaneous verse” 謾吟, also resounds the young Enryō’s hope for peace that modern civilization promised (Nitta et al. 2008, 60). Born under the sky of an emerging peaceful world Encountering civilization and enlightenment The eldest sons are already acquiring wisdom near and far So that our nation will be based on strength and flourish

The phrase “civilization and enlightenment” 文明開化 (bunmei kaika) coined by Fukuzawa Yukichi in Conditions in the West (95–98) was the widely reverberating slogan under which enlightenment and westernization was pursued. The expression consists of two compounds of two characters each, and literally means “literacy‑bright open‑change.” Although both compounds already existed in literary Chinese of old, Fukuzawa gave them their specific modern meaning. Bunmei became the standard term for “civilization” in modern Japanese. In the case of kaika, it is not certain whether Fukuzawa indeed meant to translate the Western idea of enlightenment, or whether he conjoined the word in order to emphasize the dynamic of the civilizational process. In fact, the Latin noun suffix -­io in civilization also allows both meanings: civilization as the desirable state and civilization as a process. The common rendering of bunmei kaika as “civilization and enlightenment” is, however, not distorting because the nineteenth‑century European concept of civilization indeed presupposed the eighteenth‑century idea of enlightenment. The later concept of civilization expands and complements the earlier idea with an institutional and sociological dimension. The French author François Guizot, explains it in his General History of Civilization in Europe thus: civilization is the moral and intellectual development of mankind paralleled and made possible by the progress of the “social system” (Guizot 1828, 15–34). Guizot’s work had the greatest influence on Fukuzawa and was also on the young Enryō’s reading list. The translation “civilization and enlightenment,” moreover. adequately relays the semantic content of the Chinese characters; etymologically signifying “ornament” or “pattern” the basic meaning of bun 文 is “script” or “literacy.” The word bunmei, therefore,

Civilization and Enlightenment  15

strongly connotes the idea of “literate culture.” The character mei 明 is one of the most important concepts of cognition in the history of East Asian thought. Composed of the pictographs of the “sun” 日 and the “moon” 月, it conveys the meaning “bright” and “clear.” As a visual metaphor of cognition, the character is equivalent to the lexical field of clarifying, enlight‑ ening, elucidating, illuminating, and so forth, in European languages. Combined with the third character, kai, it forms the composite kaimei 開明 (“disclosing the light”), which is arguably the best translation of the Western term Enlightenment. In the founding document of his Philosophy Academy, Enryō used this term to express the hope that his school would contribute to the tide of enlightenment in Japan. For the reasons given above, the translation of bunmei kaika as “civilization and enlightenment” is not misleading, although at the time, bunmei kaika was understood as a combined concept rather than as two separate ideas.8 The whole idiom is highly suggestive. The literal translation “beginning the transformation into the brightness of civilization” is perhaps the best way to capture the optimistic spirit bunmei kaika conveyed to the Japanese reader. During the Meiji period using four‑character compounds such as bunmei kaika was of conspicuous importance for political communication within the emerging public sphere (Ketelaar 1987, chap. 3). This is, in fact, a phenomenon not easily explained to readers unfamiliar with the Chinese script. The Chinese language does not have lexical categories such as verb, noun, and adjective. Most of the words represented by single characters can be used in any grammatical function. The grammatical relation between two given characters can only be followed from the meaning. So, for example, the composite ai‑koku 愛国 is best understood as a verb/object relation: the characters ai 愛 for love and koku 国 for country taken together mean “loving the country,” that is, patriotism; “love” as an attribute of “country,” in the sense of “country of love,” is improbable. Yet, in many composites the grammatical relation is not as clear. In the case of four‑character compounds, the possible grammatical relations are multiplied. Sometimes a syntax can be assumed and the phrase be read as a Chinese sentence. Sometimes the phrases, as we have seen in bunmei kaika, are open to a wide range of interpretations. In addition to the grammatical ambiguity, the compounds are semantically very rich due to the suggestive force of the Chinese script. As in the cases we have already encountered (i.e.,

16  Toward the Eastern Capital

“unity of reign and rites” and “civilization and enlightenment”), these slogans contain whole systems of thought in condensed form. In the last line of the second poem we find another four‑character expression that was of towering importance to Japanese politics, arguably until 1945. Literally meaning a “rich country and strong army” 富国強兵, the ancient Chinese phrase was used to express the condition sine qua non of all modernization efforts. It is worth remembering that Japan’s more than two hundred years of seclusion was ended by the steam‑driven warships of the United States of America. The black gunboats, with their flagship more than seventy‑five meters long, forced the feudal government into diplomatic relations in 1853 and 1854. The Black Ships became deeply engraved into the collective memory of the Japanese as symbols of globalization, technological progress, and military strength. Amid the hopes for progress, enlightenment, and peace, in Enryō’s poems the phrase “rich country and strong army” appears like a bad omen foreshadowing the Age of Imperialism. The phrase is closely associated with another expression that Enryō might have encountered in his early reading of Aizawa’s New Thesis (1825, 10, 34). “Weak flesh is eaten by the strong” 弱肉強食 denotes the Darwinian struggle for survival in international relations. In a world of imperial competition economic prosperity and military strength were political imperatives for any government. It is, moreover, noticeable that the two lines “acquiring wisdom near and far, so that our nation will be based on strength and flourish” parallel the fifth article of the Imperial Oath, “Knowledge shall be sought throughout the world and the imperial foundation greatly invigorated.” The final conjunction (i.e., so that) between knowledge and imperial strength is not made explicit in the Imperial Oath, but being cited last suggests the primacy of the practical concern. Enryō later rendered these politically interrelated goals in his own lifelong slogan in four characters “Protection of Country and Love of Truth” 護国愛理. Enryō did not solve the philosophical tension between the theoretical project of enlightenment and the practical imperative of escaping colonization. But he broke the problem down into abstract concepts and put it in the center of his thought. This circumstance underlines the fact that his writings are a highly insightful window for understanding the zeitgeist of the Meiji period.

3

The True Pure Land School

E nryō was brought up to become a priest and to inherit the leadership of the small family temple from his father. At the age of thirteen he was ordained as priest in the Ōtani Branch 大谷派 of the True Pure Land School 浄土真宗 (hereafter referred to as the True School). At this occasion he was first given the name Enryō 円了 (“complete understanding”). The analogy with the Buddhist names of his grandfather Enjitsu 円実 (“complete verification”), his uncle Enkai 円解 (“complete comprehension”), and his father Engo 円悟 (“complete awakening”) displays the idea of lineage (Miura 2006, 121). Although Enryō did not study Buddhism during his childhood, he learned from his father how to conduct the regular temple services. By the time of his ordination he probably knew most of the liturgical texts of his sect by heart. That Buddhist priests are allowed to have children is not a matter of course. The question whether celibacy is necessary to complete the Buddhist Path is not an incidental issue to Buddhism, but concerns its very heart. While research into the life and teaching of the historical Buddha is still going on, there are no reasons to doubt the elementary fact in his biography that he left his family in order to find salvation. Compared to this very first act of secession from society, all other signs of renunciation such as tonsure, new name, robes, restricted diet, and so forth are secondary. Celibacy is the founding principle, without which the monastic order, as a special organization withdrawn from society, could not come into being. The family is the nucleus around which society crystallizes. This very nucleus is abandoned by the community of monks (Skt. sa gha) as founded by the Buddha. Sociologically speaking, this means the most radical opposition to the ordinary world possible. In East Asia, this separation from society is underlined by the fact that many of the great monasteries are located 17

18  Toward the Eastern Capital

on mountains. “Mountain” 山, evoking distance and transcendence, became through metonymy a general word for temple. Ascetics are moreover referred to by a graph showing a “man in the mountains” 仙. It stands in opposition to the character that refers to the “secular” 俗 world, pictographically the “man” 人 in the “valley” 谷.9 We will see that large parts of Enryō’s philosophy revolve around the transvaluation of values in the metaphorical space between mountain and valley, upward and downward, transcendence and immanence. The central feature of Buddhism as an organization detached from society collided, from the beginning, with the ethical and political teaching of the Chinese “literati guild” 儒家 (Zürcher 2007, 281–85). Confucian ethics, as seen in Mencius, is founded on an anthropological structure of five elementary “human ties” 人倫.10 In these five basic human relations the cardinal virtues of the social person originate. The political relation between lord and subject and the horizontal relation between friends are nonfamilial. The vertical relations between old and young (i.e., the principle of seniority) and between man and woman structure the society at large and the family in particular. The fifth tie is the reproductive relation between parents and child and constitutes what in modern sociological terminology is the nuclear family. The virtue that is located in this relation is the virtue of filial piety. The duty to honor and support the parents stabilizes the generational axis of the family and thereby secures the reproductive nucleus of society at large. Not only for Confucianism, but also regarding the intellectual history of East Asia in general, the importance of filial piety can hardly be overemphasized. It is easy to see that Confucian ethical theory conflicts in essence with the idea of a counter‑community, which the Buddhist sa gha represents. Ordination—in Chinese terms “leaving the household” or “leaving the family” 出家—is by definition a neglect of the natural “human ties,” particularly the duty owed to one’s parents. In this respect, Buddhism and Confucianism are not reconcilable. Hán Yù (768–824), the important forerunner of eleventh-­ and twelfth‑century Neo‑Confucianism, criticized the Buddhist way of life in his treatise, Inquiry of the Way: Their lore says: It is necessary to discard [the relation between] ruler and subject, to abandon [the relation between] father and son and to abstain the way of mutual nourishment and reproduction. By this means, they are striving for what they call silence and annihilation.11

The True Pure Land School  19

Hán Yù is historically significant because he immediately predates the already mentioned detrimental persecution of Buddhism in China occurring in 845. His argument also testifies to the fact that an explicitly secular stance against religious otherworldliness has always existed in East Asia. The debates between Confucian scholars, on the one hand, and advocates of Buddhism and Taoism on the other hand, prefigure the modern discourse on secularization of which Enryō was one of the leading exponents in Meiji Japan. The fact that the term “world-aversion” 厭世, which Enryō used extensively with a critical intention (e.g., 4: 336), stems from the Taoist book of Zhuāngzǐ, where it is affirmatively used, shows the fundamental incompatibility of the positions.12 The above has made clear that we need to explain how and why Enryō was the son of a Buddhist priest. The regular marriage of ordained priests in the Japanese True School was (except from the very different case of Nepal Buddhism) a singularity amongst all premodern Buddhist countries.13 The departure from celibacy in the True School took its precedence from the marriage of the sect’s founder, Shinran (1163–1273). Shinran’s reasons for deemphasizing the traditional monastic “precepts” 律 (Skt. vinaya) lay in a teaching that bears striking similarities to the theology of Martin Luther. This parallel between the “Lutheran heresy” and True School Buddhism was already recognized by the sixteenth‑century Jesuit missionaries Alessandro Valignano (1539–1606) and Franciscus Cabralis (1529–1609).14 In the twentieth century, the analogy was prominently discussed by the German protestant theologian Karl Barth in his Kirchliche Dogmatik, published in 1935. Barth admits the True School as the “most precise, most comprehensive, and most plausible ‘pagan’ parallel . . . of the reformed shape of Christianity” (372). Yet, despite his acknowledgment of the True School as a religion of mercy, Barth held, What is critical about truth and falsehood is really just one thing. In this regard we can mention a great providential coincidence with Pure Land Buddhism because it makes the point clearly and relatively stridently that there is only one thing that decides truth and falsehood between religions. This one thing is the name Jesus Christ. (376)

Barth welcomed the close parallel to Lutheran Christianity because it clarifies that the difference regarding truth and untruth is found not in doctrine but rather and only in the name Jesus Christ. Although the philosopher wonders what sort of exchange springs forth from such a position, Barth’s discussion

20  Toward the Eastern Capital

became the point of departure for an ongoing interreligious dialogue between the two traditions.15 Both Lutheran Christianity and True School Buddhism are religions founded on the idea of mercy. This shared characteristic originates in their founders’ conviction about the radical insufficiency of human beings to fulfill the religious precepts. Luther relied on Paul, who said of human sinfulness, “There is no one righteous, not even one” (Rom 3.10). The same idea was expressed by Shinran in an important hymn called “Lament and Confession by the Unlearned Bald Head”: Evil nature is exceedingly difficult to overcome. The heart is like a scorpion. Even good deeds are manifoldly poisoned. They are thus called works of pretense. . . . With hearts as maligned and fraudulent as scorpions, personal effort [自力] cannot perform good deeds.16

Moral effort is always deficient compared with divine standards, hence human beings can never qualify for salvation; deliverance is beyond the power even of those who sincerely try to lead a moral life. Both Shinran and Luther drew from this the radical conclusion that salvation—if at all possible—must be categorically unrelated to moral conduct. Salvation does not depend on “works” 行, but only on “faith” 信. In the case of Luther, the sola fide principle meant that one must trust in the mercy of the Christian God, and in the case of Shinran it meant faith in the “original vow” 本願 of Amida (Skt. Amitābha) to save all beings. According to the Sūtra of Contemplation on the Buddha of Immeasurable Life, Amida rescues everybody who wholeheartedly calls his name. They will be reborn in his Pure Land 浄土 where all sentient beings are finally freed from the circle of rebirths.17 The parallel between the two religious thinkers is indeed fascinating. The insight into the fragility of human morality led both to the conviction of the pointlessness of a special “ethics for religious experts” (Weber 1920, 1: 545). The reason is that if salvation is essentially unrelated to conduct, there are no religious grounds for insisting that the rigidity of conduct is proportionate to its holiness. According to both Shinran’s and Luther’s arguments, human beings are all equal in their destination to be saved despite their principal sinfulness. In the course of their lives, both reformers left their order, abandoned celibacy, and got married. This represented, for both religions, an important historical shift away from the priority of the clergy to the emphasis on lay

The True Pure Land School  21

religiosity. This was not secularization for the sake of it, but rather resulted from theological reasoning. During the Edo period, the legal separation of society into largely four classes (i.e., warriors, peasants, townsmen, clergy) implied official control of the clergy’s conduct, which meant that offenses against the Buddhist precepts could result in punishment by the authorities. Although this applied in the same way to the True School, because of its distinctive relation to the precepts, the True School priests were legally authorized to marry. The Táng dynasty (618–906) in China set the precedent for the secular legal regulation of monastic conduct in East Asia. As the foreign religious community slowly penetrated into China, the monastic way of life was regarded by the Confucian bureaucracy as highly suspicious and their loyalty to the ruler was seen to be questionable. During the Northern Wèi (386–535) and Táng dynasties Buddhism developed the commitment to dedicate rituals and charity to the welfare of the state. In return, the Empire acknowledged the monastic order and incorporated it in its legal framework (Ch’en 1973, 65–124). The signature of Buddhism being state protected and “state‑protecting” 護国 subsequently reproduced itself in Korea and Japan, and became the overall signature of East Asian Buddhism until modernity. This mode of coexistence was terminated by the Restoration government when, together with the other class barriers, the governmental supervision of the clergy was abolished. From then on, secular law allowed monks to marry, to wear ordinary clothes, to grow their hair, to eat meat, and so forth. Another law forced them to take on a secular family name and register as common citizens. The withdrawal of the modern state from matters of religious law ultimately resulted in the contemporary situation, where marriage among Buddhist priests is widespread in all sects, to a degree that distinguishes Japan from all other Buddhist countries. Yet at the time, rather than being welcomed as new autonomy, the state’s neglect of its role as guardian of the priesthood’s social status increased the sense of crisis among Buddhists. Because of the direct relation of celibacy to the institutional status of Buddhism as monastic organization, the decriminalization of “meat eating and marriage” 肉食妻帯 concerned the Buddhist clergy for several decades (Jaffe 2001). Enryō was one of the most outspoken advocates for a worldly lifestyle for the Buddhist clergy. In his view, the hitherto prevalent “world‑aversion” should be offset by adopting a world‑affirming attitude (3: 387f). To call for a “secular

22  Toward the Eastern Capital

Buddhism” 世間の仏教 (4: 366; cf. 3: 339) for the modern world, which allows marriage and engages with society, was at the very heart of Enryō’s reform ideas. In an autobiographical account, Enryō recalls that already as a boy he was ashamed of tonsure and rosary and wanted to return to secular life as soon as possible (3: 363). In 1872, his family had adopted the secular name Inoue according to the previously mentioned law.18 The combination of a secular name (i.e., Inoue) and a clerical name (i.e., Enryō) is common up until the present day among Japanese Buddhist priests. In 1886, Enryō married Yoshida Kei, with whom he had two daughters and one son.19 The existent photos mostly show Enryō in Western‑style clothes; there are none in Buddhist robes. In 1899, long after Enryō had severed formal ties with his sect, he adopted as one of his pen names, “Practitioner of the Path neither Monk nor Layman” 非僧非俗道人. The phrase “neither monk nor layman” is analogous to his real name (i.e., half secular, half religious) and originates from Shinran himself.20 Again, thirteen years later Enryō commented on his pen name: “But in fact, I became a practitioner of the path not as monk but as layman” (4: 386).

Figure 1. Photograph of Inoue Enryō and family (ca. 1915). (Left to right: Sumie, Kei, Enryō, Genichi)

4

New Buddhism

S hinran’s insight into the impossibility of reaching salvation by one’s own power had another consequence that paralleled the developments of the European Reformation: if good works are not conducive to salvation, much less are prayers and rites. Denying the soteriological efficacy of rituals, Shinran wrote in the already cited hymn, “How deplorable that monks and laypeople alike choose fortunate times and auspicious days, idolize the gods of heaven and the lords of earth, engage in divination and worship rites.” The only religious practice recognized by Shinran, the chanting of Amida’s name, was interpreted not as a prayer, but as the “natural” or “spontaneous” 自然 (jinen) expression of a faithful mind trusting in its deliverance by Amida (Matsunaga 1993, 2: 104–06). The scholastic distinction between the “principle of being” (Lat. principium essendi) and the “principle of cognition” (Lat. principium cognitioni) that Max Weber applied to characterize the Protestant lifestyle fits here equally well (Weber 1920, 1: 147). For Protestants, moral conduct cannot effect salvation, because that lies in the hands of God. Moral conduct however remains the grounds for conceiving the reality of salvation. To draw the analogy we can see that the chanting of Amida’s name is not the cause of deliverance; rather, it is merely the physical manifestation of the fact of deliverance. Remaining in Max Weber’s terms, we can understand the True School doctrine as a “sublimation of ritualism to a religiosity of mentality” (ibid., 1: 541). The resulting “devaluation of all sacraments and magic as means of salvation” meant that reality, in its inner working, was no longer a matter of religious dogma. Reality was thereby initially “disenchanted,” and became available to scientific explanation (ibid., 1: 114, 157). This observation that the True School was thus predisposed toward 23

24  Toward the Eastern Capital

modernization through its very doctrine indeed was made by Arthur Lloyd as early as 1894: In modern days the Shinshū [i.e., True School] sect has been the most progressive of all Buddhist sects. . . . Its peculiar tenet gives it a great advantage in this respect; for we have seen that . . . faith in Amida is the one and only thing necessary. . . . It can therefore freely and readily accept any scientific theories about the origin and constitution of the world. (418)

Although Enryō was naturally aware of True School’s rejection of magic (2: 390), he did not pursue his large‑scale campaign against superstition in the name of Buddhism, but rather in the name of philosophy and enlightenment (see chapter 19). Only philosophy through its allegiance with the empirical sciences could carry out the “disenchantment of the world” by effectively proving superstition wrong. However, we should not underestimate the fact that Enryō was able to pursue this campaign against superstition, without dissenting from his sect’s doctrine. In a short paragraph titled “Confession of My Faith,” the late Enryō even declared that despite his return to laity he had never abandoned his True School belief (4: 387f, 495f). Besides the “Threat of Eradication” (Culcutt 1986) posed by violence and official neglect during the years of persecution, another important cause, which initially triggered True School Buddhism to modernization and enlightenment, was the influx of Christianity. Although the ban on Christianity was not lifted until 1873, Protestant missionaries arrived immediately after the opening of the country in 1853 and began to vigorously proselytize. In 1864/65, it further became apparent that communities of several thousand Christians in the Nagasaki area, who had been converted during the Jesuit mission between 1549 and 1650 (the so‑called Christian Century: Boxer 1951), had practiced their faith in secret for more than 250 years (Cary 1976, 1: 286– 88). That their denomination persisted through centuries even at the risk of the death penalty, convinced the Buddhist clergy even more of the danger that Christianity presented to them. Buddhism reacted strongly and in many cases violently. Perhaps because of its similarities with Christianity, the True School felt particularly threatened.21 In the wake of its anti‑Christian agitation, and the search for new apologetics, five priests were sent to Europe in 1872 to affiliate with the Iwakura Embassy. This first mission of Japanese Buddhists to

New Buddhism  25

the West can be pinpointed as the initiation of the Buddhist Enlightenment movement (Deneckere 2014). Two of the most outstanding figures of the early Buddhist Enlightenment were Shimaji Mokurai and Akamatsu Renjō. Together with three other Japanese priests, they met in Paris several times with the orientalist and founder of French Japanese studies Léon de Rosny (1837– 1914). De Rosny (1875) later reported that Shimaji approached him with the following concern:22 We believe that the people of the Occident, who achieved such progress in the sciences and developed such high degree of rational civilization, must have a scientific religion. We have looked for this religion, but until now were not able to find it. . . . I am, for my part, not only prepared to hear your instruction, but also to renounce all my religious ideas, if you show me that we lag behind Europe in religion in the same way as we undoubtedly do in technology and industry.

After hearing that no such thing as a “scientific religion” existed in the West, the Japanese priests continued to inquire about “Calvin, Swedenborg, Luther, Renan, Fourier, Voltaire, Zoroaster, Bab, Comte, and Mohamed.” At their farewell, they promised to send de Rosny a detailed synopsis from Japan of what they called the “New Buddhist Path” 新仏道. With this in mind, de Rosny (1874) reported on “nèo‑bouddhisme” and religious reform in Japan at the first International Congress of Orientalists in 1873. De Rosny’s documentation of his exchange with the Buddhist priests is the earliest known testimony for the idea of a New Buddhism 新仏教. Around fifteen years later, after the publication of Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism (1887), Enryō was one of the foremost exponents of this reform movement (Ōtani 2009; PA 2, 4, 9). Shimaji’s vision of a renewed form of Buddhism can be grasped from a document that is assumed to be his report to ambassador Iwakura. The manuscript is titled “Inquiry into Religion” and is an intriguing testimony of early Buddhist Enlightenment ideas.23 In it, Shimaji argues that the True School, for reasons such as its missionary activities, its rejection of prayers, its monotheism, and its allowance of marriage, can be understood as a Buddhist form of Protestantism. The term Protestantism is rendered as shinkyō 新教, literally, “new teaching.” It is therefore conceivable that Shimaji, when speaking to de Rosny about a “new” Buddhism, had in mind both the Protestant character of his school and a modernized form of Buddhism. If one acknowledges

26  Toward the Eastern Capital

that the True School did indeed possess characteristics in parallel with Christian Protestantism that predisposed it toward modernization and enlightenment, then these two semantic aspects of “new” in New Buddhism cannot be separated. The priest who had promised to send de Rosny a synopsis of the New Buddhism was most likely Akamatsu Renjō. In 1879, he published a short paper titled A Brief Account of “Shinshiu” that is the first English language account of the True School doctrine, and shall be cited here in full. Buddhism teaches that all things, abstract and concrete, are produced and destroyed by causes and combinations of circumstances: and that the state of our present life has its cause in what we have done in our previous existence up the present; and our present actions will become the causes of our state of existence in the future life. As our doings are good or bad and of different degrees of excellence or evil, so these produce different effects having many degrees of suffering or happiness, all men and other sentient beings have an interminable existence, dying in one form and being reborn in another; so that if men wish to escape from a miserable state of transmigration, they must cut off the causes, which are the passions, such for example as covetousness, anger, etc. The principal object of Buddhism is to enable men to obtain salvation from misery, according to the doctrine of “extinction of passion.” This doctrine is the cause of salvation, and salvation is the effect of this doctrine. This salvation we call Nirvāna, which means eternal happiness, and is the state of Buddha. It is, however, very difficult to cut off all the passions, but Buddhism professes many ways of obtaining this object. Nāgādjuna, the Indian saint, said that in Buddhism there are many ways, easy and difficult as in worldly ways, some painful like a mountainous journey, others pleasant like sailing on the sea. These ways may be classed in two divisions, one being called “self‑power,” or help through self; and the other called “the power of others,” or help through another. Our sect, called “Shinshiu,” literally meaning: “True Doctrine,” which was founded by Shinran Shonin, teaches the doctrine of “help from another.” Now what is the “power of another”? It is the great power of Amita Buddha. Amita means “boundless,” and we believe that

New Buddhism  27

the life and light of Buddha are both perfect, and that his knowledge and mercy are both perfect; also that all other Buddhas obtained their state of Buddhaship, by the help of Amita Buddha. Therefore Amita Buddha is called the chief of the Buddhas. Amita Buddha always exercises his boundless mercy upon all creatures and shows a great desire to help and influence all people who rely on him to complete all merits and be reborn into Paradise (Nirvāna). Our sect pays no attention to the other Buddhas and putting faith only in the great desire of Amita Buddha, expect to escape from the miserable world and to enter into paradise in the next life. From the time of putting faith in the saving desire of Buddha we do not need any power of self‑help, but need only keep his mercy in heart and invoke his name in order to remember him. These doings we call: “thanksgiving for salvation.” In our sect we make no difference between priest and layman, as concerns their way of obtaining salvation, the only difference being in their profession or business; and consequently the priest is allowed to marry and to eat flesh and fish which is prohibited to the members of other Buddhist sects. Again, our sect forbids all prayers or supplications for happiness in the present life, to any of the Buddhas, even to Amita Buddha, because the events of the present life cannot be altered by the power of others; and teaches the followers of the sect to do their moral duty, loving each other, and keeping order and the laws of government. We have many writings stating the principles inculcated by our sect, but I give only the translation of the following creed, which was written by Rennyo Shonin, who was the chief priest of the eighth generation from the founder.

Creed. [1. Peace of Mind 安心 (anjin)] Rejecting all religious austerities and other actions, giving up all idea of self‑power, rely upon Amita Buddha with the whole heart, for we our [sic] salvation in the future life, which is the most important thing. [2. Gratitude 報謝 (hōsha)] Believing that at the moment of putting our faith in Amita Buddha, our salvation is settled. From that moment, invocation of his name is observed to express gratitude and thankfulness for Buddha’s mercy. [3. Virtue of

28  Toward the Eastern Capital

the Teachers 師徳 (shitoku)] Moreover, being thankful for the reception of this doctrine from the founder and succeeding chief priests whose teachings were so benevolent, and as welcome as the light in a dark night. [4. Commandments 法度 (hatto)] We must also keep the laws which are fixed for our duty during our whole life.24

The “Creed” that Akamatsu appended to his summary, I identified as the orthodox doctrinal text called “Words of Realization” 領解文 (Ryōge mon) or, in the Ōtani Branch, “Words of Repentance” 改悔文 (Gaike mon). I have added the traditional division into four sections to Akamatsu’s translation (i.e., Peace of Mind, Gratitude, Virtue of the Teachers, Commandments). The text has had a fixed form since around the middle of the eighteenth century and is taken to be one of Rennyo’s 蓮如 (1415–1499) catechetic letters. His authorship is, however, doubtful (Matsuo 2009). The canonical text confirms Akamatsu’s preceding characterization of the True School as a monotheist religion that relies on faith in Amida only and rejects prayers and rituals as soteriological means. Due to his command of English, Akamatsu received many interested foreigners over the years in Kyoto. From the report by a Western visitor about a conversation that took place in November 1878, we know that Akamatsu introduced the True School in Kyoto to foreigners as a form of Buddhist Protestantism (Bird 1881, 2: 242–53). Moreover, two Western scholars, who received from Akamatsu the above summary of True School doctrine in Kyoto, both spoke of the “reformed” or “protestant” character of the True School as already a matter of “general consent.”25 The comparison between the True School and Christian Protestantism in modernity was not an orientalist Western perception as has been held (Amstutz 1997; Kleine 2003; Ōtani 2013), but instead originated from the heart of the Buddhist Enlightenment movement itself. In the eyes of Shimaji and Akamatsu, their religion owned a character that, comparable to Christian Protestantism, did not contradict modernity in any fundamental way. Their New Buddhism was identical with the Reformed Buddhism that the True School had always been. In 2013, when I visited Enryō’s family temple, whose ministry he never inherited, sheets of white paper were pasted all over the back and side walls of the main hall. On them was written in black ink varying monetary amounts, “for sūtra recitation in eternity” 一永代読経. It seems ironic that a religious

New Buddhism  29

tradition that takes pride in rejecting magical prayers for benefits in this world collects money as a substitute for sūtra recitation effecting the other world. That reality does not conform with the ideal is of course a truism. It is, moreover, admitted that detailed historical investigation will find many differences between two given cultural formations. But the point of interest is not where comparison fails—because it fails of necessity in endless respects—the point of interest is where, if at all, commonalities, can be discovered. Contemporary methodological discussion does go in circles, when it is skeptical regarding the “protestant outlook” in Western understandings of premodern Pure Land Buddhism and at the same time emphasizes the allegedly Christian models for modern Protestant Buddhism. The comparative history of ideas looks at similarities and develops concepts through which parallel developments can be understood. In this respect, there is still much to learn from Max Weber. As was the case with Christian Protestantism, the challenges of academic scholarship posed no threat to the Amida creed. The faith of being received by the divine irrespective of worldview and lifestyle proved to be a stable form of religiosity in the process of modernization. To dismiss any parallels between Christianity and Pure Land Buddhism as an orientalist perception also works to obstruct further insights. Although the influence of Christianity on modern Japan should not be underestimated, it is a fact that the prime European religion was not able to strike roots as a popular faith among the Japanese. Christian missionaries not only faced fierce opposition from Japanese intellectuals and the Buddhist clergy, but also the social niche of a religion of mercy was already occupied. This explains at least to some degree why the Christian mission in Korea took a completely different course. In Korea, where there was no faith‑based religion with broad popular basis as there was in Japan, Christianity is now deeply implanted in South Korean society.

5

Scientific Religion

D uring their expedition to Paris in 1872, the priests of the True School established relations that led to more scholarly exchange with French intellectuals in the following years. In 1876, a scientific mission under the direction of Émile É. Guimet visited the True School in Kyoto (Conant 1984). In a conversation lasting more than seven hours, the French scholars asked Shimaji and Akamatsu about the tenets of their religion. The dialogue covered a wide range of subjects. Yet, the first topic, the Buddhist concept of causality, was discussed in the most detail. In the course of the priest’s explanation of the Buddhist ideas of “cause and effect” 因果, the French interlocutor stated: “What the scholars of the sciences in the Western countries examine and research day by day is very much in harmony with what you say.” Because of the affinities that had become apparent, the French invited the Japanese at the end of the sitting to dispatch priests to France to study the Western sciences. The recorded conversation ends with Shimaji responding to the invitation: “Your precious theories correspond largely with our humble ideas. We wish to prove by the positive empirical [実際経験] sciences that the doctrine we revere is the veritable truth [真実無妄].”26 Attempts to defend—even by empirical means—the traditional Buddhist universe, with the world‑mountain Sumeru in its center, continued in Kyoto during the 1870s (Thelle 1987, 33). In Shimaji’s conversation with the French scholars there was no mention of Buddhist cosmology with the idea of Amida’s Pure Land in its western region. Instead, the Buddhist concept of causality was emphasized. This shift shows not only the preparedness to accept the heliocentric worldview, but also foreshadowed the twentieth‑century dialogue between Buddhism and the sciences. It was also during the 1970s that the 31

32  Toward the Eastern Capital

affinities between Buddhist metaphysics of causality and the scientific worldview began to be recognized in the West (Tweed 1992, 65). The acknowledgment of the authority of modern science became one of the cornerstones of Modern Buddhism. The Fourteenth Dalai Lama, one of the most renowned figures of contemporary Buddhism, wrote in 2005: I had come to recognize that the essence of modernization lies in the introduction of modern education, and at the heart of modern education there must be a command of science and technology. My personal commitment to this educational project has led me to encourage even the monastic colleges, whose primary role is to teach classical Buddhist thought, to introduce science into their curriculum. . . . It may be that science will learn from an engagement with spirituality . . . but certainly some specific aspects of Buddhist thought—such as its old cosmological theories and its rudimentary physics—will have to be modified in the light of new scientific insights. (3–5)

These words outline very well Enryō’s mission when founding a school for young Buddhists in Tokyo. This happened about seventy years before the current Dalai Lama started his modernization project. Instead of a “scientific religion” as envisioned by Shimaji, Enryō however spoke of Buddhism as a “philosophical religion.” Enryō arrived in Kyoto in 1877, one year after the conversation with Guimet had taken place. His order, the Ōtani Branch of the True School, had summoned the promising nineteen‑year‑old priest to Kyoto. True Pure Land Buddhism founded by Shinran is divided into various schools, among which the two main branches are the Ōtani Branch (or Eastern Original Vow Temple 東本願寺) and the Western Original Vow Temple 西本願寺. The genealogical schism occurred in 1603, more than three hundred years after Shinran (1173–1263) and one hundred years after the sect’s institutional founding father Rennyo (1415–1499). Because the foundations of True School Buddhism had been thoroughly laid before the split of linage occurred, the two branches show minimal doctrinal discrepancies. During the Edo period the two orders coexisted under governmental observance in mutual tolerance. After the restoration they developed a relation of mutually stimulating competition. True School Buddhism played a more than conspicuous role in the founding of modern academic Buddhist studies. Almost the complete

Scientific Religion  33

vanguard of progressive Buddhist scholars in Meiji Japan originated from this sect. Besides Enryō, there were Ishikawa Shuntai (1842–1931), Nanjō Bun’yū (1849–1927), Murakami Senshō (1851–1929), and Kiyozawa Manshi (1868– 1903) from the Eastern, and Shimaji Mokurai (1838–1911), Akamatsu Renjō (1841–1919), Maeda Eun (1855–1930) and the lay scholar Takakusu Junjirō (1866–1945) from the Western Original Vow Temple. All but Akamatsu and Ishikawa went to Tokyo in order to pursue their academic studies and reform projects. In Tokyo, all of them were teaching at Enryō’s Philosophy Academy. Maeda and Takakusu became the second and eighth president of what, by that time, had become Toyo University. If animosities among the progressive scholars of the two branches of True School Buddhism were at all virulent, they stayed under the surface.27 Enryō was in Kyoto for only eight months. This was not enough time to study Buddhism, but it was enough time to learn about the Christian intruders and to get in touch with the leaders of the Buddhist Enlightenment movement. It was also enough time to realize that his sect was in the midst of transition. It was in the year of Enryō’s arrival in Kyoto that the University of Tokyo was founded in the new Eastern Capital. In April 1878, Enryō was sent to Tokyo and eventually became the first ordained priest to enroll in Japan’s first modern university. His mission was to study the Western sciences and the still‑unknown discipline of philosophy in order to fathom Buddhism’s potential for doctrinal reform. Enryō did indeed fulfill that mission and became one of the modern pioneers of the dialogue between Buddhism and Western philosophy and science. There is an objection that is likely to arise here, namely, that the modern interpretations of Buddhist doctrine by the Japanese Buddhist Enlightenment movement meant an estrangement from their origins. This concern was in fact already expressed by de Rosny who published another report about his exchange with the Japanese priests under the telling title, “How to Create a Religion” (1875). The “creating of,” the “construction of,” the “making of,” or the “invention of” are widely used expressions in postmodern scholarship to indicate the artificial character of a given idea or culture. Such claims about artificiality obviously imply a notion of authenticity. Nothing can be debunked as invented or constructed unless it is confronted with the historical reality. The historical approach in modern Japanese Buddhist studies in fact had its origin at the same time and at the same place as the enlightenment

34  Toward the Eastern Capital

movement: on their first mission to Europe, the delegates of the True School became aware of Western Sanskrit studies. The sacred canon of Mahāyāna Buddhism, which was studied in East Asia for more than 1,500 years only in Chinese translations, was researched in Europe in its original language. It is not difficult to understand that this discovery meant no less than an earthquake to East Asian Buddhism. One year before Enryō’s arrival in Kyoto in 1876, two priests had been dispatched to London to study under the German Sanskritist Max Müller in Oxford. One of them, Nanjō Bun’yū, became the founder of Japanese Sanskrit studies, a research area in which Japanese academia now excels to a degree second only to India itself. The Buddhist modernizers did, of course, not create a new religion. It has, however, been pointed out that premodern Japanese lacked a category for religion that was congruent to the Western concept. Isomae Shinichi’s (2003) widely discussed thesis was that the importation of the “religion” concept caused a shift from a practice to a belief‑centered concept of religious phenomena. Considering the generally acknowledged predominance of True School scholars among the founders of modern Japanese Buddhist studies, it is surprising that nobody has discussed Isomae’s thesis in the light of Shinran’s teaching. As has been outlined above, priority of faith over ritual and ascetic practice lies at the very heart of True School doctrine. Conscious of their Buddhism being centered in faith rather than in conduct, the door was open for True School scholars to secularize their worldview and lifestyle. They became the pioneers of scientific enlightenment and academic research in modern Japanese Buddhism. Therefore, a certain shift away from visible ritual practice to private faith may well have occurred under these leaders who were shaping the fledgling academic discourse on Buddhism. However, that shift was not necessarily the result of the use of a single new term; rather, it had its cause in the peculiar features of True School Buddhism. Conceptual history is doubtlessly an extremely valuable aid in understanding the dynamics of language modernization during the Meiji period. However, as long as postmodern scholarship does not reflect on the extreme nominalism it inherited from Michel Foucault, it is prone to cause more confusion than insight. Religion did not need to be invented in modern Japan nor did Buddhism first become a religion in that period (cf. Josephson 2006b; 2011). Consider two religions A and B, each with a different vocabulary. Both religions worship a tiger‑god, a lion‑god, and a dog‑god. Religion A moreover

Scientific Religion  35

subsumes the tiger‑god and the lion‑god under the category cat‑god. Is it plausible to say that cat‑gods are being invented in religion B, as the category is imported from religion A? Cats surely do not come into existence by having a word for them, but a cat‑god actually might. In religion B, the apotheosis of the generic term cat‑dog could become a cult on its own. In this case it would be right to say that a new category leads to the invention of a new cult, a new religion. But if it did—and this is my argument here—it cannot be proven by looking at the level of discourse and language only; rather, it has to be examined by simultaneously looking at the social reality. During the Meiji period a breathtaking array of institutional patterns were being newly established at an equally breathtaking speed. It is a worthwhile academic endeavor to show how the establishment of a modern press, a modern postal system, modern academia, or a modern police force was only possible through new terms and concepts that described and prescribed the new institutions. In these instances, language change had to keep pace with a rapidly modernizing society. Now, was religion invented in Japan in the same way as an army, an education system and a banking system? The answer has to be no. That religion was invented in Japan is a hopelessly overstated claim. There have been changes in the religious sphere as well. The most drastic alteration of the Japanese religious landscape was arguably the violent separation of Shinto and Buddhism immediately after the Restoration. However, it would be very difficult to argue that the separation politics and the anti‑Buddhist resentment that followed were an outcome of the newly imported category of religion. Enryō tirelessly lamented that despite everything else being successfully reformed in Japan, religion remained in a state of apathy.28 There were many elements added to Buddhism, such as research institutions, new schools, and charity organizations, but inside the temples the same texts are still recited, the same sculptures worshiped, the same rituals performed, the same robes worn, and so forth. None of these practices have ceased due to an allegedly Western‑biased concept of religion. What is new is that there is a scholarly discourse about religion in which Buddhists, postmodern scholars, and philosophers alike participate.

Interlude on Occidentalism

The question as to how the motivation behind modernization or reformation of Buddhist doctrine is adequately described touches on an important methodological and philosophical problem. A prominent interpretation is to speak of “strategic occidentalism” (Ketelaar 1991). The term strategic refers to the political dimension in the defense of Buddhism against Christianity. It is obviously advantageous to Buddhism if it can be portrayed as compatible with Western science. Given that the intrusion of the foreign creed was a strong incentive for Buddhist reforms, it is plausible to say that in the search for new means to counter their Christian opponents, some Buddhists’ strategy was to employ the authority of the occidental sciences (cf. Snodgrass 2003). A perplexed postmodern scholar commented on this narrative that although the “enemy is slain; the weapon continues to be wielded” (Lopez 2008, 33). Considering the possibility that the Buddhist dialogue with science was not a weapon in the first place, a more favorable narrative comes to mind: in times of sweeping social change young Buddhists discovered affinities between certain ancient tenets of their religion and empirical science. They studied the modern sciences and rein‑ terpreted their creed accordingly. In this second version, the motive behind doctrinal modernization is not the struggle against Christianity but rather the search for religious truth. The rule according to which postmodern scholarship—consciously or unconsciously—consistently votes for the less favorable option is concisely expressed in a dictum ascribed to the eighteenth‑century English historian Edward Gibbon (1737–1794): “Never trust a noble motive for an action, if you can find a lesser one.”1 The question then arises, why do we tend to feel that our perception of human behavior is more realistic the more we reduce it to lesser impulses? The 37

38  Interlude on Occidentalism

philosophical answer to this question has to be searched for in the relationship to our selves. We derive our primary understanding of how motivation works and how motives interact in the human mind from our self‑perception. In the light of empirical anthropology (i.e., biology, medicine, psychology, etc.), our theory of mind is generated with constant feedback from our self‑knowledge. Yet, if we follow Kant about the certainty of our self‑knowledge—and surely Shinran and Luther would have agreed—we have good reason to be extremely careful. According to Kant, “[O]ne is never more easily deceived than in what promotes a good opinion of oneself” (AA 6: 68). Kant therefore even refers to the Know thyself! as the “first commandment”: “Know yourself . . . —your heart—whether it is good or evil, whether the source of your actions is pure or impure” (AA 6: 441). Thus considered, the conscientious and unremitting application of Gibbon’s Rule in our moral self‑reflection is a matter of duty: Never easily trust a noble motive for your actions, if you can find a lesser one. From this, we can also appreciate Nietzsche’s unmasking psychology, which detects behind all human behavior the will to power, the drive to reproduction, the need for fame, the desire for lust, and so forth. What has been called the “hermeneutics of suspicion,” are indispensable tools for the self‑enlightenment of humanity.2 The scholarly discussion about Orientalism helps to clarify another important theoretical point: the assurance of a self‑concept can pervert into a motivation of its own. This can be best illustrated in figures such as the court dwarf or the blackamoor in the company of eighteenth‑century European aristocracy. Such figures were welcomed because they stabilized the identity of the court nobility. They were the abused other to confirm the self‑concept of their aristocratic masters. Applying this insight to our moral self‑reflection, we can formulate the rule: beware of not using your counterpart only for assuring your own identity. Do not other the other! To introduce, for example, an ugly person into society in order to appear more attractive oneself, is a concrete violation of that person’s dignity. This is an important insight, and, arguably, every observation is welcome that helps the individual to purify his or her motives from the poison of our inner scorpion. But does such analysis allow an adequate perspective on history? Should the analysis be applied to anything apart from ourselves? Both must be affirmed. They indeed are important tools of a critical historiography. It is undoubtedly an advancement that the discriminatory terms savages and

Interlude on Occidentalism  39

primitives are discredited. The pejorative reference functioned to emotionally uplift the “civilized” society and to legitimize imperial aggression. But the critique of debunking the dynamics of identity politics is perfidious in its universal applicability. Our self‑concept is involved in whatever we intentionally do or say. Consequently, the allegation that the motivation behind a certain act or utterance was merely self‑confirmation is always possible. Such allegations are perfidious, not only because they are always applicable, but also because they cannot finally be proved wrong. If we follow Gibbon’s Rule here, we are lost in cynicism about humanity. At this point, we can understand why Nietzsche, who knew how difficult it is “to limit the negation of the past,” called for the virtue of justice in the search for historical truth (KSA 1: 270, 285–88). The conscientious and balanced use of the critical tools of historiography can only be derived from thorough self‑reflection. The one who is inexorable in examining his or her own motives will find the right measure for criticizing others. On “the descent to the hell of self‑reflection” (Kant, AA 6: 441), we can learn that “the depths of our hearts are ultimately inscrutable to ourselves” (Kant, AA 6: 51). The impossibility of ever being sure of the innocence of our motives prevents us from judging others imprudently. That does not imply the claim of principal sinfulness. But the uncertainty regarding the status of our morality prevents us from imprudently judging others. It is, therefore, a matter of conscientiousness to follow different standards for oneself and for others. Be strict toward yourself, but forgiving towards others.3 If we take a singular historical case of extremely high relevance, such as, for example, a war crime, the historian might consider treating his subject in the same manner as a court. In this case all available sources are examined before assumptions are made about the motivation of an agent. And as in court, the fair principle based on which the final judgment should be made is not Gibbon’s Rule but the Presumption of Innocence. What can be further learned from practicing self‑reflection is that motives do not exist as separate entities, as language suggests. Motives are never pure, but always mixed. That is why it is so difficult to know the determining factor. Determining the motivation of the proponents of Buddhist Enlightenment, therefore, is not a question of either the search for truth or outrage against Christianity. Moreover, anger or outrage is not necessarily wrong, if its motivational force is channeled into reasonable action. The leading thinkers of the Buddhist Enlightenment may have been enraged by the intruding foreign

40  Interlude on Occidentalism

religion, but the important thing is whether their reaction aimed at what was right. To examine whether this was the case, we should first of all listen to what they had to say. The consequent application of Gibbon’s Rule proffers a pessimistic idea of humanity. However, rather than mere cynicism, one can sense an emancipatory impulse in postmodern scholarship. Disillusion about human fragility leads to more awareness and allows for a higher aspiration for the future. Edward W. Said confessed, twenty‑five years after the publication of his immensely influential book Orientalism, that despite “the scornful dismissal of the term by sophisticated post‑modern critics,” he was inspired by the idea of “humanism” (Said 1994, xxiii). Yet, other than Said, postmodern historians all too often regard themselves as excused from any positive explication of their values. Nietzsche expressed it nicely when he wrote, “Only one who builds the future, has a right to judge the past” (KSA 1: 294). Valid ideas for the future are developed from scholarship about the past. The discourse‑analysis approach has little to offer here. By methodologically dismissing the question of truth, it completely diverts from the content. Instead of discussing validity claims, Foucault attempted to show that propositions are always predetermined by certain discursive formations and power‑related practices.4 Following this approach, Said claimed that “Orientalism is more particularly valuable as a sign of European‑Atlantic power over the Orient than it is a veridic discourse about the Orient” (6). Although the objects of inquiry are propositional texts, they are analyzed according to what they perform, not in regard to the arguments or claims they make. Consider the example of a person saying: I am against increasing the tax on mineral oil for xy reasons. Postmodern analysis detects behind the statement either a hidden motive related to power (the person is driving a big car) or to identity (the person wants to raise his profile as a liber‑ tarian). Either way, the argument xy brought forward is ignored. This is not only bad style, it is simply suspicious. After thorough examination, we may not be convinced by the argument someone brings forth. If we find the reasons to be completely illogical, we may consider the person to be otherwise motivated. However, if we do not take the person seriously at all, the possibility that propositions are indeed motivated by the truth is methodologically ignored. Insofar as the scholarly discussion about Orientalism started out as a self‑critique of Western academia, it followed the maxim of being stricter toward their own culture than to the foreign one. Although I find many

Interlude on Occidentalism  41

contributions to the debate overstated, the debate itself was admittedly a necessary self‑reflection of the West. In the present case, however, the approach is extended to modern Japan: the Buddhist Modernists made strategic use of occi‑ dental ideas in order to portray Buddhism as a scientific religion, thereby othering the allegedly irrational Christianity. Being infected by the same modernity, and having the same imperialist past, Japan is treated as an in‑group rather than as an out‑group by Western researchers. This historical circumstance has its very origin in the Japanese occidentalism that is at question here. The debunking logic as applied in the discourse about Orientalism is not unknown in Japan. Christian missionaries have been suspected to be the vanguard of imperialist aggression since their early activities in the seventeenth century (Josephson 2012, 49–54). The same accusation was brought forward by Aizawa in his New Thesis (1825, 48–50) and repeated by Fukuzawa (1881) during the early Meiji years. At the present time those priests who have come to Japan are consuming much time and money in disseminating their religion, and to the utmost of their strength they are working day and night, and without any letting up in carrying their religion east and west! But what is their object? It is just as I have before remarked, namely to accomplish their desire to seize upon and rob our country. . . . These foreign governments, as a preparation beforehand for making war and seizing a country, send out missionaries to open the way.

This quotation demonstrates that allegations about veiled motives stem particularly from the psychology of conflict. In times of war, suspicion about the lowness of the other’s means easily turns into cynical legitimation of using them oneself. Putting aside the difficult question to what degree the accusations of the Christian missionaries are justified (Osterhammel 2009, 1261–68), it is part of the tragedy of modern Japan that the self‑contradictions of the Western powers convinced the Japanese of the legitimacy of imperialism and religious propaganda. It was Enryō who in 1904 and in 1917 openly called for a Buddhist mission as preparation for and in support of national expansion. It is clear that western nations, having a keen interest in China, consider it of great importance to tame the Chinese mind with western religion in order to further their national interests and fortunes in that

42  Interlude on Occidentalism

country. And so as the first step in this direction they send out teachers and build schools at immense expense to carry on their religious propaganda. . . . [R]eligion is the best fore‑runner of national expansion and development overseas, as well as at home. Religion has always paved the way for extension of western nations overseas, and why should it not do the same for Japan? In Africa, India, China and the Islands of the South Pacific Christianity always preceded the flag and opened a way for the development of the nations preaching the new religion. We have imitated the occidentals in other ways; why not in this way? (Dec. 1917)

No sophisticated argument about identity politics is necessary to realize that this is occidentalism in the negative sense. In order to differentiate between misled emulation, strategic shiftings of identity, and serious academic claims the first thing should be to examine what the respective historical person had to say. We follow their logic immanently as far as possible. If a point is reached at which their reasoning is implausible to us, we argue against it. If it seems highly irrational, we might consider whether underlying motives overpowered their logical thinking, but will be careful in making allegations. It might be objected here that it is not the job of the historian to discuss the validity of ideas. I agree, and take this as an argument as to why the history of philosophy should be done by philosophers. Last but not least, taking the Buddhist reformers seriously has the great advantage of being able to learn from them. If we follow their line of thinking with the assumption of rationality, our assessment of validity is involved in every step. Our investigation is, from the onset, related to our own standpoint. If the narrative as a chain of comprehensible logical steps through history reaches the present, the validity of the examined reasoning prolongs itself into the future. A history of ideas that takes validity as a guideline is thereby necessarily a narrative of Enlightenment.

Part II  

The Love of Truth

6

A New Culture of Discussion

The arrival of the Black Ships in 1854 caused great shock for the Japanese Samurai class and led to the call for “official debate and public opinion” 公議輿論, which was reinforced by the new government in the first article of the Imperial Oath, 1868. The new leaders of Japan were convinced of the necessity for open discussion by the immediate threat of colonization by technologically superior foreign powers. Except for the imperial institution itself—the banner under which the revolution had been pursued—the very foundations of Japanese identity were up for debate. Included among the issues debated there was the adoption of English as the nation’s first language, the form of government, and even the baptism of the emperor.1 Indeed, upon the introduction of the Western calendar in 1872, Japan entered a new era. In Japan’s zero hour, the necessity to survey, evaluate, and select was apparent to all sides. Discussion was chosen as the single method for determining the valuable and expedient in order to exercise the “practical wisdom” that Itō had called for in his San Francisco Sun Disc Speech (1871). How deep the historical fissure was felt is strikingly expressed by an episode the German medical doctor Erwin Bälz (1849–1913) noted in his diary in 1876. Upon asking one of his eager students about the history of his own country, the student responded with the words: “We do not have a history. Our history starts now” (Bälz 1930, 25). The early call for open debate was not differentiated into political debate for decision making or discussion as a method of truth finding. The former problem was one that concerned the question of how political assemblies determine the collective will and led, in 1874, to the petition for a democratic parliament, the beginning of the Freedom and Civil Rights Movement. The latter idea of debate as a scholarly method for determining the truth was 45

46  The Love of Truth

related to the establishment of academic institutions and the emergence of a modern public. Whereas the trend toward political emancipation came to a standstill with the implementation of the constitutional system in 1890, the trend toward scholarly discussion unfolded more freely. The Meiroku Society, founded in 1873, understood itself as a circle for “discussion and exchange” 論談 and stated as much in the preface to its journal. In what was Japan’s first academic journal, the group of Western studies scholars and enlightenment intellectuals freely debated topics as heterogeneous as prostitution, free trade, democracy, mining, the death penalty, and religion. The Meiroku Journal, translated as the Journal of the Japanese Enlightenment (Braisted 1976), published forty‑three issues over a period of only two years and is a microcosm of exploratory theoretical and practical thinking. The Meiroku Journal has the status of a classic, not only because of the variety of its topics and its controversial debates, but also because almost every single contributing scholar is a seminal figure of modern Japan. The Meiroku Society dissolved in 1876; however, seven of its core members founded the Tokyo Academy 東京学士会院 only three years later in 1879. Emulating national academies in the West, the enlightenment intellectuals regathered as the official scholarly elite of new Japan. In its regulations, the aim and competence of the academy was defined as “debating [討議] education” and “discussing critically [評論] the sciences and arts.”2 The reemergence of the Meiroku discussion circle as a national academy not only testifies to the confidence of the enlightenment scholars, but also points to the fact that all the initial members of the Meiroku Society and the Tokyo Academy were high government officials (that is, except for Fukuzawa Yukichi). The minister of education who allowed the petition to found the Academy had himself been a member of the Meiroku Society. Only Fukuzawa kept his distance from the government and thereby embodied the independent thinker more than any other scholar of his generation. His perspective as Japan’s first public intellectual also allowed him to champion the discussion about discussion (Matsuzawa 1991). In part fifteen of An Encouragement of Learning from 1876, Fukuzawa used the following simile to explain the dialectical dynamics in human thinking: Every theory gives rise to an opposing theory, and disputes between rival theories never cease. . . . Pursuit of truth [真理] when there is a conflict of different opinions is like sailing a boat against the wind.

A New Culture of Discussion  47

The boat’s course must tack to the right and to the left. The high waves and strong wind may force it to sail through several hundred miles of water, but its straight‑line course would come to no more than five to ten miles. It is also possible to sail with a following breeze, but this is never so in human affairs. The course to the truth lies only in a zigzag course through the disputations of rival theories.3

The dynamic of conflicting ideas cannot be avoided in human affairs, either in conversation with oneself or in an argument one on one, nor in a panel or roundtable discussion, in parliament, or in the sphere of print media. In the first chapter of his masterpiece, An Outline of a Theory of Civilization (1875), Fukuzawa exposed the fundamental function of debate in the process of civilization. He distinguishes “discussion” 議論 as the “basic standpoint” 本位 of a progressive society. Without yet assuming a fixed stance, Fukuzawa exposes the method of discussion before entering into it. Fair discussion must be determined as the medium for encountering the other before any actual conflict arises. If one does not agree a priori on the method of discussion, no conflict can be settled in rational ways a posteriori. This sentiment became the spirit and structure of the public sphere during the latter half of the Meiji period. By the 1880s, the technology for printing Japanese with movable metal type and the production of Western‑style paper were sufficiently developed. From around 1885 onward, modern press and publishing companies increased quickly in number and output. About ten years later, the transition from traditional woodprint to movable, metal type was complete. The new print technology meant in the first instance an increase in print run and circulation, and thereby provided the precondition for the emergence of a modern public.4 The constitution, enacted in 1890, moreover allowed freedom of expression “within the limits of law” (§29). In addition to daily newspapers and a weekly press, a fascinating landscape of scholarly magazines evolved. In mostly monthly periodicals of philosophical, Shintoist, Christian, or Buddhist provenance, a broad array of topics covering politics, culture, religion, and education was discussed; nationalist educators attacked Japanese Christians, proponents of evolutionary theory argued with Shintoist priests, and socialists criticized pro‑war Buddhists. It is against this backdrop that the figure of Inoue Enryō appears as a leader of public opinion during the second half of the Meiji period. Enryō

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published during his lifetime hundreds of articles but only a few of them are academic publications in today’s sense. Most of them are contributions to current philosophical debates, reform proposals in education, or scholarly essays about Buddhist doctrine. Enryō was one prominent voice in a concert of intellectuals constantly arguing cultural, political, or religious questions relating to Japan’s present and future. The publishing sector of scholarly magazines in the decades since 1885 was an intellectual space on a macrolevel in a similar way to the think tank Meiroku Society was. As in the case with the Meiroku Journal, rather than analyzing single articles from these scholarly magazines, it is necessary to observe each contribution in its discursive environment. The culture of controversial scholarly discussion is well expressed by the fact that Enryō argued against the opinions of several scholars who were his teachers at Tokyo University. Enryō, for example, opposed Toyama Masakazu (1848–1900) who advocated writing Japanese in the roman alphabet (1900). Also, Katō Hiroyuki was attacked by Enryō in 1898 for his alleged materialism (PA 30), and Inoue Tetsujirō’s (1855–1944) 1899 call for a new moral religion was chided by Enryō as unrealistic.5 As early as 1887, Enryō himself was criticized by Yoshitani Kakuju (1843–1914), one of two Buddhist priests teaching at the early Tokyo University, for discussing Buddhism using heterodox terminology (Satō 2015). Ōnishi Hajime (1864–1900), arguably the most talented among Enryō’s successors on the philosophical front, was the first to criticize Enryō for his syncretism (Ōnishi 1887). This list could be easily extended. As an approach to the Meiji history of ideas, a debate‑centered perspective is an important complement to the person‑centered view. The Meiji period was a decisive philosophical age with a fascinating culture of discussion and the wealth of philosophical and religious magazines published during this period has no equivalent in postwar Japan. The highly specialized historical and philological research in contemporary Japanese humanities—famously chided by Maruyama Masao (1988, 75) as “octopus‑pot culture” タコ壼文化—shows little interest in questions of validity or practical relevance. In the same way that octopuses are each caught in their own pot, highly specialized historians lose sight of the relevance of their own research. The Meiji spirit of discussion, driven by strong characters with a keen global outlook, is a lost culture.

7

Language Modernization

The transition from Edo period scholarship to modern academic and public discourse was also a transition from classical Chinese as the leading scholarly medium to writing in vernacular. This change was complete and irreversible aside from some distinguished works that were still written in Chinese during the Meiji period. The emergence of a modern standard language was anything but a simple process. This is to a large degree due to the complexities of the Japanese writing system, which uses two different syllable alphabets in combination with variously read Chinese characters. The reader of Meiji period texts is confronted with a confusing range of styles. On one end of the scale, there are texts written in Chinese characters simply put into Japanese word order with some particles and basic auxiliary verbs added. At the other end, there is a style very closely resembling spoken Japanese with many Japanese verbs as well as punctuation and diacritics added for smoother reading. Linguist Sugimoto Tsutomu (1998, 383–430) has singled out dearu in copula function as the most important marker for the standard style of modern written Japanese. Since the Meiji period, the dearu‑style, whose origins as a distinguishable form of literary Japanese were traced back by Sugimoto to the Nagasaki translators, gradually replaced the markers of classical Japanese grammar. The dearu copula moreover corresponds to the plain da and the polite desu in Kantō dialect. The emergence of the dearu‑style as the dominant scholarly idiom during the first decades of the twentieth century therefore also meant the convergence of literary with oral Japanese in modernity. In Enryō’s writings, which include genres such as letters, poems, and school regulations, the whole array of Meiji literary Japanese can be found. When we survey only Enryō’s scholarly works, the development of his style 49

50  The Love of Truth

roughly exemplifies the progress from literary Japanese grammar to the modern dearu‑style. During his early (ca. 1881–89) and middle period (ca. 1889–1902), the older grammar is predominant in his writings as well as in those lecture transcripts that were published in the Philosophy Academy Lecture Records. The style is very similar to the simplified literary Japanese as used in the popular writings of Fukuzawa Yukichi. Similar to the modern standard style, verbs at the end of the sentence are used in “final form” 終止形. Instead of dearu, however, the nari‑copula is the most apparent marker of what at the time was called the “general style” 普通文 (Twine 1991, 192). From 1898 until 1904 Enryō published several lectures outside the Philosophy Academy Lecture Records and without transposing them to the “general style.”6 These texts preserve most closely the language and style of Enryō’s lecturing. Enryō’s colloquial style with the polite endings -­masu and -­desu is already very close to contemporary spoken Japanese. The subtitle of the 1899 lecture Quick Primer in Philosophy, which reads Popular Lecture in Colloquial Style, makes reference to the prolonged debate about the “unification of literary and oral language” 言文一致 during the Meiji period (Twine 1991, chap. 3–6). After his resignation as principal of the Philosophy Academy, Enryō published another two major works using the older “general style” with the nari‑copula, the New Proposal in Philosophy (1909) and Living Buddhism (1912). Both works can be interpreted as attempts to summarize his scholarship. Hereafter, Enryō wrote at least five further monographs for a broader audience all using the modern dearu‑style. Enryō’s approximation of oral Japanese not only corresponds to the historical development, but also to the practical and educational intentions he increasingly emphasized during his later years. The emergence of modern Japanese was of course not only a change of grammar and writing style. The transition from Edo to Meiji period scholarship is particularly evident in the semantic and lexical aspects of the Japanese language. There was a massive amount of new words and concepts that came into use in relation to the simultaneous assimilation of Western sciences, technologies, institutions, and social practices. The profound change, particularly in scholarly language, that happened alongside Japan’s modernization effort is striking and of primary relevance here. Today, abstract terms in modern Japanese humanities, in an overwhelming majority of cases, correspond astonishingly well to their European language equivalents (Ishizuka et al. 2003).

Language Modernization  51

The proficient speaker of modern Japanese will be able to give without much thinking the single appropriate Japanese terms for theory and practice; phenomenon, experience, and experiment; logic, concept, and definition; ethics and happiness; individual and state; freedom and right; culture, civilization, and society. Many more terms could be added especially if all the “-­isms” 主義 and “-­ologies” 学 are taken into account (Zhū 2008, 134, Liu 1995, 344–51). It is easy to see that the above given concepts are essential not only in philosophical discourse but also for how we think and categorize within the humanities generally. If there is sufficient language proficiency, scholars of sociology, philosophy, law, or psychology today can communicate with their Japanese colleagues in the terminology of their respective fields almost without loss or distortion. This is a noteworthy fact and becomes even more so if we look at the other East Asian countries where the same applies. The Chinese and Korean languages do not have their own translation words for the above given Western concepts. In Chinese and Korean the same compounds are used as in Japanese.7 The modern scholarly idiom that was consolidated during the Meiji period later spread over East Asia and is today the common terminology in Cantonese, Taiwanese, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese humanities. Nicolas Standaert (2000), observing the first encounter between European and East Asian scholars during the seventeenth‑century Jesuit mission in China, remarked that “Westerners were predominantly compelled to talk about their own tradition in Chinese (Neo‑Confucian) terms.” Standaert compares this with the contemporary situation, saying, When one talks about philosophy in China today, even about Chinese philosophy, one uses a language that is based on the Chinese adaptation of Western philosophical terms. . . . Western philosophical language, translated into Chinese neologisms, has become so dominant that it has become almost impossible to talk about Chinese thought without having recourse to this language. . . . [W]e are conceptually monolingual. Only the Western paradigm is left over, and even the Chinese use this paradigm.

The concept of paradigm is well applied here. The concept, which has most prominently been introduced by Thomas Kuhn in The Structure of Scientific Revolution (1962), can be used in this context through having recourse to its origin in linguistics. As a linguistic term, a paradigm is a grammatical pattern

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that prefigures concrete utterances. In analogy with syntactic rules, semantic lexical taxonomies, opposites, or fields, can be understood as paradigmatic structures informing the concrete discourse. The structural preponderance of translated Western concepts in modern East Asian humanities cannot be denied; therefore, it is plausible to speak of a distinctive modern paradigm to refer to the fact that East Asian and Western academic discourses in modern humanities are today mutually translatable and compatible. The modern linguistic paradigm may to a certain extent inform what can be said, but it does not predetermine how things are evaluated. The new paradigm is first of all a tool, namely a metalanguage, in which not only Western but also East Asian and Indian thought are researched, reconstructed, and discussed today. Thus far, the current terminological situation in the East Asian humanities has been diagnosed. Needless to say, there are enormous philological difficulties in reconstructing the historical development that has led to the contemporary situation.8 It also has to be left to further research to link the East Asian terminology back to the European Enlightenment period, which Reinhart Koselleck (1972, xv) in the perspective of conceptual history has famously characterized as the Sattelzeit of the modern academic idiom. Postcolonial studies has focused on the single term of religion because it was assumed that the concept served to map the Asian traditions in a way that enforced imperialist hegemony.9 The necessity of research on singular concepts is beyond doubt, but it must be complemented by a perspective that observes the academic metalanguage as an assemble of semantic fields, structures, and hierarchies. It has been rightly pointed out that the term religion 宗教 (shūkyō) stands in close semantic relations to superstition 迷信 (meishin), science 科学 (kagaku), and philosophy 哲学 (tetsugaku) (Josephson 2012). These terms, which all juxtapose each other, form a well‑established semantic paradigm in Japanese, Korean, and Chinese that is informing many contemporary discourses. Research in the conceptual history of tetsugaku is comparably easy due to the fact that tetsugaku is a neologism intentionally coined by Nishi Amane as a translation for “philosophy” (Kōsaka 2008). In the cases of shūkyō for “religion,” kagaku for “science,” and meishin for “superstition,” the philological argument is more complicated, because all three composites already existed prior to modernity. For each translation word, it has to be examined if and how their earlier meaning differs from their modern use.

Language Modernization  53

Nakamura Hajime (1991) has shown that the occurrences of shūkyō in the premodern Buddhist scriptures have to be analyzed as “schools and teachings” or as “teaching of a school.” The compound was not used in today’s sense of religion, as a social phenomenon including scriptures, doctrines, practices, institutions, and artifacts. The compound kagaku is easier because its early modern meaning is relatively more specific. It relates to the Confucian examination system for government service. The character ka meant the “separation” of capable and incapable applicants, whereas now ka in kagaku refers to “departments” or “divisions” of scientific research (cf. Suzuki 2015b). The compound meishin whose characters express the notion of “mistaken belief” appears a couple of times in the Chinese Buddhist canon. That its more specific modern meaning is neither “confusion” nor “paganism” can only be understood by its opposition to science. Superstition is a religious belief proven wrong by empirical means. The example shows particularly well why it is important not just to look at single concepts but to observe the fact that Western discourses were transplanted in the form of distinctions, classifications, or otherwise formed paradigmatic semantic structures. In fact, neologisms such as tetsugaku are few compared to the already‑existing composites that were employed for translating Western composites. Only seventeen percent of the compounds that appear in the first edition of Inoue Tetsujirō’s influential Philosophical Vocabulary (1881) were newly coined (Takano 2004, 60). The Chinese language has been enriched with new composites over the centuries by assimilating foreign thought, which happened in particular in the process of translating Buddhist texts from Sanskrit or Sanskrit‑related languages between the second and eighth centuries. New vocabulary was also coined during the adaption of Western knowledge in the seventeenth‑century Jesuit mission in China, and additionally, during the Edo period in Japan, the study of Dutch books brought about new terms (Zhū 2003, 1–19). All this added to a huge pool of compounds to be drawn upon by Meiji period translators of Western science. The Buddhist canon particularly stands out as being rich in abstract compounds, such that, at times it must have been more difficult to create a new term than to use an existing one. For example, to my knowledge, the first occurrence of meishin, in the modern sense of “superstition” is in a Meiroku Journal contribution by Sugi Kōji.10 It is, however, doubtful that Sugi was aware of the very few occurrences of the same composite in the Buddhist

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canon, which can ascertained today so easily by searches of digital texts. Sugi may well have believed to have coined the word himself. To complicate things further, there are certain cases where it is difficult to argue that the term had to be reinterpreted at all to function as translation for an English concept. Examples such as byōdō 平等 (equality), zettai 絶対 (absolute), or jittai 実体 (substance) from the Buddhist scriptures point to the fact that Buddhist metaphysical speculation has indeed many parallels to Western theoretical philosophy. This very circumstance enabled Enryō to interweave traditional Buddhist terminology with the new philosophical metalanguage in a way that added considerably to his reputation as modern Buddhist scholar. There will always be grounds to argue that the novelty of the concepts imported from the West was only relative because most of the compounds used in the modern philosophical metalanguage existed before modernity. The meaning of a composite is a result of the meanings of its constituents. Even if a composite is newly interpreted, the new interpretation must not leave the range of possible meanings that may arise from its constituents. Otherwise the new use would not be intelligible. Hence, there is always room to argue that the concept was a latent potential of the composites from the beginning. A similar argument is even possible regarding the neologisms: the Chinese script contained the complete semantics necessary to express the new concepts as almost no words were borrowed. Hence, the modern paradigm was at least implicit in Chinese thought as presented by its script. Wm. Theodore de Bary has argued along these lines: [B]oth kojin [個人] (individual) and jiyū [自由] (free choice) are neologisms coined to represent Western liberal concepts, yet . . . they could be rendered into Chinese characters because language approximating this had been developed and put to use earlier by the Neo‑Confucians.11

There are examples where this perspective is particularly enlightening. For the vocabulary in question here, there is one character that was especially productive in creating new terms, namely, ri 理 . Arguably the single most important concept in the history of Chinese theoretical thinking, the character is notoriously difficult to translate. Mostly rendered as principle or reason, sometimes idea, explanation, or theory can be considered equally appropriate. Because ri can refer to that which can be conceived of a thing as well as that

Language Modernization  55

which can be said about a thing, one is reminded of the ancient Greek term logos. Originally meaning speech, reason, and theory, logos, in its stoic interpretation, was also understood as an ontological principle. According to this view, the world is cognizable only because it structurally corresponds to human reason. Both ri and logos therefore oscillate between the cognizing subject and the cognized object. Due to its original meaning of spoken language logos has stronger epistemological connotations, whereas the character ri, which contains the element for “jade” 玉, has a stronger ontological propensity. Etymologically, the character ri referred to the skillful crafting of jade along its visible patterns. The theoretical aspect of realizing the patterns of jade, that is, the conceivable structure of reality, eventually gave rise to its overarching significance in Neo‑Confucian scholarship. Now, this character ri was productive as a constituent of a set of terms central to the new philosophical idiom coined in the first half of the Meiji period and popularized in the second half. These are the modern standard terms in Japanese, Korean, and Chinese for theory 理論 (riron), principle 原理 (genri), idea 理念 (rinen), ideal 理想 (risō), reason as faculty 理性 (risei), and reason as motive 理由 (riyū), but also logic 論理学 (ronri‑gaku), ethics 倫理学 (rinri‑gaku), physics 物理学 (butsuri‑gaku), and psychology 心理学 (shinri‑gaku). The last but not least of these terms is the concept of truth 真理 (shinri), which is the focus of the following chapters. I understand the hesitation around admitting that East Asian humanities today communicate largely in terminology that emerged by translating Western ideas; given the imperialist past of the West, self‑complacently announcing this fact is not an appropriate attitude. However, I remain unconvinced by both the attempts either to deconstruct the alleged colonization of the East Asian mind (as pursued in postcolonial scholarship) or to forcefully search for premodern equivalents of the modern terminology (as predominant in Japanese philology). This context offers a far more interesting observation to be made, namely, the supreme potential of the Chinese script to build new words. This had already, in fact, been argued at the time by Inoue Tetsujirō in a Tokyo Academy lecture on the reform of the Japanese script in 1898 (p. 346f). Lexical modernization was one precondition for the success of Japan’s tour de force in catching up with Western powers. Language change had to keep pace with scientific, technological, and institutional modernization. The Chinese script permits the creation of new terms on the textual level that are

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comprehensible to the proficient reader without being too long or complex. This potential gives way to a kind of semiotic foaming and as a consequence leads to a huge pool of both useful and useless terms in the written language. Whenever new words are needed for oral communication the appropriate concepts can be selected from this pool and introduced into the respective social context. Language will not slow things down when social change is rapid. An important precondition for this dynamic, however, is that the written and oral language are not two separate realms. If the literary style is sophisticated to a degree only comprehensible for a highly specialized scholarly elite, conceptual developments on the textual level will not influence oral language. This underlines the significance of the approximation of oral and written language during the Meiji period discussed at the beginning of this chapter. As in the case of ri, many of the key concepts in classical Chinese literature were single characters. Compared to the modern scholarly idiom, the rise of compounds is highly significant (Masini 1993, 121–27). A cursory look at all the composites made from ri shows a definite increase in differentiation and complexity. Moreover, the superior capability of the Chinese script to develop a finely differentiated conceptual repository even helped to clarify ambiguities in the Western terminology. In Japanese, there are separate terms for the subject versus object distinction according to ontological (shutai 主体 versus kyakutai 客体), epistemological (shukan 主観 versus kyakkan 客観), and linguistic (shugo 主語 versus kyakugo 客語) contexts. The complex process of adapting the Japanese language to the contents of modern Western thought came to a preliminary end with the revised second edition of the Philosophical Vocabulary (1884) (cf. Sanada 2008). Rather than being descriptive of existing usage, this glossary, published by the Faculty of Letters of Tokyo University, fulfilled a normative function in standardizing modern academic Japanese. Enryō made full use of the new terminology right after he had graduated from the philosophy course of Tokyo University in 1885. He exemplified the new intellectual style and immediately became an opinion leader in the emerging public of the new print media. It is my thesis that Enryō was influential in spreading and popularizing the modern scholarly idiom, not only in Japan but also in China (see chapter 14).

8

Positive Truth

I noue Enryō made the Love of Truth the principle of his scholarship. “It is the duty of the scholar to love the truth [真理]” (3:330), and we find that Enryō’s early philosophy in particular revolves around this concept. However, before this philosophy is introduced we shall examine the reception of the Western concept of truth by the early enlightenment intellectuals. As already pointed out, shinri 真理 is part of the academic terminology that came into use during the early Meiji years. Yet, truth is not one concept among others in philosophy and scholarship. It is a core concept and its use is much more difficult to specify than, for example, that of the individual or superstition. On first sight, it is certainly contestable to say that it is the Western concept of truth that became the guiding principle of modern East Asian academia. A mistaken implication may arise that there was no idea of truth and hence no real scholarship in East Asia before the modern era. Although it has been argued that, at least during the classical period, Chinese thought proceeded without the concept of propositional truth (Hansen 1985), this is not what I want to say nor what my scholarship would allow me to judge. To be sure, no language works without the distinction between true and false. And every religion or literate tradition we know claims the truth in its own words. Looking first at the history not of the concept, but of the compound shinri itself, there is no controversy in saying that shinri was not a relevant term in Confucian scholarship. It is virtually absent in the classical period as well as in Neo‑Confucian learning. This does not apply to the Buddhist scriptures, where it appears among many other words for truth a significant amount of times. In Buddhism, the idea of truth is generally characterized as being beyond language. In light of this ineffability of the ultimate truth, silence is a meaningful 57

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attitude. But the Buddha decided to share his awakening and began teaching. Once the Wheel of Dharma was set in motion, the tension between ineffability and verbalization triggered a specific dynamic. Rather than redefining or specifying existing words, the Buddhist tradition shows the tendency to use ever‑new words to point to the truth, which nonetheless remained nameless. In one of his lectures, Enryō listed no fewer than forty‑seven synonyms for ultimate truth in Buddhism (5:38f).12 And shinri is not even part of the list. No school of East Asian Buddhism uses shinri as the preferred term to refer to its highest teaching. When compared to shinnyo 真如, arguably the most important expressions of truth in East Asian Buddhism, the rate of frequency of shinri in the Buddhist canon is about one to thirteen. Still, there are many hundreds of occurrences, and extensive investigations would be necessary to show for each of them that shinri is not used to indicate propositional truth in the modern academic sense. Had the epistemological school of Buddhism as founded by the Indian thinkers Dignāga (480–540) and Dharmakīrti (seventh century) developed into an influential strand of Buddhism in East Asia, such investigation would be necessary. Since this was not the case and for reasons of the generally acknowledged nonverbal character of truth in Mahāyāna Buddhism, the detailed philological examination of shinri in the East Asian Buddhist canon is not only far beyond the scope of this study, it would also be to some extend futile. Nobody of the first generation of Meiji enlightenment intellectuals who made use of the term shinri did so in reference to the Buddhist scriptures.13 My examination will, therefore, take a different course. I will specify the modern concept of truth in several respects in order to prove its distinctiveness when compared to premodern notions of truth in East Asian Buddhism or Confucianism. In what follows, the compound shinri will be investigated in its theoretical and pragmatic context, namely, in relation to methodology and logic on the one hand and the pursuit of the empirical sciences on the other. The latter becomes necessary because, as I pointed out before, social reality must not be ignored. The concept of truth, as it came to be used during the Meiji period, was modern not only in the way it was epistemologically reflected, but also in how it was pragmatically bound up with the institution of the university. The modern research university is an institution that is ordered and organized by the principle to determine the truth in a singular way. Therefore, I will examine the modern concept of truth in relation to the foundation of Tokyo University. I am generally convinced that we will understand the emergence of the modern

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East Asian scholarly idiom better if we observe it in relation to the first East Asian research university. It was here that Enryō became acquainted with the concept of truth, and it was here he became a philosopher. The early writings of Enryō can be interpreted as the encounter between the Western scientific concept of truth and the Buddhist notion of nonverbal ultimate insight. This interpretation is possible only after we have sufficiently highlighted the emergence of the modern scholarly idiom with truth as the key concept. Nishi Amane was the most influential intellectual among the first‑generation enlightenment scholars in coining modern philosophical Japanese. He is generally credited with singlehandedly introducing Western philosophy to modern East Asia. He not only created the neologism tetsugaku itself, but established many other translation words for philosophical terms such as deduction, induction, proposition, definition, principle, or synthesis that are commonly used today in East Asia.14 It was also Nishi who first translated the logical and scientific notion of truth in Western philosophy by using shinri. His choice was not as natural as it seems. Hitherto the word was in little use outside the world of Buddhist scriptures. The word shinri occurs very infrequently in premodern Japanese literature and when it does it is exclusively in Buddhist contexts.15 The compound is not listed in historical Japanese dictionaries from between the tenth and the eighteenth centuries.16 Curiously, it appears in one of two existing versions of the Jesuit Portuguese‑Japanese dictionary Vocabvlario da Lingoa de Iapam from around 1603. That it is absent in the genre that has been called Neo‑Confucian lexicography again confirms that it is not a Confucian term.17 Nevertheless, some precedence of Nishi’s use of the term can be found. Sugimoto Tsutomu has pointed to the influence that the book, Detailed Physical Knowledge by the seventeenth‑century Chinese scholar Fāng Y zhì (1611–1671), had on Japanese Dutch Studies (1998, 375–82). In particular, Sugimoto shows Fāng’s influence on Sugita Genpaku’s renowned translation of the originally German medical book Anatomische Tabellen, by Johann A. Kulmus (1689–1745). Sugimoto presents a long list of words referring to medical, climatic, botanical, or mineral phenomena that found its way from Detailed Physical Knowledge, through Edo period Dutch Studies and into modern Japanese. Fāng’s empirical approach was influenced by Jesuit missionaries, thus his book Detailed Physical Knowledge represents an interesting link between the seventeenth‑century Jesuit mission in China and eighteenth-­ and early-­nineteenth‑century Japanese Dutch Studies (cf. Zhū 2003, 1–19).

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Sugimoto further remarks that in Fāng’s work the word shinri occurs, which is also used by Dutch scholars. Examining the text, it becomes clear that shinri appears only once, yet in a passage with some emphasis. Very similar to Xúnz (third century BCE), who argued for the separation of the human and the celestial sphere, Fāng says, in the chapter on celestial phenomena, that “if [we] add human [attributes] to the sky, the truth will not shine before us.”18 Fāng argued for a demythologized and nonanthropomorphic approach in the natural science. Following Sugimoto’s suggestion about the use of shinri in Edo period Dutch studies, I found the compound in prominent passages of the writings of Sugita Genpaku (1733–1817). In Evening Conversation with the Reflected Figure (1810), Sugita presents his self‑concept as medical doctor in dialogue with himself in the mirror; he quotes from the ancient classic Great Learning, “Looking but not seeing, hearing but not listening” (9), and deplores that students often follow their teachers without questioning past authority. Because they all take as basis what is originally not clear, they are not able to specify the truth [真理]. Since ancient times, the medical school begins with the [ancient works] Basic [Questions] and Difficult [Guidelines], but empirical facts [実験的実] are few in all these books. If medicine is the art to cure people, the first thing should be to investigate in detail the outer and inner forms of all parts of the body.19

In Sugita’s memoir Beginnings of Dutch Studies, he also uses shinri when recalling his shame regarding his lack of anatomic knowledge. The insight was triggered by a dissection Sugita and his colleagues conducted based on the aforementioned European book of anatomy. We felt ashamed of ourselves for having come this far in our lives without being aware of our own ignorance. How presumptuous on our part to have served our lordships and pretended to carry our duties as official doctors when we were totally without knowledge of the true make of our bodies which should be the foundation of the art of healing! Upon today’s experience [実験], suppose we should, by some means, learn even the bare outline of the truth [真理] about the body, and practice our medicine according to that knowledge, we should be able to justify our claim for medical profession.20

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Sugita’s experience demonstrates how the collision of tradition and new empirical knowledge literally concerns the very heart of human existence. Compare this to the Copernican Revolution, which was a change in worldview that had no direct consequences for practical life. Medicine instead is a science in which the relationship of theory and practice is most immediate. The doctor needs to know where the appendix is in order to remove it. If the doctor’s assumptions about the inner workings of the human body are wrong, his therapy will fail. What could be learned from these indecipherable books from a distant civilization was not an alternative worldview, but rather knowledge that decided about life and death. It was Fukuzawa who fully recognized the symbolism of Sugita’s medical enlightenment as a seminal moment for modern Japan. Fukuzawa first published Sugita’s memoirs in 1868 and, around the same time, also uses shinri in the third part of his Conditions in the West (1867). Together with Fukuzawa, Nishi Amane was one of the scholars who put into practice the transition from Dutch to English studies during the early Meiji years. It is therefore possible that a lineage can be drawn from the first philosophical discussion of shinri by Nishi back to Fāng Y zhì’s, Detailed Physical Knowledge. However, neither the Halma Dutch Manual from 1796 nor the fifth and last edition of the Dutch Dictionary from 1855 translates waarheid with shinri. The Pocket Dictionary of the English and Japanese Language (1862), the first of its kind, and the first and second edition of James C. Hepburn’s (1815– 1911) Japanese‑English and English‑Japanese Dictionary (1867/72) do not have shinri as an entry, neither do they translate truth with shinri.21 This evidence suggests that the compound was not an important term for early‑modern Japanese Western studies. The finding that the origin of the modern use of shinri has to be looked for in Qīng China (1644–1912) rather than in Japan is corroborated by the fact that two early English‑Chinese dictionaries compiled by Protestant missionaries around the middle of the nineteenth century give the term as one possible translation of English truth.22 The later of the two dictionaries, which is the one compiled by Wilhelm Lobscheid (1822–1893), was eventually reprinted in Japan in 1883. The editor of the reprint was Inoue Tetsujirō, who in 1881 had published the aforementioned Philosophical Vocabulary, which is the first Japanese dictionary that translates truth with shinri. The collision between European and Chinese knowledge demonstrated the possibility of incompatible theories in an unmistakable way. In the case

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of rival explanations, a word becomes necessary in order to distinguish the valid explanation from the invalid. Reference to shin‑ri as “true theory,” as opposed to false theory, is sufficiently comprehensible for anybody who can read Chinese characters. Philological research about historical uses of the word are, therefore, to some degree redundant. The fact is that the term shinri only first becomes thematic in the discussions of Nishi Amane, Katō Hiroyuki, and finally Inoue Enryō. It is in the writings of these scholars that the concept of truth first gains the importance and complexity it has in philosophical and academic discourses until today. Nishi studied at Leiden University in Europe between 1863 and 1865. His studies of philosophy and Western science are preserved in form of two unpublished manuscripts from the time once he was back in Japan: Disclosing Life and Nature (1873) and Encyclopedia of the Sciences. In both manuscripts there is an explicit translation of the English truth with shinri (Nishi 1: 37; 4: 13). Encyclopedia of the Sciences is a series of lectures Nishi gave in 1870 and 1871 in his private school in Tokyo. The lectures begin with a detailed explication of the concepts of truth, logic, and science in Western philosophy. Besides general English reference works, Nishi uses William Hamilton’s Lectures on Metaphysics and Logic (1859, 2 vols.), John S. Mill’s A System of Logic (1846), and Comte’s Philosophy of the Sciences (1853) by George H. Lewes (Kodama 1986). These works of logic and positivism set the tone for how Western philosophy was first received in modern East Asia. Nishi published the essence of his early research about philosophy and science in two works in 1874. One is his masterpiece Logical Enlightenment, which introduces Western logic in Japan, the other one a series of five articles, “About Knowledge” (Nishi 1: 451–66), published in the Meiroku Journal, which is where Nishi gives an outline of his positivist theory of science. In the third part he writes, The focal point of science is knowing the truth [真理]. Yet, there are also truths that we do not know from individual facts, but a priori. Namely, we know about every given fact or thing that it is one. And we know that by division it becomes two. Even if we wish to believe that it becomes three, four, or five, we cannot. This is said in mathematical terms, but also upon examining all the other theories we always know a priori that the truth is necessarily one not two. To pursue the truth

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based on this knowledge a priori is called investigation. Therefore it is beyond debate that science rests on investigation. But there are several methods of investigation. And since the truth will not be found by random search, we necessarily first have to determine these methods. The modern West uses three kinds of methods. Namely, observation, experiment, and proof. (Nishi 1: 459)

The passage is not very clear. The conclusion, “Therefore it is beyond debate . . . ” seems not to follow on from the preceding sentence. The paragraph can be explicated as follows: All investigation depends on the premise that the truth can be identified at all. No research will be conducted with the expectation of endless ambiguity. Investigation therefore presupposes that two incompatible results cannot be both true at the same time. We can confirm that it is indeed the law of noncontradiction that Nishi has in mind when he writes that “the truth is necessarily one not two” by looking at the Encyclopedia of the Sciences. There, he discusses the same principle as follows: “Three people see a crow. The first says, it is an eagle. The second says, it is a hawk. The third says, it is a crow. Because it is true to say that a crow is a crow, to say it is an eagle or a hawk is untrue” (Nishi 4: 24). Nishi calls the knowledge that there is only one truth “a priori” because it does not rely on experience. The premise that the truth is identifiable at all is a logical premise that does not give the concept of truth any content. Content gains the concept of truth only by empirical research, that is, a posteriori. Empirical research proceeds by method and under the commitment to accept the outcome of the methodological investigation as truth or knowledge. If we relate the aforementioned implausible conclusion to the complete argument, it might be paraphrased as follows: The knowledge that the truth can be determined at all motivates us to find out more about it. Since a priori no further insight is possible, we have to rely on empirical research a posteriori. Nishi was, moreover, convinced that not only methodology, but particularly the system of discrete research disciplines made the unprecedented progress of science in the modern West possible. In “About Knowledge,” Nishi points to the ancient Chinese accomplishments in medicine, agriculture, commerce, astronomy, geography, law, education, and politics. In the case of a scholar who named himself after that period in Chinese history that was considered the model of Chinese civilization for more than two

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and a half thousand years, namely, the Western Zhōu 西周 (Jp., nishi amane) dynasty (1027–771 BCE), we can expect a strong sense of indebtedness to the Chinese heritage. In Nishi’s view it was not science that was missing in East Asia, but rather the systematic approach of specialization and comprehensiveness in research. Of course, it was not the case that no classifications of disciplines or studies had existed in premodern China. First of all, there was the didactic canon of the Six Arts 六芸, (i.e., Ritual 礼, Music 楽, Archery 射, Chariot 御, Writing 書, Mathematics 数) handed down from antiquity. During the period of the Southern and Northern dynasties (386–589), a new division of the central university emerged in the South. The successor institution of the Hán Imperial University 太学 (lit. Great School) was organized into four colleges or faculties, namely, Confucian Studies 儒学, Occult Learning 玄学, Historical Studies 史学, and Literary Studies 文学. During the Táng dynasty (618–906), four colleges of Literature 文, Calligraphy 書, Mathematics 数, and Law 律, as well as institutes for medicine and astronomy, were established within the Imperial University. From the Táng dynasty, moreover, originated the “fourfold [bibliographic] division” 四部 of the Chinese corpus into Classics 経, History 史, Masters 子, and Literature 集. The books of individual masters were further subdivided into the heterogeneous fields of medicine, war, astrology, agriculture, Taoism, and so forth. It was only during the Sòng dynasty (960– 1279) that the central institution of higher learning in China was transformed into a training institute to prepare for the civil service “examinations” 科挙. Since that time the curriculum became almost exclusively Confucian (Lee 2000, 41–81). When we compare the Imperial University of the Táng dynasty with the European university of the Middle Ages (which did not yet exist at that time), the Paris model of the Four Faculties Theology, Law, Medicine, and Letters is neither more encompassing, nor less arbitrary. Arbitrariness is what distinguishes a conventional classification from a system or an organization of the sciences. And it was such a system that Nishi regarded as lacking in East Asian history. It was during the seventeenth‑century Jesuit mission in China, which began with the arrival of Matteo Ricci in 1582, that a systematic arrangement of the sciences was made known in China for the first time (Standaert 2000). The Aristotelian system of sciences as contained in the Jesuit curriculum differs from conventional or accidental categories because it bases scientific areas

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on ontological domains, that is, cosmology is about the cosmos, psychology about the mind, mathematics about numbers, and so forth (Met. 1064). The division of the world, according to certain principles, into separated realms of objects is called ontology. Philosophy provides an ontology that serves as grounds for the differentiation of research areas. If there exists a study of plants, philosophy will postulate also a study of animals. If there is astronomy, we also need geology. If there is a study of matter, there also must be a study of mind. Philosophy is the paradigm of comprehensive research based on a comprehensive inventory of the world. It would be worth closer examination, if the encyclopedic approach, which is also obvious in Fāng’s Detailed Physical Knowledge, was indeed influenced by the Aristotelian paradigm introduced by the Jesuit writings. In the Jesuit curriculum, philosophy was, of course, subordinated to theology. What the Jesuits made known in China was the theologically frozen version of the Aristotelian paradigm as was preeminent during the European Middle Ages. It is necessary, however, to revise the system of sciences and research areas when new knowledge about the world changes our ontology. Although Aristotle’s basic distinction of theoretical, practical, and poïetic (“productive” or “creative”) sciences is in no way obsolete, without modification his complete system would not be adequate for contemporary research processes. As long as theology had captured the position as the leading scholarship and faculty, open discussion about the revision of research areas and academic competences was prone to be inhibited by dogmatic objections. The reclaiming of the theory of science as a philosophical domain by the philosophers of the eighteenth‑century European Enlightenment was therefore of great significance. A classical citation for the restoration of philosophy in the modern era as the science of the sciences is the Explication Détaillée du Système des Connaissances Humaines by Denis Diderot, in the introduction to the Encyclopédie published in 1751. The tree diagram Diderot presents is divided into memory, reason, and imagination. Philosophy presides over the realm of reason encompassing all sciences, including theology.23 A similar diagram to that in the Encyclopédie, showing philosophy emancipated from theology on the top of the classification can be found in the Dutch‑language New and Complete Dictionary of the Arts and Sciences by Egbert Buys, published between 1769 and 1778 in Amsterdam. This ten‑volume work existed in Tokyo in the office for the study of foreign books before the imperial restoration.24 However,

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the systematic arrangements of sciences, which were contained in Dutch books and accessible to the scholars of Dutch Learning during the Edo period, had apparently not attracted much attention and neither had the scholastic system in the Jesuit writings, which were—albeit strictly forbidden—not completely erased in Edo Japan (Yoshida 1992). Therefore, Nishi’s emphasis on the “system and organization” 結構組織 of the “various sciences and technologies” 衆学諸術 (Nishi 1: 458) in his articles “About Knowledge” has high, if not epoch‑making, significance. He showed, however, no awareness that the systematic arrangement of the sciences in the West originated from Aristotle. Instead, he underlined his debt to Comte’s positivism and, interestingly, did not mention philosophy once in his series of articles. The concept of “organization” 組織 that Nishi used throughout “About Knowledge” moreover points to the fact that it is not merely about the logical system of the sciences, but also about the institution in which departmentalized research is conducted. The task of founding Japan’s first university was, however, not Nishi’s, but was the task of Katō Hiroyuki. Nishi had laid the groundwork of empirical research in Japan by explicating that a priori truth is only a formal idea, a concept free of content. It becomes positive only a posteriori as the outcome of methodological investigation.

9

Tokyo University

Words are the raw material of the history of concepts and ideas, however, concentrating primarily on vocabulary tends to lead to the conclusion that they have been arbitrarily applied. The nominalist perspective, which abstracts from concrete history, misses the functionality and validity of a certain terminology in its pragmatic context. Structuralism has provided many valuable instruments for discourse analysis. However, in order to eschew the nominalist consequences drawn by poststructuralism, it is necessary to take institutional and social circumstances into account. Rather than tracing the lines of Foucault, the correspondence of discourse and institution I have in mind follows Wittgenstein, who pointed to the interdependence of language game and form of life in his Philosophische Untersuchungen (cf. §7, §19, §23). Accordingly, I have first examined the modern concept of truth as being a priori defined as the outcome of methodical investigation. In the next step, the function this theory of truth has in the institutional practice of the university will be observed. The institution of the university is the key to understanding why humanities in East Asia and the West today are thinking and working in the same scholarly paradigm. The modernization of Japan entered a new phase with the founding of Tokyo University. The importance of this institution, which continues to be one of the leading universities in East Asia, can hardly be underestimated. Tokyo University began life as an office for the research of foreign books, which was established under the old feudal regime in 1856. This institution changed its name no fewer than ten times before it eventually evolved into Tokyo University in 1877.25 Six of the ten founding members of the Society Meiroku had served as government scholars in the predecessor 67

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institutions of Tokyo University. The institutional continuity and the personal overlapping between early Western studies, the enlightenment movement, and the institutionalization of academic research in Japan is most evident. Tokyo University was established in 1877 under the leadership of Katō Hiroyuki, its founder and first president.26 Katō claimed to have been the first Japanese scholar ever to learn German, beginning in 1860. In translating the comprehensive work Allgemeines Staatsrecht (1st ed., 1851/52), by the Swiss Johann K. Bluntschli, into Japanese, Katō also acquired a solid understanding of the nineteenth‑century German research university (Futami 1966). However, the faculty structure that was established in 1877 did not conform to the German model. The four faculties, Medicine, Law, Science, and Literature, matched in structure and name what Nishi had reported about the Dutch universities.27 In the Netherlands, the comprehensive arts faculty was divided into a Faculty of Science and a Faculty of Letters already in 1815. In contrast, in Germany the integrity of the Philosophical Faculty was maintained throughout most of the nineteenth century. When the Tokyo University Faculty of Science was founded in 1877, only Tübingen University had set up a special faculty for the rapidly advancing natural sciences in 1863. In the early days of Tokyo University, not only were all textbooks in English, but also the lectures of international professors. This is with the exception of the Faculty of Medicine, which, from early on, had a separate institutional history under German influence. A preparatory English school was also established in order to provide the students with the necessary language proficiency. Enryō first entered the preparatory school upon his arrival in Tokyo in 1878. After learning English, Mathematics, Geography, and History for another three years, he was allowed to proceed to the university in 1881. The same year, the Faculty of Letters was restructured. At the opening of the university in 1877, philosophy was not an independent subject and could only be studied in combination with politics and history. It became possible to study philosophy as a stand‑alone course for the first time in 1881.28 Enryō was the only one in his year‑group to take philosophy as a major, and hence became the first graduated philosopher of Japan. Being a philosopher became Enryō’s underlying and lifelong identity. Due to the absence of an official founding document, it has been stated that the early Tokyo University (1877–1886) had no clear principles or ideas (Terasaki 2007, 227). In my view, something very close to a founding

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document does indeed exist. In a lecture presented before the university and the academy, Katō addressed the question: “What is Called Science?” The text, published in 1885 in the university’s journal Grove of Academic Endeavor, clearly describes the principles by which Katō was guided when structuring Japan’s first university. The lecture begins as follows: The answer to the question about the final aim of all the sciences is, I believe, nothing else but to investigate the truth [shinri] of things between heaven and earth. If this is the case, science is certainly nothing that changes according to time and place. Although the types and divisions of science are manifold and difficult to enumerate, they roughly fall into two categories. One is related to matter, the other one is related to mind. Mathematics, astronomy, chemistry, geology, botany, zoology, mineralogy, physics, etc. can be given as main representatives of the material sciences. Philosophy, psychology, ethics, politics, finances, law, sociology, history, literature, etc. can be named as main representatives of the mental sciences. All together there are even more. Yet, having all these different fields, finally science does nothing else but to specialize and propose the truth about things.29

Following his definition of science and its basic divisions, Katō explicated the methods of academic research, then continued with a demarcation of science from religion 教法 (kyōhō), and finally gave instructions regarding both teaching and research. The term for research Katō uses frequently in the lecture is today’s standard term, namely, kenkyū 研究 . Yet that is not the only word he used. I counted more than forty different expressions that denote the idea of searching for, conceiving, or discerning the truth. This philological evidence underlines the fact that Tokyo University was founded as a research university. In the context of the distinction between science and religion, Katō also makes an assessment of Western philosophy: the scholars following Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle were not satisfied with the ancient teachings, but tried to “revise” and “deepen” them by further research. “This is indeed the reason for today’s revolutionary progress of the sciences in the West.” On the other hand, the scholars in the East, according to Katō, took the teachings of Confucius and Mencius as eternal truths without “selecting advantages and discarding disadvantages.” Katō did not criticize Confucius or Buddha in themselves, but disapproved of the uncritical way their teachings had been handled in the

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past. Katō gave his full verdict only to Christianity, by saying that a teaching whose founder “calls himself son of god,” necessarily demands to be followed “slavishly.” This meant for Katō that it inhibits unprejudiced inquiry from the beginning. Katō moreover emphasized that “being preoccupied with only one tradition or one country is not true scholarship.” He advocated a comparative approach in the humanities based on historical studies. Yet, it was not part of Katō’s theory that a certain epoch, event, or thought in the past was to be studied only for the sake of the historical truth. Katō called for a global outlook because this is necessary when deciding what is valid for the present day. Generalists, not specialists, were competent to determine what was best for Japan. The subject of history, established in 1877, was discarded again in 1879. It was only with the restructuring of Tokyo University as Imperial University in 1887 that an independent department of history was founded. Here again, the philosophical impetus of the early Meiji years is obvious, which stands in stark contrast to contemporary Japanese humanities, with its preponderance of detailed historical and philological research in finely divided areas. In the foreword to the first volume of the Journal of the Philosophy Society edited by Enryō in 1887, Katō made the philosophical character of the idea of research even more explicit. After celebrating the truly universal spirit of the Philosophy Society by noting that it was comprised of philosophers of Western, Indian, and Chinese learning, he emphasized, It is obvious that everybody who aspires to philosophy should take as the main object the progress and development of philosophical theory. Therefore, the scholars dedicated to Indian or Chinese philosophy, too, should not hold on to the idea of venerating Shakyamuni or Confucius and Mencius as ageless and everlasting sanctums [本尊]. Instead they should concentrate on investigating and examining where the truth [真理] lies. In other words, it is necessary to take the truth itself as a sanctum. Therefore it is equally not right, as the scholars of western philosophy often do, to regard the principles of Shakyamuni or Confucius and Mencius outright as obsolete, empty talk. Since [oriental thought] also contains truths, the attitude to appreciate and select them should be a matter of course. Otherwise, this means nothing else but to make occidentalism the sanctum. Such is all against the path of searching

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the truth. And as such, it represents a turning away from the original idea of philosophy. First, establishing the sanctum and then relying on it in the search for truth is in fact religion and certainly not philosophy. Because this association is not a religious society but in every respect a philosophical one, the superstitious belief that the truth lies in a sanctum should be discarded, and the principle that the truth itself is the sanctum naturally should be adopted.30

This passage makes it unmistakably clear that philosophy was rightly understood as an approach and not as a specific doctrine. The commitment to the philosophical paradigm did not imply any predetermination of content that was of European provenance. Katō understood that the difference between philosophy on the one hand and the authority of tradition on the other only lay in a minimal change of attitude. It is erroneous to first decide on a standpoint and then justify it. Philosophy means an a priori commitment to the idea of truth no matter what the academic inquiry leads to a posteriori. If, by way of discussion, logical proof, or experiment a tenet is refuted, it will be dismissed; if it is confirmed, it will be accepted. Nakayama Shigeru, a Japanese scholar of the comparative history of science, suggests that the idea of “research for its own sake” is historically linked to the professionalization of science and the establishment of the modern research university.31 In a later essay, titled “The End of Science,” Katō used the same Aristotelian formula to specify that the aim of science and philosophy is “researching the truth itself for its own sake.”32 It was Katō’s great accomplishment to install the idea of truth as the single guiding principle or, as with Kant, the “regulative idea” of the first modern Japanese university. In 1886, during the restructuring of Tokyo University to become the Imperial University, the Scottish physicist Cargill G. Knott, professor in the Faculty of Science, wrote a letter to the editor of the Japan Weekly Mail in defense of the old Tokyo University. In it, he stated that Tokyo University was “a wondrous organism of cosmopolitan structure,” having “graduates in science who have all the enthusiasm of investigators” (April 17, 1886, 379). This letter is not only a fascinating testimony to the vivid spirit in the early days of Tokyo University, but also contains a theoretically interesting point. Since its birth in the thirteenth century, the European university was a transnational phenomenon. In the second half of the nineteenth century, it developed into a

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global institution. The shared spirit to seek new insights transcends national identities. Moreover, the academic idea of truth as the single aim of all the sciences is analogous to the organic structure of the university itself. Namely, a plurality “turned” (Lat. versus) into “one” (Lat. unus). All fields of research are integrated in one organization on the assumption that their research converges in noncontradictory results (i.e., the consensus theory of truth). The results of the natural sciences can claim higher certainty on the basis of their verifiable correspondence with empirical facts and are, therefore, given primacy (i.e., the correspondence theory of truth). Further, given that the truth gains its unity only as a systematic coherence of knowledge, interdisciplinary consistency is an indispensable criterion for validity (i.e., the consistency theory of truth). If consistency between outcomes of different faculties cannot be mathematically or logically deduced, theoretical coherence can only be tested by discussion. Seeing it in this way, rather than as the mere translation of an idea, the organic functioning of the university itself brought with it the concept of truth as it is in use today. For the reasons discussed above, the claim seems sufficiently warranted that shinri was not only a new word that came into use in Japan, Korea, and China, but indeed transported a new concept with it.

10

The X‑Club

U pon his arrival in Tokyo in 1878, Enryō stayed in a True School temple near today’s campus of Toyo University. It was only a few days later that he was introduced to Katō Hiroyuki, who lived nearby and was in friendly relations with the temple (Miura 2016, 91f). Katō became one of Enryō’s mentors and later supported him in founding and managing the Philosophy Academy. Enryō commemorated Katō as one of Three Benefactors 三恩人 of the Philosophy Academy; the other two were Enryō’s patron Katsu Kaishū (1823–1899) and his friend the True School priest Terada Fukuju (1853–1894). Enryō was influenced by Katō in his understanding of academic truth, but not necessarily in his idea of philosophy. It is the spirit of positivism that is most apparent not only in Nishi’s but also in Katō’s writings. Rather than metaphysics, the need at the time was an institutionalizing of empirical research in Japan. In his lecture “What Is Called Science?” Katō advocated clearly for the primacy of empirical science over what he called the mental sciences (Ger. Geisteswissenschaften). He thought that the mental sciences, the study of the expressions of the human mind in culture, thought, or aesthetics, too, should be pursued as far as possible by empirical means. The answer to the question about the method by which academic knowledge is acquired is, that in modern times the material sciences rely on the experimental method. . . . It is not altogether correct that experiments are difficult to pursue in the mental sciences. Instead, there is the tendency in recent times to carry out research in the mental sciences more and more by way of the material sciences. Although still few today and not yet significant, this will become more apparent in the future. 73

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Empirical research was naturally emphasized in the Science and Medicine Faculty of the early Tokyo University, but due to Katō’s influence, positivism was also prevalent in the Faculty of Letters. However, Katō himself was not teaching in the Faculty of Letters. The two professors that were most influential for Enryō’s understanding of Western philosophy and science were Ernest F. Fenollosa (1846–1908) and Toyama Masakazu (1848–1900). Fenollosa is a historical figure with far‑reaching influence on modern Japan and his lecturing as young professor at Japan’s first modern university holds great symbolism. Fenollosa arrived in Japan as a twenty‑five‑year‑old graduate of Harvard University and confidently taught his gifted and attentive Japanese students. As individualism is greater, so scientific knowledge is greater, and as scientific knowledge is greater, society is more and more advanced. In Europe, every year [a] new element is introduced and new combination is effected by individualism. Therefore, Europe continues [to advance] in civilization slowly but steadily. No one can tell to what point it will go up. This is done only through individualism.33

Fenollosa, who lectured on a broad range of subjects from the history of civilization and German idealism to ethics and aesthetics, was a Hegelian‑minded follower of Herbert Spencer (1820–1903). From his arrival in 1878 until 1881, he was the central figure in the Faculty of Letters with great freedom in the curriculum and teaching (Yamaguchi 1992). The general strategy on the part of the Japanese government was to employ the expensive foreign advisers and teachers for only as long as was necessary. As soon as sufficiently skilled or educated Japanese human resources were available, the “employed foreigners” お雇い外国人 were replaced. The first restructuring of Tokyo University in 1881 is one example of this pattern. Fenollosa lost influence and Toyama Masakazu became head of the Faculty of Letters. Toyama had studied science and philosophy in the United States at the University of Michigan for almost five years before returning to Japan in 1876. In 1877, at the founding of Tokyo University, he became the only Japanese professor in the Faculty of Letters.34 It was in the year that Toyama was promoted to become head of the faculty that the philosophy course Enryō registered for was first established. Fenollosa was still teaching philosophy and Enryō listened to several of his lectures (Miura 2007), but it was Toyama who

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was responsible for Enryō’s curriculum and thereby to a large extent for Enryō’s understanding of philosophy.35 Toyama is often remembered for his nickname as “watchman of concerted Spencer reading” スペンサー輪読の番人. The great influence that Spencer exhibited on Meiji Japan is well known.36 Spencer was seen as the world’s leading philosopher. His works on sociology, biology, psychology, and ethics were widely read and many of them translated into Japanese. Enryō’s English Notebook that documents his philosophy studies particularly testifies to his intensive reading of Spencer’s First Principles (Schulzer 2010b). The First Principles shaped Enryō’s understanding of modern philosophy more than any other text. In 1914—eleven years after Spencer’s death in 1903—Enryō confessed that he had admired and emulated Spencer since his student years (Feb. 1914, 35–38). The First Principles were the king post of a philosophical system that aimed at subsuming the present state of science. The work, which Spencer revised three times, discusses the fundamental principles of the modern natural sciences, and determines the aim of philosophy as the “complete unification of knowledge” (§40).37 It was through the works of Auguste Comte and Herbert Spencer that Japan became acquainted with the Aristotelian paradigm. In Aristotle’s philosophy, ethics are but one field in the overall theoretical discourse of philosophy supervised by metaphysics. This powerful notion of philosophy dominates the public image of philosophy in Japan and the West up to the present day. The primacy of theoretical philosophy is clearly expressed by the term Enryō used for metaphysics. Instead of First Philosophy as Aristotle or metaphysics, Enryō spoke of “genuine“ or “pure philosophy” 純正哲学. Enryō’s basic idea that philosophy and religion could be reconciled in the vanishing point of the Absolute is also adapted from the First Principles. The contemporary debate about the confrontation between religion and science was sparked by the publication of Charles Darwin’s works On the Origin of Species in 1859 and The Descent of Man in 1871. The history of European civilization was rewritten as an ongoing conflict between scientific enlightenment and reactionary Christianity.38 The influential Londoner X‑Club advocated the new evolutionary paradigm, and took an agnostic stance toward religion. The small circle of scholars counted only nine members; among them were the anthropologist and friend of Darwin John Lubbock, Herbert Spencer,

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the physicist John Tyndall, and the biologist Thomas H. Huxley, who was sometimes called “Darwin’s Bulldog.” Since the 1870s, the X‑Club members had been the leading figures in Victorian England academia and presided over the Royal Society for many years (Barton 1990). Their influence was not confined to the British Empire and the United States but was forceful also at the early Tokyo University. Enryō’s curriculum included many books by X‑Club scholars. Some works by Spencer and Tyndall were even reprinted by the Faculty of Letters for use as textbooks,39 among them Tyndall’s famous Belfast Address, of which there is an excerpt in Enryō’s Notebook. In 1874, the physicist Tyndall, as president of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, proclaimed the primacy of modern science over the religious worldview. The speech, given in pious Belfast, was a calculated attack on theology and succeeded in having worldwide repercussions.40 All religious theories, schemes and systems, which embrace notions of cosmogony, or which otherwise reach into the domain of science, must, in so far as they do this, submit to the control of science, and relinquish all thought of controlling it.

The leading scholars of the British Empire acted jointly in spreading the modern scientific worldview. Under the strong influence of the X‑Club, Tokyo University became an intellectual stronghold of the growing anti‑Christian trend during the Meiji period. A religion outdated in the West was not to be admitted to strike roots in Japan (Schwantes 1953). In particular, Enryō became famous in the late 1880s by using evolutionary and other scientific arguments to criticize Christianity and compare it unfavorably with Buddhism. Although in Enryō’s later writings rather peudo‑scientific elements can also be found (Kōda 2016, 168–69), he never moved away from his basic acknowledgment of the scientific enlightenment.

11

Crossroads of World Philosophy

K atō Hiroyuki had emphasized that the humanities must not to be limited to one particular tradition. If we want academic judgment of universal validity, a comprehensive survey becomes necessary. The logic of an institution that aims at universal truth therefore demands that all types of scholarship are represented in it. Only when nothing is ruled out a priori, the results a posteriori can claim universal validity. During the Middle Ages, the Latin term univer‑ sitas merely referred to the “corporation of students and teachers” (Lat. uni‑ versitas magistrorum et scholarium). By the time of Kant’s Streit der Fakultäten from 1798, the understanding of the university had shifted from the idea of a mere corporation to the idea of an institution characterized by a universal presence, that is, the completeness of all existing, or even thinkable, sciences (AA 7: 17). This idea, which particularly shaped the nineteenth‑century German research university, Katō had also learned about through translating Bluntschli’s Allgemeines Staatsrecht. Bluntschli’s Kantian notion of the university as an institution for teaching and research that “comprehends the whole array of higher scholarship,” Katō rendered in Japanese as “the various studies all provided” 諸学全備.41 It was not necessary to argue that Chinese studies must not be discarded. A degree in Chinese and Japanese Literature existed since the foundation of Tokyo University and, in contrast to Buddhist scriptures, the Chinese classics were present in the library from the onset in 1877.42 It is therefore not surprising that courses about ancient Chinese thought were part of Enryō’s philosophy curriculum. In the classes of Nakamura Masanao, Enryō continued his education in the Chinese classics that had begun when he was ten years old. Enryō certainly had a solid command of English, but his ability to read and write Chinese was 77

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excellent. He belonged to the first generation learning English in secondary education and to the last being thoroughly trained in classical Chinese. In his lecture, “What Is Called Science?” Katō, however, not only argued that Chinese studies must not be neglected, he further pointed out that Buddhism too was not merely a “religion” but contained “many elements reaching into the field of philosophy.” Buddhism, therefore, in the eyes of Katō, was worthy of academic inquiry. When, in 1880, a Department for Seminars on the Classics 古典講習科 was established in the Faculty of Letters, the True School priest, Yoshitani Kakuju, and the Zen priest, Hara Tanzan, began to lecture regularly at Tokyo University. This moment can be pinpointed as the birth of academic Buddhist Studies in Japan.43 In his homage at Katō’s eightieth birthday in 1915, Enryō honored his mentor for contributing immensely to the revival of Buddhism by incorporating Buddhist scholarship into Tokyo University (Aug. 1915, 1–2). In the university’s calendar for the academic year 1882–83, the following clarification of terminology can be found: “Philosophy is divided into Western and Eastern philosophy. . . . In order to discuss Eastern philosophy, Chinese and Indian philosophy are necessary.”44 This is, to my knowledge, the first occurrence of the expression “Oriental” or “Eastern philosophy” 東洋哲学 in Japanese. Under the label of Indian philosophy, Enryō encountered his own religion anew. Until then, he had hardly studied Buddhism, and was familiar only with the devotional texts of his own sect. In the secular framework of the university, two priests (who wore the same robes that he was ashamed of as a child) taught him about the rational elements in his father’s religion. Enryō awakened to the fact that his own religion was rich with elements comparable to modern Western philosophy. In the classes of Yoshitani Kakuju he studied the Essentials of the Eight Sects by Gyōnen (1240–1321) and the Outline of the Tiāntāi Fourfold Teachings, by Chegwan (?–971), and in the classes of Hara Tanzan he read the Sūtra of Perfect Enlightenment and the densely metaphysical text Treatise on the Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith.45 It was through these texts that Enryō realized how he could fulfill the mission for which he was sent to Tokyo, namely, to defend Buddhism under modern circumstances. The value of Buddhism would become apparent if it could be discussed in academic terms on a par with Western philosophy. At that time, Enryō developed the idea of founding a school in Tokyo. He was still an ordained priest with a stipend formally tied to his Buddhist

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sect. In a letter from around the year 1884, Enryō proposed to his order the founding of an academy for the “external affairs” 外務 of Buddhism in the capital. Buddhism’s relation to philosophy, to the various modern sciences, and to Christianity was to be examined in the modern academic framework. Moreover, politically, Buddhism’s place as a religious institution in the emerging new society was to be secured. The letter testifies to Enryō’s wish to establish an academy for both Buddhism and philosophy (Miura 2010). As his pursuit was not endorsed, he severed ties with his sect and became an independent philosopher. Enryō’s resolution to modernize Buddhism under philosophical criteria presupposed the spread of philosophy in Japan. Philosophy needed to be established in order for Buddhism to be reformed. Enryō saw himself both as the reformer of Buddhism and as Japan’s first philosopher. Nishi Amane must be credited for translating and introducing philosophy to Japan. But neither Nishi Amane nor Katō Hiroyuki stood up as philosophers and advocated philosophy in public. That was Enryō’s task. Enryō began his mission to establish philosophy in Japanese society while he was still a student. He consulted with several senior scholars, among them also Nishi, and founded Japan’s first Philosophical Society 哲学会; a situation he later recalled as follows: But the first time I personally got to know him [Nishi Amane] was at the beginning of 1884, when I wished to consult him about establishing a Philosophy Society. With his calling card in hand and without following the usual protocol of having had someone introduce me to him, I showed up at his house near Capital Bridge at Thirty Ken Canal [京橋三十間堀]. He warmly received this unannounced guest, however, and we were befriended ever since. On the other hand, he did not know Dr. Inoue Tetsujirō as yet. In fact, it was at the second monthly meeting of the Society that Professor Nishi asked me to introduce him to Mr. Inoue Tetsujirō, and the two met for the first time.46

This is an interesting statement particularly because of what is said about Inoue Tetsujirō. Inoue Tetsujirō was only two years older than Enryō, but had studied since 1875 in the predecessor institution of Tokyo University. In 1877, when Toyko University was founded, Inoue Tetsujirō entered

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the Department for History, Philosophy, and Political Studies, which was restructured to become the Department for Philosophy, Political Studies, and Economics in 1879. Inoue Tetsujirō graduated from this department in 1880 and hence it can argued that his degree was not a pure philosophy degree. On the other hand, Inoue Tetsujirō did specialize in philosophy and became a lecturer in philosophy at Tokyo University immediately after his graduation. Inoue Tetsujirō was the first to lecture about the History of Eastern Philosophy in 1883, when Enryō was one of his students. It is certainly justified to name Inoue Tetsujirō as the founder of academic philosophy in Japan: this is due not only to the fact that he compiled the Philosophical Vocabulary but to his being the dominant figure in the Faculty of Letters for decades and thereby training the next generation of philosophers at Japan’s foremost university (Isomae 2003, 67–96). That Enryō, in 1912, recalls having been the first to introduce Inoue Tetsujirō to Nishi Amane, shows the latent rivalry between the Two Inoues. We can compare Inoue Tetsujirō’s rather cool comment at the occasion of Enryō’s death in 1919 that Enryō was once among his students and that his graduation thesis was “pretty well done” (Miwa 1919, 139–41). The complex personal relationship between these two figures needs detailed biographical investigation. Institutionally, their relationship paralleled the opposition between the scholar‑officials of the Meiroku Society and Fukuzawa, who preferred private initiative and independence from the government. Inoue Tetsujirō represented the state university his whole career, whereas Enryō took pride in being an educator for the common people. It is, however, generally acknowledged that Enryō in 1884 initiated Japan’s first and still existing Society of Philosophy. At ten of the first twenty meetings of the new society lectures were given by Buddhist scholars (Ikeda 2001), which indicates the strength of Enryō’s Buddhist network at that time. But founding the Society of Philosophy was only the first step in Enryō’s mission to establish philosophy in Japan. A couple of days before his graduation ceremony in 1885, Enryō held the Philosophy Ceremony 哲学際 for the first time. A picture scroll was unrolled showing the torso of the Four Sages 四聖 Buddha, Confucius, Socrates, and Kant. Above the four founding fathers of philosophy, the artwork shows a caption in Chinese verse composed by Nakamura Masanao:47

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The teachings of Confucius and Buddha: save them from drowning, rescue them from burning. Were these two sages to vanish, how to distinguish humans from beasts! Amongst the philosophers of Europe, Socrates and Kant are most upheld. Knowing the teachers of the great traditions fastens the root of virtue. The flesh of the weak is the fodder for the strong. Yet ever to this day. World of superior beauty: when can we foresee? Candlelight’s remaining flare— ah! I’ve grown old. Following the past into an open future, hoping for men of excellence.

In Enryō’s selection of the Four Sages, Buddha and Confucius represent Eastern philosophy, whereas Socrates and Kant stand together for Western philosophy. Eastern philosophy was further subdivided into Indian philosophy represented by Buddha and Chinese philosophy by Confucius. The main division of Western philosophy into ancient and modern philosophy is symbolized by Socrates and Kant (2: 70). By subsuming Indian and Chinese philosophy under Eastern philosophy, Enryō adopted the divisions we observed above in the university calendar from 1882–83. Today we might view the category of Eastern or Oriental philosophy as highly questionable. India and East Asia are civilizations in their own right and as different from each other as they are from the West. When European scholarship subsumes India and China under the category of Asia or the Orient, this reveals a Eurocentrism that is marked by an unwillingness to differentiate. From the Japanese perspective, the category of the Orient has other but not necessarily better implications. Modern Japanese intellectuals regarded Japan as the apex of the East insofar as Japan had absorbed both major Asian civilizations, namely, Indian Buddhism and Chinese Confucianism. The

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Japanese eventually subverted the Eurocentric concept of the Orient in their self‑concept of leadership in Asia. The division of the European history of ideas into ancient and modern expresses the consensus that European civilization had by no means always been superior but had only leaped ahead during the last hundred years. But why Kant? Why not Descartes, Hume, or Hegel? The answer is not an easy one because neither Enryō’s study notes nor his early works display any significant interest in Kant’s philosophy. The earliest writings by Enryō that show a solid understanding of Kant’s philosophy are his lectures on the Philosophy of Religion in 1892–93. An appreciation of Kant’s critique of metaphysical speculation or his foundation of practical philosophy on the concept of freedom is, however, nowhere apparent in Enryō’s thought. Fenollosa might be a possible source of Kantian influence, since Enryō studied early modern philosophy with him. Large parts of Fenollosa’s lectures on sociology, on the history of philosophy, on Descartes, and on Hegel have been reconstructed from the records made by his students (Nishio 2012). Unfortunately, that does not apply to Fenollosa’s teachings of Kant. So far there is only one English fragment, which goes, In fact all modern philosophy is affected by Kant. His Doctrine of Relativity is noticed all throughout the subsequent philosophy. . . . Now what a great discovery made Kant & changed all modern into a new channel? Since Grecian age. It is this that apart from synthesis a priori there is no nature at all. Since his time empiricism could not stand. (Sugihara 1973, 193)

This is a high rating of Kant’s historical importance, but philosophically the quotation is of little significance. We moreover know of Fenollosa’s background that he was a student of Francis Bowen at Harvard University (Chisolm 1963, 24) and that he used his teacher’s history of Modern Philosophy (1877) in his own classes as a reference work.48 Bowen writes about Kant, [I]t seems hardly possible to overestimate the influence of Kantian metaphysics upon the teachings of the schools and the opinions of men. I know of no parallel to it, except in the dominion of Aristotle over the speculations of all scholars and theologians throughout the Middle Ages. . . . He is the father of what is called modern free thought

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in science and religion; . . . his system, to adopt one of his technicalities, is the necessary propӕdeutik, the indispensable preliminary information and discipline, for the acquisition of the later philosophy of Germany, and even for a full understanding of the tendencies of thought in the philosophical schools throughout the world. (159f)

Bowen himself reports vividly on the enormous difficulties in understanding Kant’s language and that existing English translations of the Critique of Pure Reason were “far less intelligible than the original” (156). Moreover, the philosophical landscape at the time had left Kant behind and was torn between Hegelian idealism and evolutionary materialism. The neo‑Kantian school in Germany was only about to start its back‑to‑Kant program. Considering theses historical circumstances, Bowen’s appreciation of Kant is remarkable. If Fenollosa shared his teacher’s evaluation, we have reason to believe that Enryō was influenced by Fenollosa when enshrining Kant next to Buddha, Confucius, and Socrates as one of the world sages of philosophy. Depicting several sages or saints together had a precedent in the Chinese picture scrolls of Laozi, Confucius, and Buddha. The classical motif expressed the syncretistic notion that the “three teachings” of Taoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism ultimately “converge in one” 三教一致. In the Meiroku Journal, it had been moreover already proposed to select Buddha, Jesus, and Confucius as three saints to be honored in modern Japan (Tsuda 1874). Enryō’s idea to select Four Sages as representatives of world philosophy therefore needs less explanation than the idea to perform a ceremony in honor of them. Since this is not the place for an extended discourse about the ritual element in East Asian culture in general, an episode that took place before Enryō’s arrival in Tokyo may provide sufficient context to Enryō’s Philosophy Ceremony. The first attempt to establish a national university had already been made in 1869. One incident that contributed to its failure was strife between nativist scholars and Neo‑Confucianists about ceremonial matters. The school that was to be transformed into a university was the Prosperous Plain School 昌平黌, the Neo‑Confucian academy for government officials under the Tokugawa regime. Following the Chinese model, the ceremony called sekiten 釈奠 (“sacrificial ceremony”) in honor of Confucius was held in the Prosperous Plain School by tradition.49 The Imperial Restoration boosted the nativist scholars to take over the academy and install a Shintoist deity as the center of veneration.

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The split between the two scholarly factions, caused by the subjugation of the originally Confucian school, could not be restored, and the school was abandoned in 1870.50 In the Confucian tradition, ceremonies for the encouragement of learning had a long history. The significance of Enryō’s Philosophy Ceremony was that not one individual founding figure was revered. Katō had brought together all traditions of secular learning under the one roof of Tokyo University. Enryō symbolized this crossroads of world philosophy in selecting not one but four sages. In the paradigm of philosophy, the various traditions of world philosophy were to converge in the one academic truth. The first Philosophy Ceremony in 1885 was a seminal moment for Enryō. The ceremony continued to be performed at the Philosophy Academy he was soon to found and the Four Sages are symbols of Toyo University today. In 1904, Enryō gave the ceremony a permanent home by opening the Philosophy Shrine, around which he started to build the Temple Garden of Philosophy 哲学堂公園 during his later years. Following Enryō’s last will, the Philosophy Ceremony is still performed there every year in November, together with a lecture about one of the Four Sages. A few months after his graduation, Enryō fell seriously sick for the first time. The illness diagnosed as “neurasthenia” 神経衰弱 would cause him suffering his entire life, including several breakdowns. Eventually, the symptoms led to his death by stroke in 1919. After his first recovery in 1886, Enryō entered a phase of staggering activity. In the two years that followed, he laid the foundations for much of his later life. After the foundation of the Society of Philosophy and the inaugural performance of the Philosophy Ceremony, the next step in Enryō’s mission to give philosophy in Japan an institutional basis was to set up the Philosophy Press 哲学書院 in 1887. It was here that he edited and published the first issue of the Journal of the Philosophical Society 哲学会雑誌 . In the same year, Enryō founded the Philosophy Academy 哲学館, which eventually developed into today’s Toyo University. In the announcement of the Founding Ideas of the Philosophy Academy (1887), Enryō proclaimed: The tide towards enlightenment [開明], although naturally dependent on numerous inner and outer circumstances, mainly relies on the development of the intellect. The development of the intellect, although naturally dependent on the educational method, mainly relies on the type

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of science. If today, we educate young people with an inferior science, inferior intellects will develop. If we employ superior science, superior intellects will develop. This follows in principle. The science that is the most superior to all the various sciences is philosophy. If philosophy is not studied it is impossible to develop a superior intellect and to progress to superior enlightenment. I take this to be self‑evident. From this the necessity of philosophy should be understood. Philosophy is the science that searches for the principles behind all things and determines their laws. From the heights of politics and law down to the numerous sciences and technologies, they all receive their principles and laws from this science, philosophy. Therefore, one certainly does not praise philosophy too much, if one calls it the central government in the world of science, the learning which rules the myriad forms of learning. (Schulzer 2014b)

I have found no evidence that the political metaphor comparing philosophy with the function of a central government was from any other source than Enryō’s own imagination. Spencer guaranteed for Enryō the Aristotelian notion of philosophy as the science of sciences; for Nishi, this was done by Comte. A political metaphor such as a leading or directing function does lend itself to philosophy insofar as philosophy lays out the ontological map on which empirical research begins its work. In another piece of writing, Enryō elaborated on the same political metaphor, also speaking of ministries and a cabinet system (1: 89). The analogy of philosophy with a central government that delegates the different areas of competence, rather than controls or dom‑ inates them, is even more striking than the European metaphor, which calls metaphysics the “queen of sciences,” most prominently quoted by Kant in the preface to his Critique of Pure Reason (1781) (A viii). Although Enryō founded his academy mainly with educational purposes in mind, in his opening speech he also made reference to the “critical” 批評 spirit of philosophical research (Jan. 1888). Enryō’s activities as the principal of the Academy during the decades thereafter exemplify the unity of research and teaching. In his attempt to lift Buddhist scholarship into the modern paradigm, studying, teaching, and writing were one process. The idea of philosophy in the Academy’s founding document provided solid grounds for what eventually developed into one of Japan’s ten largest research universities. Today,

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Toyo University sums up its philosophical spirit in research and teaching in the slogan, “The basis of all learning lies in philosophy.” Toyo University is the only university in Japan committed explicitly through its foundation to the idea of philosophy (Schulzer 2014a).

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D uring the years 1886 and 1887, Enryō not only married and founded a publishing company and a private academy, he also wrote in quick succession several books that established him as a leading intellectual of the rising Japanese Empire. Between 1882 and 1886, the number of books that had been published each year was relatively constant. But in the following five years between 1887 and 1892, the number more than doubled. At the same time, the publication of translations had reached its peak in 1887, after which it continuously decreased.51 The “extraordinary outburst of intellectual activity” observed by the Japan Weekly Mail in 1889 (in the already cited article on “The Rising Generation”) was the first signal of an emerging public sphere. Enryō must have added considerably to this impression with the volume of his early works from the years 1886 and 1887. One of Enryō’s books that drew a lot of attention was a refutation of Christianity in three volumes, entitled The Golden Needle of Truth. The needle spoken of in the title refers to the needle of the compass, an invention of Sòng China (960–1279). The title can therefore also be translated as The Golden Compass of Truth. The topic of religion was not absent in the discussions of the first‑generation enlightenment intellectuals. Enryō, however, diverged from this in applying the new scholarly discourse to the interreligious dialogue. He applied the evidence of science and logic to compare the foreign religion unfavorably with Buddhism (Schrimpf 1999). We find that, especially in the first volume of The Golden Compass of Truth, many of the evolutionary arguments by the X‑Club scholars against the Christian worldview reappear. My analysis will focus on Enryō’s concept of truth, which he first makes explicit in the introduction. 87

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In the past we took it to be true that the world is flat. Today we take it to be true that the world is a sphere. . . . We cannot know whether what we see as true today will turn out to be untrue tomorrow. This is certain, because the truth is something that depends on man. If this is the case, also the truth of religion depends on theoretical adequacy or inadequacy. Even if [a religion] contains true elements, without theoretical adequacy it will be regarded as untrue by the public. (3: 19f)

This recalls Protagoras’s man‑measure statement, which in its humanistic interpretation means it is only humans who are the measure of the state of things, and not the gods.52 This secular stance was not foreign to the Chinese civilization. An equivalent position can be found in Xúnz (third century BCE), about whom Enryō wrote his graduation theses. In the chapter on heaven, Xúnz argues for the irrelevance of heavenly or celestial events for the tasks of human beings.53 This humanist position, summed up in the phrase “separation of heaven and humans” 天人分離, coincides with the essentially secular, academic stance Enryō takes in Golden Compass of Truth. However, it will also become clear from the following quotation that Enryō did not dismiss the concept of God completely. He merely took the Buddhist stance that the Divine should not be isolated from the human mind. In the chapter on the “Criterion of Truth” 真理標準, he elaborated: Generally, it is impossible to discuss truth and untruth without a criterion. Only after a criterion has been determined, the difference between true and false arises. What meets the criterion is taken to be true, what does not meet it is taken to be false. By taking God as the final truth, the criterion of truth in Christianity is God. But in order to determine a criterion of truth, there also has to be a criterion of the criterion. How does Christianity determine God as the criterion of truth? The criterion has been determined by the Christians themselves. There is no other criterion for this decision. In other words, the Christians take their truth to be determined by God. But who else than the Christians themselves determine that God is their criterion of truth? But that means that God who determines good and evil, right and wrong for man, and man determines that God does so. In short, the criterion of man is God, the criterion of God is man.

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Moreover, if God originates from human thinking [as argued in 3:59–66], then God does not exist separate from man. Therefore, it is highly deluded to believe that separate from man God’s decisions could be a criterion. Seen like this, what God determines is not the only truth and what Christians pursue is not the only good. Right and wrong, good and evil is determined by nothing else than by the general opinion at that time. If so, it is completely illogical to discuss reward and punishment as the Christians do. Namely, to take as evil to not believe the teachings determined by themselves and to take it as good to believe in them. A Christian may say: “It is beyond the power of man to determine what the real truth is. This surely must be yielded to God.” What sort of statement is this? If the power of man suffice to determine the real truth or not, we do not know yet. To assert that it does not suffice, we must regard as highly presumptuous. Further, who determines in the first place that the truth depends on God? Man does, not God himself. A Christian may say: “Although God does not speak himself, he transmitted his will to man by Moses and Christ.” This surely has to be called a tendentious theory. Who was Moses? He was a human being. Who was Jesus? He was a human being. Both had a human body, they had human senses, they were born and they died. What were they, if not human? There is no need even to argue, that the words of the Bible are not spoken by God himself. They are all words from the mouth of man. By coming out from the mouth of man, be they divine admonishments or heavenly commandments, all those words are nothing else but human words. Moreover, the Bible has not been edited by those men directly, but came into being by the hands of later persons. It is therefor also not unlikely that they are teachings of later persons. In short, it is evident that what is taught in the Bible are the words of human beings. Be they divine commandments or heavenly messages, such are all human. The ones who hear and believe them as well as the ones who write them down are all human beings. The existence or non-existence of God, the criterion of good and evil are all determined by man. There is no God separate from man.

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Even if we admit that the teachings in the Bible are the true words of God, there are no grounds to accept them as secular truth [世間の真理]. Secular truth is determined by considering common sense [世人の思想]. Something is taken as true only if it well conforms to reason and corresponds to reality. If it does not, it will be dismissed as false. Consider how Newton’s theory of gravitation has become truth in the world. The reason why common people believe it, is not because it is the theory of Newton. It is taken to be true only after comparison with today’s experience and rational examination. Even if a theory was believed to be true since old, there is no reason to affirm it today, if it contains elements that have to be corrected or doubted. Therefore, although we have determined as true in the past that the world is flat, today we take it to be true that the world is a sphere. For the same reason, the explanations of Christianity, although they might have been true in the past, will be dismissed as untrue today, if they are not consistent with our experience. Hence, if we read the Bible today and it contains teachings that do not go together with empirical thinking, they all have to be rejected. This is the duty of the scholar to exert the truth. Now, if it comes to somebody who tells people what he arbitrary assumes to be true and believes himself, although it is not rational and deviates from experience, nothing could be more unfaithful and unjust against the truth than that. If God loves the truth, then there would be certainly no reason why he would excuse such a deluded person. (3: 67–69)

The many redundancies in Enryō’s language exhibit the style of a polemic pamphlet. The forcefulness with which Enryō puts forth his argument is indeed impressive, and it is important to note that Enryō directs his text not only at fellow scholars. His implicit audience is the general public and the truth he claims is plausibility in the public sphere. With Enryō’s early writings, the intellectual discourse that had taken shape in the confines of Tokyo University now entered the stage of public discourse. And it did so with an unmistakable note of confidence. Enryō insists that the question of true and false cannot be settled by reference to the transcendent because an enlightened public will only accept

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theoretical or empirical evidence. In choosing the compass needle as an illustration for secular truth, Enryō proves his distinguished intuition for metaphors. The compass is an instrument that transfers a law of nature directly into a comprehensible human sign. The needle of the compass, therefore, corresponds in the most immediate way to the state of the world. As an illustration of the immanence of truth, the metaphor is most convincing. Further, there is no more basic information for orientation in the world than to know the cardinal directions. This compares well with the fundamental meaning of truth for mankind. As the title suggests, the truth is “golden,” that is, the best indicator of orientation for mankind. In the first part, the New Buddhism, as envisioned by the True School priests Shimaji Mokurai and Akamatsu Renjō, has been introduced. They regarded the similarities the True School as a monotheist religion of faith had with Christian Protestantism as a good argument for the compatibility of their religion with modern civilization. Moreover, scholars of religious studies in the West considered faith in an abstract transcendent Being a more advanced, more rational religion than polytheistic creeds. Both of these points were suited for a modern interpretation of True School doctrine. Enryō’s critique of Christianity in Golden Compass of Truth indicates that his thought had already taken a different course. The secular academic stance he makes against Christian theology at the same time made it more difficult to defend True School doctrine. Enryō was not going to limit himself to the sectarian standpoint, but aimed for a new philosophical foundation of Buddhism in general. Enryō’s decision to sever ties with his sect and live the life of a lay scholar ripened during this period. In his next and most important book of his early period, Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism (1887), he made this decision explicit. The Golden Compass of Truth had drawn a lot of public attention, yet this was topped by the Prolegomena, which became a best‑seller and established Enryō as a leading intellectual for the rest of his life (Takagi 1987b). Among the elite in the capital, Buddhism had been considered at best old‑fashioned; it was completely novel to have Buddhism set on par with philosophy and science in a Western‑style book. The work was the forerunner of a marked increase in publishing activities in the Buddhist world. Between the years 1888 and 1898, more than seventy new Buddhist journals were founded (Ōtani 2009, 22). In Enryō’s Prolegomena, Buddhism’s new voice was first heard in the new public sphere. What has been said about the philosophical metalanguage that

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came into use fully applies to Enryō’s terminology, a fact that is easily missed because most of the concepts are common language today, and the examples begin with bukkyō 仏教 in the title of the work. Literally meaning “Buddha teaching,” the compound new at that time is today the general category to refer to Buddhism in all its variations (Shimazono 2004, 193–96). Another feature, which certainly made the Prolegomena special, was Enryō’s elevated tone. Rather than being merely an intellectual discussion, the work strikes the tone of a manifesto. One day, I had a great awakening. The truth, which I had been desperately longing for more than ten years, was neither in Confucianism nor in Buddhism. It was also not in Christianity. I understood that it only existed in the philosophy which is taught in the West. At this time, my bliss was immeasurable. I felt like Columbus on the Atlantic Ocean when first the contours of land came in sight. It was as if after many years the clouds of delusion open up and were suddenly washed away from my breast. Having discovered the bright moon of truth in the world of philosophy, I once again reviewed the various old teachings. . . . I read the Buddhist scriptures again and increasingly came to understand that their teachings were true. Clapping my hands I exulted: who would have thought that the truth, which was the product of a thousand years of research in the West, had been rendered already three thousand years ago in the ancient orient! Because my scholarship was poor, I was not able to discover the truth in my own religion when I was young. Now, I first relinquished my long cherished wish to found a new religion. I came to the resolution to reform Buddhism and to make it the religion of the enlightened world. This was the year 1885. I think of it as the year zero of the reform of Buddhism. (3: 337)

Enryō’s astonishing confidence and strong sense of mission cannot be missed. Enryō describes his discovery of the truth in philosophy as an enlightenment experience. It was only through Enryō’s awakening to philosophy that he was able to review the Buddhist scriptures, which thereupon reveal their truth. The philosophical perspective, therefore, first makes the defense of Buddhism possible. In the preface, Enryō pronounced what the standpoint of philosophy he committed to meant:

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I have long been saddened that Buddhism is not in touch with the secular world. I personally have taken responsibility for its revival and assiduously examined it on my own already for more than ten years. But it was only recently that I discovered that its teachings are consistent with the principles of science and philosophy as researched in the West. This is what I want to disclose to the public. . . . Because my discussion of Buddhism is based on the impartial and selfless judgments of philosophy, it is essentially different from the understanding of society’s ordinary priests. It moreover differs greatly from the Christian perspective. In the end my efforts to help Buddhism and my rejection of Christianity do not mean that I love the man Shakyamuni or that I hate the man Jesus. The only thing I love is the truth [真理], and the only thing I hate is untruth. There are parts of the Christian teaching that should not be accepted as truth. There are elements of the Buddhist teachings that should not be dismissed as untruth. I will do nothing else but reject the former and help the latter. What I mean with Buddhism is what has been transmitted in our country until the present. The founder of this teaching is called Shakyamuni. Although there is amongst Christians garrulous talk, that the basic texts of Buddhism are Indian, that the Mahāyāna is not the Buddha’s teaching, that Shakyamuni did not really exist, etc., that does not concern me in the least. The biography of the man may not be detailed and the origin of the teaching may not be clear. [Anyway,] I would never be so blind and ignorant to believe a teaching because of its origin or tradition. I only will believe it if it is consistent with today’s philosophical reasoning [哲理], and I will reject it, if it is not. (3: 327f)

In modern societies Buddhism is part of academic and public discourses, in which its value is not beyond doubt. To argue for Buddhism as such, pointing to its history or orthodoxy, is not enough. Holy scriptures or the authority of founding figures are not in themselves plausible for non‑ Buddhists. Enryō’s new rational approach was, however, not completely unprecedented in Buddhist history. Enryō might not have been aware of this at the time he wrote the Prolegomena, because his Buddhist scholarship was still to develop over the following twenty years. In his Outline of Indian

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Philosophy of 1898, Enryō explained that in the older school of Buddhist logic with roots in pre‑Buddhist Indian thought, three “means” 量 (Skt. pramā a) to substantiate truth claims were distinguished: (1) sensation, (2) inference, and (3) scriptural authority. Whereas in the newer school of logic founded by Dignāga (sixth century CE) criterion three is rejected, because, as Enryō remarks, reference to scriptures is pointless toward those who do not believe in them (7: 201). Yet, somewhat surprisingly, in 1898 Enryō was not particularly interested in this point anymore. He neither emphasized that this logical school, although not very influential in East Asia, is nonetheless part of the Buddhist tradition, nor did he discuss these tenets with reference to his own early interest in the criteria of philosophical truth. It would have been easy to reformulate the criteria of sensation as empirical evidence and inference as logical argument. However, in East Asian Buddhism reference to scriptural authority has doubtlessly been an essential element of doctrinal discussions. Enryō is rejecting just this when he claims that his argument differs from sectarian apologists by being based on the impartial judgment of philosophy. The project that Enryō announced in the Prolegomena is the foundation of Buddhism within the limits of reason. In Part IV of this book the results of this program will be outlined. Irrespective of whether Enryō’s elaboration is convincing in the end or not, the preface of the Prolegomena can be credited as the pronounced initiation of Buddhist philosophy as an academic discourse. At the end of the same preface, Enryō expressed for the first time his lifelong maxim, “Protection of Country and Love of Truth” 護国愛理. Although Enryō’s “living discourse” or “vitalizing discussion” 活論 committed to the medium of philosophical truth, truth was not the only standard according to which Buddhism had to be justified. Enryō advocates Buddhism in the Prolegomena because he believes that Buddhism is “adequate to civilization and benefits society and the state” (3: 390). This second criterion, namely the Protection of Country, should not be dismissed too hastily as crude nationalism. The expression has a long history in East Asian Buddhism, and in this historical moment it simply connoted Enryō’s conviction that Buddhism was able to contribute to its social environment even under modern circumstances. The slogan, however, did later gain nationalistic content. This will be examined in Part III, together with a discussion of the intricate relationship between the two values, Protection of Country and Love of Truth (chapter 15).

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Here, we shall now look at the origins of the expression “Love of Truth.” In the Golden Compass of Truth, Enryō referred to the apologetic slogan, “Protection of Dharma and Love of Country” 護法愛国 (3: 146), which was used by the reform movement of his sect (Ketelaar 1991, 41). In the Prolegomena, however, he modified the slogan to become Protection of Country and Love of Truth. While there was no intention to substantially differentiate between Love or Protection of Country, the change between Protection of Dharma to Love of Truth represents the fundamental change of standpoint for Enryō. Protection of Dharma was a widely used slogan by Buddhists to express their resolution to defend their religion in the face of intruding Christianity and governmental neglect. The Love of Truth instead, as Enryō insisted, is the very duty of the scholar. It expresses the commitment to the outcome of rational investigation as pronounced by the enlightenment scholars Fukuzawa, Nishi, and Katō. The change from Protection of Dharma to Love of Truth in the Prolegomena, therefore, also indicates Enryō’s secularization, his becoming a modern scholar. But why Protection of Country and Love of Truth and not Protection of Truth and Love of Country? Enryō of course knew that the Greek term philo‑sophia literally means “loving wisdom” (2: 27) and yet, he never mentions that Love of Truth is his appropriation of the Greek word philo‑sophia. Since “protecting” or “maintaining” is more practical, it relates better to the political sphere. Whereas “love” means to mentally long for something, there is a natural association with the idea of searching for truth. This is a satisfactory explanation, but I want to make an additional suggestion. Enryō’s teacher Toyama, while president of Tokyo Imperial University in 1898, published an essay in Japanese and English in which he set forth his personal credo. The article is titled Evils of Blind Faith in Authority, and it begins as follows: You know the name of Aristotle, revered as the great master of the scientific world in the old days of the West. Among his sayings handed down to posterity, there is one which is very pregnant in its meaning; to wit, “Plato is to be loved, still the truth is much more so.” I believe these words should be truly fixed in the mind of everybody.54

Toyama goes on to explain that Western civilization was only made possible through a “free and independent spirit.” Belief in the authority of founding figures, be it in science, religion, or politics, hinders the development of

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mankind. I cannot prove that Toyama learned about the Aristotle quote during his science studies in the United States. The fact that he pronounced it as one of his core beliefs still suggests that he had been certain about this point for some time already. The analogy between Enryō’s declaration, he did not love the man Shakyamuni, but only the truth, to Aristotle’s saying that the truth is to be loved even more than Plato, does not seem coincidental. If my assumption is correct, that is, that we can find the origin of Enryō’s Love of Truth in the famous saying ascribed to Aristotle “Amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas” (Guerlac 1978), then there is a stronger argument regarding the authentic transmission of philosophy to East Asia. Philosophy has no orthodoxy; it is a culture of discussion between individual thinkers with uncertain results.

13

Upward Philosophy

I n the preceding chapter it was argued that Enryō inherited his concept of truth from the first generation of enlightenment intellectuals. The truth he vowed to love was the truth, as established by Katō Hiroyuki, as the single guiding principle of academia. This also involved the primacy of empirical research in the sense that philosophical or religious truth was not to contradict the outcome of modern science. Moreover, truth claims had to be secular and were not permitted to refer to divine revelation or scriptural authority. Enryō was convinced that Buddhism had nothing to fear from these criteria. In his lectures on Buddhist Science, published in 1905, Enryō presented an extensive array of rational theory that was contained in Buddhist scriptures. At least for Enryō, the appeal to modern science was not just a strategic means in defense against Christianity, as has been held (cf. Snodgrass 1997). However, besides this positivist concept of validity, there is another idea of truth apparent in Enryō’s early writings which is not easily brought in harmony with the former. The criteria of scientific truth are: consistency with accepted theory, empirical evidence, and common sense. Using here Enryō’s own spatial metaphors, this truth as a coherent system of propositions earthed by empirical evidence can be located in the horizontal dimension. The second notion of truth, which is discussed below, is an ascending notion of insight, which belongs to the vertical dimension. During the same period, Enryō also published, in two volumes, the Epitome of Philosophy. The first volume is an outline of the history of philosophy, starting with Indian and Chinese Philosophy before proceeding to Western thought. It discusses Buddhist and Chinese philosophy as on par with the European tradition by suggesting parallels between ancient thinkers 97

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such as Yáng Zhū (ca. fourth/third century BCE) and Epicurus (341–271 BCE) (1: 97–98) or between the Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith and the philosophy of Friedrich W. J. Schelling (1: 103–104). The work would not meet today’s standards of academic publication, however, it can still be credited with laying the groundwork for comparative philosophy in Japan. When comparing the dynamics of the Western and Eastern histories of ideas, Enryō made an observation that we already discerned among his teachers, which was that in the East there is a tendency to follow a single line of thought, whereas in the West, where the philosophers always argued about true and false, new ideas and opposing views were continuously born. Enryō therefore believed that the progressive character of Western societies was an outcome of the progressive character of Western philosophy. The stagnancy of the East, on the other hand, was due to the uncritical faith in the authority of tradition (1: 107f). During his formative years at Tokyo University, Enryō firmly embedded himself in the nineteenth‑century European discourses on history and evolution, development and progress. Because the driving force in European philosophy was discussion, European thought evolved in the dialectical patterns of opposition and debate. In his attempt to reconstruct European intellectual history as dialectical progress, Enryō was influenced by his teacher Fenollosa, about whom Inoue Tetsujirō recollected that he pursued a synthesis of Hegel and Spencer.55 The same is testified by the fragmentary notes of one of Fenollosa’s students. If we can unite the doctrines of Spencer’s Evolution & Hegel’s Philosophy, we will have a complete philosophy, & we believe this will be done within [the] next thirty or forty years. Only the [sic] weakness of Hegel is his scarcity of knowledge of science. Two supplements one another [sic]. Spencer’s doctrine supplies the deficiency of mechanical evolution [in Hegel]. Though Spencer & Hegel seem to be quite different but in reality [they are] most closely connected. Indeed without the doctrine of Hegel, Spencer’s evolution is utterly inconceivable. (Sugihara 1973, 195)

Fenollosa often dictated his manuscripts word by word to his students because not all his students were able to follow his English lectures (Yamaguchi 1992, 17). This is why there are several accurate records of Fenollosa’s lectures

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bequeathed by his students. In fact, there is also a transcription of one of Fenollosa’s lectures in Enryō’s notes. Although the entry in Enryō’s Notebook does not mention the author, through content‑analysis and lexical comparison I discovered that it is indeed one of Fenollosa’s lectures (Schulzer 2010b). The methodologically important passages are as follows: It is at present generally acknowledged that society is an organism. The same truth may be said about the system of philosophy which is I think also a living being. It grows from a very rudimentary germ to a higher complex structure through successive stages. . . . In the world of philosophy, we find a continued struggle or dispute between two opposite views when [philosophy] is in progress and a perfect harmony or equilibrium when it is declining. After they struggle for some time, there is made a synthesis by which the dialectic antithesis is united. Thus appears another different view opposed to that synthesis and thus a new struggle takes place. The whole process now forms what we [call] trichotomy, or in Hegel’s words. . . . (cf. Kitagawa 1988, 202)

The last sentence ends unfinished, maybe because Fenollosa cited a German word such as Aufhebung or Dialektik that Enryō was not able to identify. What the passage shows is exactly the synthesis of Hegelian dialectics and Spencer’s evolutionism that, according to the previous citation, Fenollosa expected from future philosophy. Fenollosa assumed the driving force behind the movement of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis to be a Darwinian struggle for supremacy. The result of conflicting opinions was the survival of a superior theory. A history of ideas that shows this pattern proves itself to be progressive, not just theoretically but existentially, because it participates in the evolutionary dynamic whereby nature as a whole is constantly perfecting itself. For Fenollosa, this testifies to philosophy as a living thing. There are some more notes in Enryō manuscripts that could have been written in Fenollosa’s classes, but this lecture is the only complete transcript. Remarkably, this lecture is not about Western philosophy, but is in fact titled Development of Chinese Philosophy. By reconstructing the history of Chinese philosophy as a dialectical evolution, Fenollosa countered the image of Eastern thought as stagnant and backward, which was so prevalent among the Japanese enlightenment intellectuals. He concluded that

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China is at present decaying in every respect, [but] it will be soon rise up with much greater activity if its original elements be combined with the western elements . . . and we may also expect that we can have a more complete philosophy if a synthesis be made between these two great elements, the oriental and the western. (cf. Kitagawa 1988, 191)

Fenollosa’s influence on Enryō’s intellectual development might have extended even further. During Enryō’s last year at Tokyo University in 1884–85, Fenollosa met several times with Akamatsu Renjō, the True School priest with an excellent command of English. From these conversations, Fenollosa noted in his diary how surprised he was to learn that in Buddhism schemes similar to the Western trichotomy thesis, antithesis, and synthesis existed (Yamaguchi 1992, 11f). The exchange with Akamatsu could have been not only a seminal moment for Fenollosa, who was to become one of the first American Buddhist converts (Tweed 1992), but also for Enryō and the course of modern Japanese Buddhism. Recall that Enryō said his resolution to reform Buddhism occurred in the year 1885. In Epitome of Philosophy, Enryō repeated the general notion that the dialectical patterns apparent in the development of Western philosophy are evidence of its evolutionary and progressive character. If the same patterns could be discovered in the history of Eastern thought, as Fenollosa had done in the case of Chinese philosophy, than the inferiority of Eastern thought was only a momentary phenomenon.56 Fenollosa had, however, used Western concepts in his reconstruction of Chinese philosophy, but he learned from Akamatsu that Buddhism had a comparable endemic terminology. If the evolution of Buddhism could be grasped with concepts taken from its own tradition, then the intrinsic philosophical nature of Buddhism was undeniable. The rich tradition of “teaching classifications” 教判 in East Asian Buddhism indeed provides various conceptual schemes to put the heterogeneous Buddhist doctrines in a hierarchical and temporal order. One pattern in particular bears similarities with the Hegelian trichotomy and hence was used frequently by Enryō, not only in the Prolegomena but also in his later Buddhist writings. The important Indian Yogācāra treatise, Analysis of the Middle and the Extremes, discusses how one‑sided notions of differentiation and nondifferentiation or existence and nonexistence lead to attachment to extreme views.57 Based on the Chinese translations of Analysis of the Middle and the Extremes, the Chinese

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Yogācāra monk Kuījī (632–682) applied this logic in a chronological scheme known as “three periods of teachings” 三時教. He characterized the teachings preceding the Yogācāra school as clinging to the notion of existence in the first period and clinging to the notion of emptiness in the second period. With the appearance of Yogācāra Buddhism in the third period, both one‑sided views were overcome and subsumed by the teaching of the Middle Path 中道.58 This developmental pattern in the three steps of “existence, emptiness, and middle” 有空中 has indeed a certain affinity to the trichotomy of “thesis, antithesis, and synthesis” 正反合, which is commonly associated with Hegel’s dialectic. The concept of the Middle Path had its origin in the early scriptures of Indian Buddhism, where it denoted an attitude avoiding the extremes of yogic asceticism and worldly pleasures. In the course of Buddhism’s doctrinal development and, in particular, in the exegetical writings of Chinese Buddhism, the concept of the Middle Path took on quite a different meaning. In East Asian Buddhism, the originally practical notion of the Mean acquired a speculative character. The Mean came to be regarded not as avoiding two extremes, but as encompassing them, a connotation that is not immediately intelligible when thinking of the spatial origin of the metaphor. The perspective, which transcends the dualisms of being and nonbeing, affirmation and negation, ascends to a higher synthesis, which is ultimately equivalent to the nondiscriminative state of enlightenment. In large parts of his later writings on Buddhism, Enryō attempts to show that the development of Buddhism accorded to the dialectic of the Middle Path in the same way as the history of Western philosophy followed the pattern of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. Moreover, Enryō did go one step farther than simply demonstrating the philosophical character of Buddhism. In yet another work from the same period, Enryō made use of the Buddhist concept of the Mean for presenting an original piece of philosophy, An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, which is comprised of three successive volumes, discussing Mind and Matter (I.), God (II.), and, finally, the Truth (III.). The work is regarded as the first modern Japanese work on metaphysics. It was indeed a source of fascination for the next generation of Japanese philosophers, which is particularly documented for Nishida Kitarō, founder of the Kyoto School (Wargo 2005, 11–17), and Kuwaki Gen’yoku, the first Japanese Kant researcher (Miwa 1919, 219–23). All three volumes of An Evening of Philosophical Conversation are written in the form of dialogues between Enryō and students of his; in the first part the

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dialogue is with two students, and in the second and third parts there are four students participating. The names of these students are all composites, either with the characters en 円 or the character ryō 了 taken from Enryō’s name. Rather than a conversation between real people, the texts should therefore be interpreted as an inner dialogue between opposing views in the author’s mind. At the end of each volume, the differing one‑sided perspectives of the students are superseded by the synthetic view expressed by the teacher, Enryō himself. The teacher mediates the particular positions by holding that the truth lies in the Middle Path as the subsumption of all preceding positions. Enryō’s understanding of Hegel was certainly limited. He had no acquaintance with the original texts, and even his teacher Fenollosa was apparently not aware that thesis, antithesis, synthesis is not Hegelian, but instead coined by Johann G. Fichte (1762–1814) in his Foundations of the Science of Knowledge (1794–95, §3). An influence of the overall scheme of Hegel’s Phenomenology of Mind is nonetheless conceivable. In the first volume of the Epitome of Philosophy, truth is historicized, that is, the present state of thought is conceived of as a result of the progressive philosophical mind. This dialectical ascendancy toward the final truth is at the same time realized as incomplete (1: 149). Becoming aware of the developmental patterns of the human mind in history, the philosopher follows the movement in his own reflections and brings it to a final conclusion. In the third part of An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, Enryō therefore presents the truth as a speculative subsumption of all preceding standpoints. This position is indeed reminiscent of the famous quote from the preface of the Phenomenology of Mind: “The truth is the whole.” In the Hegelian perspective of the truth as the Absolute, the new term shinri was finally interchangeable with the Buddhist notion of ultimate reality: shinnyo 真如 . Enryō would later call this type of thinking “upward philosophy” 向上の哲学 (2: 443). This Hegelian moment meant a departure from the logical and scientific, that is to say, horizontal concept of truth that Enryō had applied in the Golden Compass of Truth and professed to in the preface of the Prolegomena. The Middle Path of philosophical enlightenment that Enryō pursued in An Evening of Philosophical Conversation is reflected in the inventive literary form of his dialogue.59 Enryō’s artifice was a shifting interpretation of his own name. The name Enryō was conferred on him in analogy with his father’s name, meaning “complete understanding.” The second character, however,

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also has the import of “perfect.” Since the basic meaning of the first character en is “round” or “full,” the name Enryō can be read as “full perfection.” In the first dialogue it is Full Mountain and Perfect Water who have a philosophical conversation in the moonlight. Full Mountain takes a materialist stance and Perfect Water takes the position of idealism. Enryō increases the dramatic elements in parts two and three. The second conversation is staged during a stormy evening in late autumn: Full East, Perfect West, Full South, and Perfect North are gathering in Master Enryō’s lecture hall and discussing the notion of God. Full East is an Atheist. Perfect West is an idealist who denies the existence of God outside the mind. Full South proposes the transcendent existence of God, Perfect North its immanent existence. The final exposition by Master Enryō ends close to midnight whereupon everybody retreats to his room. “Looking outside, the rain has stopped and the full moon standing in zenith.” The scenery reflects the clarity everybody arrives at through the Master’s exposition. The word zenith, literally, “heaven‑mind” 天心, indicates that only the highest point of the firmament exerts the meaning of God. The setting of the third dialogue suggests that the last part is also the subsumption of the previous two. The tripartite work itself has a trichotomic structure proceeding from Dualism over Theism to the Absolute. The third part begins as follows, “Inside Master Enryō’s gates are musing about three thousand persons. Thirty are ascending to [the lecture] hall, among these ten entering chambers,” which is to say that the Master has ten students living with him. These ten are the six students known from the preceding two dialogues plus the four conversationists of the third dialogue, whose names are Full Sky, Perfect Earth, Full Light, and Perfect Shade. It is a night of heavy snowfall. The neighborhood is quiet, except the distant howling of a freezing dog. The four sit in one of the rooms as Full Light remembers the Master saying that philosophy is the compass through which we can safely navigate the rough ocean of the world. Yet, various opinions about the truth exist. The need for a criterion of truth initiates the philosophical conversation. Full Sky is a naive realist who emphasizes our direct knowledge about external things and the laws of nature. Full Sky is defeated by Full Light who holds that a cosmic revolution could even affect the laws of nature. Full Light further argues that the truth about more complex problems, particularly of the metaphysical type, has no immediate plausibility. It turns out that Full Sky has no criterion to distinguish between simple and complex phenomena.

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At this point, the question of the criterion for the selection of a criterion arises, which Enryō had applied in the Golden Compass of Truth in order to criticize Christianity. In An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, Perfect Earth holds that all measures of things are ultimately founded in the laws of logic. Perfect Earth is thereupon refuted by Full Sky who argues that the laws of identity, noncontradiction, and the excluded middle, presuppose that something can be identified as individual in the first place. The idea of an individual thing can only be taken from experience, he holds. Next, Perfect Shade presents his synthesis of Full Sky’s realism and Perfect Earth’s logical idealism. He proposes that only if experience and theory coincide can one speak of truth. The hypothesis that the earth is a sphere can be confirmed by traveling around it. In other words, “the criterion of truth is the correspondence between the internal and external” world (3: 77). It is reminiscent of Spencer’s First Principles (§26) when Perfect Shade proposes that scientific investigation, by starting out from knowable phenomena, can eventually make certain inferences about the unknowable substance behind the phenomena, too. Perfect Shade defends his position successfully against various objections brought forward by Full Sky and Perfect Earth, in the course of which he further introduces the concepts of induction and deduction as well as a priori and a posteriori. As the conversation ends in aporia about the classical question discussed by Hume and Kant—if the law of causality is a posteriori derived from experience or given a priori—Full Light jumps in again. He finds fault in Full Sky being biased toward the external world, Perfect Earth biased toward the internal world, and Perfect Shade biased toward the “between” or “interstice” 中間 of the two worlds. Thereupon, Full Light presents a rather diffuse theory about a transcendent “logical substance” 理体 as the measure of truth. This is easily rebutted by Perfect Shade objecting that something transcendent cannot be the criterion of the immanent truth about things. Full Light thereupon admits his confusion. He indicates that it is past midnight and that the fire in the furnace has ceased. Agreeing on the difficulty of the topic, the four decide to ask their Master the following day. Although Perfect Shade has not solved all the problems, the attentive reader is left with the impression that of all four disciples, Perfect Shade’s position is best thought through and generally not implausible. The next morning, the blue sky and the snow‑covered world reflect each other revealing

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a vista of sublime beauty. As the bell strikes ten, Master Enryō enters the lecture hall. As the four disciples present their problem to the Master, the other six disciples of the preceding dialogues are also present. The Master asserts that his students have not yet truly found the Middle with their theories. Full Sky missed that there is no material world separate from the mental; Perfect Earth overlooked that there is no external world separate from the internal; Full Light oversaw the fact that there is no divine Substance separate from the material and mental world; Fourth, Perfect Shade has not yet understood that “there is no substance of things separate from the correspondence of the internal and external world” (1: 81). This is remarkable because Perfect Shade’s position did not rely on the claim that corollaries about the substance behind the phenomena are possible. A Kantian version of the correspondence theory of truth instead holds that it is meaningless to speculate about things in themselves apart from experience. Master Enryō shifts the problem from the epistemological to the ontological level and advances that phenomena and substance are not separate things but ultimately identical. The snow in the garden appears to be formed in infinite ways, yet its substance is nothing but water. This passage is the first statement of what came to be seen as the hallmark of an original Japanese philosophy during the Meiji period. The ontological monism that Inoue Tetsujirō later proposed under the name “phenomena‑sive‑being theory” 現象即実在論, or Identity Realism will be given more consideration in Part IV (chapter 25). Here, we focus on the concept of truth, and in particular on the question raised by the four disciples in the last part of An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, namely, the question of the criterion of truth. It has to be examined if Master Enryō is able to derive a criterion of truth from his Buddhist vista of ontological unity. He says, In the perspective [lit. gateway] of identity a root of grass, a drop of water are essentially true. How could there be the need of theorizing about a criterion? In the perspective of difference, however, we realize that there exists a distinction between truth and untruth. Now, a criterion of truth becomes necessary. For example, looking at snow, to say it is white, is only possible by taking something not white as criterion. To say the sky is blue, takes something not blue as criterion. If we do not discuss the blue and the white of sky and snow, but only speak about

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color [in general], then it is not necessary to determine a criterion of blue and white. Then we rather have to discuss the criterion of color. But its criterion is not necessarily fix. Sometimes the color of the sky, sometimes the color of the snow is taken as criterion. In order to discuss the quality of action, justice and humanity are taken as criterion, and in order to discuss advantages and disadvantages of things and circumstances, happiness is taken as criterion. The criterion changes with the times and necessarily differs according to people. But moving on to the criterion among the criteria we easily see that there is something unchanging. This means realizing within the perspective of difference the logem [理] of identity. That which changes is a relative criterion. What does not change is the absolute criterion. Progressing from the relative to the absolute means the evolution of the criterion. It means to progress from the relations of material and mental phenomena and to converge in the absolute logical substance [理体] that germinates in them. If all humans evolve to converge in this substance, they all will only see the one identical truth. How could there again occur strife about right and wrong among them? This is the Perfect [enryō 円了] World. That is what people call the Golden World. This is where all teachings and studies first reach their ends. This is the one path that all explanations and theories converge on. . . . The criteria you all have put forth, are all relative criteria not the absolute criterion. Although you do not yet know the absolute criterion, if you investigate the relative criteria, and they finally coincide in one logem then this logem is the absolute criterion. You should understand therefore that the absolute criterion does not exist separate from the relative criteria. To believe that they are separate in substance means the dark night of illusion. To know that they cannot be separated means the full moon of awakening. (1: 82–84)

We can imagine Perfect Shade being very confused by the discourse of his Master. Although Perfect Shade may not object to the claim that a drop of water as such is true, he is likely to prefer saying that it is real. In his view, only beliefs or propositions can be true in the case that they correspond to facts. Things by themselves are not true, they are real. However, Perfect Shade may not have much fault to find in his Master’s next statement either, which is that

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to say that snow is white, there must be something not white. Otherwise, the proposition that snow is white is meaningless. Yet, Perfect Shade comments silently that this problem concerns the constitution of meaning, rather than the criterion of truth. Reformulating the problem also helped Perfect Shade with the next difficulty in his Master’s discourse, that is, in order to discuss color, both the color of the sky or the color of the snow can happen to be the criterion. “The meaning of abstract terms is constituted through examples rather than by contrast,” Perfect Shade thinks to himself in the short moment before his Master comes up with further examples, this time from the field of moral theory. Perfect Shade is now about to protest because the question has changed from the criterion for true and false to that for good and bad. Yet, he keeps silent as he realizes that his correspondence theory is not easily applied to truth in ethical theory. Was it possible to empirically confirm the claim that justice is good? Perfect Shade had no time to ponder the question further, because his Master finally lifts the veil. Perfect Shade listens in awe to the promise of an absolute criterion, a world immanent, self‑identical idea that would settle all doubt and appease all conflict among people. In his gray epistemological modesty, Perfect Shade is longing for such illumination. The Master’s revelation means rest from the daily routine of refuting crude Christian dogmas, which used to be Perfect Shade’s responsibility. The other nine disciples feel equally edified. The dialogue ends with their sigh about the Great Enryō Path: “This Path is like the sun shining in the sky, our delusion like this snow in the garden. As soon as the full [enryō 円了] sun in the sky emanates its rays, the illusive snow in our breast melts away and becomes formless.” In the preface to the second part, Enryō writes that he was criticized for being haughty in using his own name to refer to the Path. This comment indeed misses Enryō’s artifice of stylizing the inner dialogue. Master Enryō and his students first of all represent the author’s attempt to overcome his own biases and find enlightenment. Instead of arrogance, one could equally interpret the form of the text as modesty. However, Enryō’s answer to this criticism is also noteworthy. Using the words of a past thinker or the philosophical systems from the East or West would have limited the meaning of his discourse and therefore meant a deviation from the Middle Path. In order to overcome all past biases and limits, Enryō needed new unladen words to refer to the final truth. Enryō’s text represents just another round in the never‑ending desire to verbalize the nonverbal truth. With a twinkling of the eye,

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Enryō moreover explains that enryō is an abbreviation of the compound enman kanryō, meaning “round completion and full perfection” 円満完了 (1: 48–49). Coincidentally, his own name is the best word to express the Perfect Path. With this in mind we see that Master Enryō is not the author himself, but instead the voice of the Absolute, which reveals the full and final truth to the reader. Enryō’s disclaimer, that it is not he but the Absolute speaking, reminds us of another dictum from Hegel. Hegel supposedly once said: “What in my books is from me, is wrong.” Thus, if only the Absolute is fully true, the philosopher pursuing it has to overcome the individuality of his standpoint. While the individual perspective is necessarily particular, it is necessarily deficient. The philosopher wants to overcome all particular perspectives in order to become the medium through which the universal mind becomes transparent to itself. The transcendent Buddha opens his eyes in the individual.

14

In the Par adigm of Philosophy

E nryō’s activity during the two years after his first health breakdown in early 1887 appears almost superhuman. He not only established a school and a publishing company and launched a journal for philosophy. He wrote three works that introduced philosophy in Japan in its full thematic breadth, these were: Epitome of Philosophy (1886/87), A Survey of Ethics (1887), and Fundamentals of Psychology (1887). He effectively criticized Christianity in the Golden Compass of Truth (1886/87), he published the Prolegomena (1887), a highly influential manifesto on the reform of Buddhism, and bequeathed to posterity the intriguing artwork An Evening of Philosophical Conversation (1886/87) that exposes the world‑immanent illumination of Mahāyāna Buddhism as the ultimate sublation of philosophical theory. Although this intellectual explosion was certainly exceptional, looking at the vast amount of Enryō’s publications over the course of his life, one is almost tempted to say that he kept up this pace. His writings may be expediently divided into seven categories: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Travel diaries Articles Essay collections Chinese verse and aphorisms Middle school textbooks Lecture records Monographs

The first category is a large body of texts that documents Enryō’s extensive journeys through East Asia and the world (see chapter 16). The diaries and 109

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field notes of his travels are collected in volumes 12 to 15 and 23 of the Inoue Enryō Selected Writings.60 The second category consists of the hundreds of articles Enryō published. The more important ones were edited during his lifetime in the essay collections of category 3, which are reprinted in Selected Writings volumes 24 and 25. Other articles or essays appear as parts of Enryō’s monographs. As for categories 4 and 5, Enryō’s works in Chinese from his late period, as well as his middle school textbooks for moral education, are not included in the Selected Writings. These are, however, accessible online via the Inoue Enryo Research Database which I published on the homepage of the International Association for Inoue Enryo Research. Categories 6 and 7 represent the substantial part of Enryō’s scholarship and philosophy. Enryō’s scholarly monographs amount to about fifty books. His published lectures recorded by various students amount to about twenty books. Most of them appeared in the Philosophy Academy Lecture Records, a series Enryō created for a system of correspondence learning at his school (Ogura 1968, 51–72). In the Selected Writings, the most important of Enryō’s lecture records are reprinted, but there are several major monographs missing, namely, Notes on the Philosophy Path (1887), A Fragment of a Philosophy of War (1894), The Pedagogical View of Life and the World (1898), and Life is a Battlefield (1914), which are also available online via the Inoue Enryo Research Database. On the same website, all twenty‑five volumes of the Selected Writings and comprehensive bibliographies can be found. The texts in the Selected Writings have been edited for the modern reader. Hiragana were used throughout according to postwar standards, punctuation was added, Chinese characters simplified, and characters used in grammatical function substituted by phonetic syllabary. Besides having a table of contents for all twenty‑five volumes, the last volume of the Selected Writings provides a detailed chronology of Enryō’s life and works and an alphabetical list of his books. In volume 15 an index exists for Enryō’s travel diaries (vol. 12–15) and in volume 21 for the collected works of Mystery Studies (vol. 16–21). Separate indexes are added to volumes 22 to 24. The thematic scope of Enryō’s scholarly writings is impressive; it is possible that no Japanese scholar before and no scholar after Enryō covered such a breadth of themes. Before Enryō, the paradigmatic categories to unfold such a system did not exist in East Asia. After Enryō, no serious scholar would attempt to publish in so many scholarly fields. Enryō installed a

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framework into the new discursive space that had been opened up through the Aristotelian paradigm. In the past, there was simply Buddhist Learning. Enryō was pioneering an unknown discursive space when he was lecturing Buddhist Philosophy (1893), Buddhist Science (1897), and Buddhist Psychology (1897). The new systematic thinking allowed him to map the fields of scholarship to be pursued and taught in his academy. If there is mental education, there must be physical education. If there is theoretical psychology, there must be applied psychology. If there is an analytical approach, it must be complemented by a synthetic approach, and so forth. Tree diagrams that show classifications of sciences are ample in Enryō’s writings. It is difficult to decide whether there is one single diagram that Enryō considered his final system of sciences (cf. Shibata 2009). However, the one shown in Figure 2 is a good candidate (4: 248). Enryō differentiated three ontological domains: (1) “abstract” 無形無象 (lit. immaterial/nonphenomenal), (2) “symbolic” 無形有象, (lit. immaterial/phenomenal), (3) “material” 有形有象 (lit. material/phenomenal). The first ontological domain is the abstract world of philosophy and religion. The second domain corresponds to the humanities, although Enryō did not use this term. The third domain is the world of material objects as investigated by the natural sciences. I have added Buddhism and Mystery Studies based on Enryō’s specification of their relationship to the other sciences. To provide an overview of Enryō’s scholarship contained in his monographs and lectures (categories 6 and 7), I grouped his books according to his own system. The capitalized fields are areas in which Enryō himself contributed. The Inoue Enryo Research Database provides a file with hyperlinks. The linked pages show the group of works that can be classified under the respective discipline. In this way, an overview of Enryō’s main works can be browsed in the form of a hyperlink structure based on his own classifications. In Religious Studies, for example, there are works listed as A New Theory of Religion (1888), Philosophy of Religion (1892/93), Comparative Religious Studies (1893/94), and Proposal for Religious Reform (1902). Under the header Psychology there are shown for example Fundamentals of Psychology (1887), Oriental Psychology (1894), Lectures on Memory Techniques (1894), and Psychotherapy (1904). The category Buddhism lists, among many others, the Prolegomena to a Philosophy of the True School (1892), the Prolegomena to a Philosophy of the Zen School (1893), and the Prolegomena to a Philosophy of the Nichiren School (1895).

Figure 2. Chart of Inoue Enryō’s System of the Sciences

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At this historical stage, Enryō’s encyclopedic approach was meaningful and instrumental in establishing the paradigm in which modern Japanese humanities work today. However, Enryō was not only systematic in arranging scholarly fields. Tree diagrams, tables of categories, and charts in various forms are scattered all over Enryō’s works. Enryō considered this way of illustrating his thoughts as representative for the modern, systematic style of scholarship. In this regard, Enryō was again influenced by Fenollosa. Diagrams are frequent in the records of Fenollosa’s lectures, with the lecture on Hegel rating the highest number (cf. Yamaguchi 2009). It is noteworthy that no blackboards or similar items were in use in early modern Japanese education. It is conceivable that Enryō had adopted something of Fenollosa’s habitus, as he wore his Western suit in classroom, walking, gesturing freely and drawing large charts on the blackboard. Enryō extended the scope of his thinking by combining and arranging the paradigmatic semantic structures of the new philosophical metalanguage. Theory and practice, the True, the Good, and the Beautiful, religion and science, materialism and idealism, and so forth are recurring schemes in various contexts of Enryō’s thinking. Enryō first made the structure and then filled it with text, today we might think with too little text. I want to overstate my point here for the sake of clarity: if we read some of Enryō’s books today, we look at the table of contents and at the final tree diagram, then we have a fairly good idea about what is written in the book. However, we have to imagine readers for whom Enryō’s categories and concepts were completely new. Enryō’s historical importance tends to be overlooked even by Japanese scholars due to the fact that Enryō’s language is so common for us today. Enryō’s works are introductions, which use classifications, tables, and charts to make the new metalanguage comprehensible. Certainly, many of Enryō’s works do not show enough substance to be considered classics. However, Enryō was so busy pioneering new fields of knowledge in his rapidly changing environment that he had no time for revision or scholastic details. His discourse often ends right at the point where it becomes interesting for us today. The complexity of his texts is a far cry from Hegel or Nishida Kitarō. Enryō had the overall intention to teach, spread, and popularize the new thinking, and for this purpose his books were very successful. They were best‑sellers in Japan, and at least twelve of Enryō’s writings were translated into Chinese during his lifetime. Enryō belongs to the first Japanese authors ever that were

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translated into Chinese.61 His direct impact on Liáng Q chāo (Mori 1999; Huang 2004) and Cài Yuánpéi (Wáng 2014), two of the most influential intellectuals of modern China, is well documented. Enryō’s influence in Korea is also becoming a research focus (Satō 2014). Enryō is an indispensable historical figure for our understanding of how the philosophical paradigm in the humanities spread over East Asia. Yet, Enryō not only produced category lists and tree diagrams. During his late period, he created a garden in which the visitor can walk the new paradigm. The park invites one to stroll down the Slope of Experience into the Garden of Materialism where the Canal of Evolution spills into the Swamp of the A Posteriori. If the visitor turns right at the Junction of Dualism, she passes the Harbor of Academia on her righthand side and reaches the Garden of Idealism. There, the Bridge of Concepts leads over the Pond of the Mind to the Isle of Reason. Before taking the winding Road of Cognition through the Domain of Logic, a rest under the Pavilion of Subjectivity is agreeable. Or, one might consider the Shortcut of Intuition directly to the Station of Consciousness. The Temple Garden of Philosophy that Enryō built successively since 1909 still exists in Tokyo and is open to the public every day. It is a living testimony of its creator’s genius, which is characterized by a curious tension between structure and metaphor. Anybody disappointed by the all too schematic character of Enryō’s philosophy might be asked to take note of the analogies and comparisons he makes. There are still discoveries to be made with regard to Enryō’s keen sense of metaphor.

Interlude on Enlightenment

I n Part II, a narrative of the reception of philosophy and science in Japan was presented, which render plausible the self‑concept of the first and second‑ generation intellectuals of the Meiji period as enlightenment thinkers. The application of the term enlightenment to evaluate certain aspects of the Japanese history of ideas is not intended to establish the seventeenth‑century European Enlightenment as the prototype. This becomes clear when the indispensable function of the term enlightenment is understood. Being aware of historical change brings about the question of whether change is for the better or for the worse. Change for the better is called progress, and progress in the realm of thought we call enlightenment. At its core, the term enlightenment simply refers to the discovery of valid ideas in history. The function of the concept therefore demands the discussion of validity, or in other words, the necessity of a philosophical approach to the history of ideas. I argued that the modern concept of truth as it was institutionalized in Japan with the founding of Tokyo University is such a case of the discovery of valid ideas in history. Truth as seen in Nishi Amane and Katō Hiroyuki has been specified as an idea that is a priori undetermined with regard to content. It is defined as the outcome of methodological investigation verified by correspondence to facts or by theoretical consistency. The Love of Truth that Enryō proclaimed in the preface of the Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism therefore, means an a priori commitment to the outcome of academic investigation, excluding other sources of validity. Recourse to neither the authority of founding figures nor to the revelation of transcendent authority is a valid argument for truth. This secular, academic concept of truth cuts through many religious discourses of Christian and Buddhist provenance.1 115

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Enryō can, therefore, be meaningfully distinguished as an exponent of the Buddhist Enlightenment. Although it was never established as a separate school in East Asia, one might point to the tradition of Buddhist logic, beginning with Dignāga (480– 540) and Dharmakīrti (seventh century), to argue that the idea of validity by argument only is not alien to Buddhism. Regarding the Confucian tradition, however, whether the modern idea of academic research meant any historical innovation is even more contestable. Therefore, I will make a few remarks regarding the relationship between Chinese philosophy and European philosophy. Promoters of the Japanese Enlightenment such as Nishi Amane, Katō Hiroyuki, Fukuzawa Yukichi, Toyama Masakazu, and Nishimura Shigeki unanimously contrasted the progressive character of Western philosophy with the allegedly stagnant and dogmatic Confucianism.2 We do not have to follow their judgment about Chinese philosophy, but neither will we say that they fully misunderstood the Western tradition. In the triad of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, philosophy was founded as a culture of discussion. Socrates sought to avoid the attitude of the teacher as he was aware that learning is never complete. Socrates, therefore, approached his partners in conversation, not to convince, but instead hoping to learn from them. Because Socrates proved to be superior in discussion, his declaration of knowing that he does not know appeared to be ironic. He nevertheless stayed firm in the attitude not to teach, in order to give an example of somebody who continuously searches for the truth. For the honest seeker of truth, discussion is not about winning arguments; instead, it demands the attitude of hope for refutation, because unless one is refuted by a better argument, nothing has been learned. If two people philosophize in this spirit, the discussion loses its confrontational character. Such dialogue between friends is a joint search for wisdom. We owe this picture of Socrates to his grateful student Plato, who exposed the Socratic dialogue as the existential and methodological starting point of philosophy by bequeathing his complete philosophy in the literary form of the dialogue. In the academy, which Plato founded as a forum for the concerted endeavor of wisdom, his best disciple Aristotle arose as Plato’s most striking critic. As Aristotle explained, it was his duty as a philosopher to prefer the truth, even if it collided with the opinions of his teacher (NE 1096a). The archetype of the modern scholar, Aristotle, is testimony to the success of

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founding a school of thought on a purely formal idea. To be a philosopher commits one a priori to no specific content. Philosophy rules out nothing, and thus is kept open for the new. The progressive character of ancient Greek philosophy even found its way into the Bible, although it is mentioned there with a polemical intention. The interesting passage in the Acts of the Apostles about Paul preaching in Athens reads: So they [i.e., the Athenians] took Paul and brought him to the Areopagus, saying, “May we know what this new teaching is that you are proclaiming? For you are bringing some surprising things to our ears, so we want to know what they mean.” All the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there used to spend their time in nothing else than telling or listening to something new. (17.19–21) Now when they heard about the resurrection from the dead, some began to scoff, but others said, “We will hear you again about this.” So Paul left the Areopagus. (17.32–33)3

The philosophically spirited Athenians were open‑minded enough to listen to Paul, but they were not convinced by his teaching of the resurrection from the dead. So Paul left the Areopagus. Philosophy is not progressive for its own sake; rather, it is, in principle, willing to discard tradition if there are good reasons to do so. The progress philosophy made possible in the West is not the result of a somehow internalized Christian eschatology (see Interlude on Progress). The thinkers of the Japanese Enlightenment were right in perceiving the frightening dynamic by which the European nations were swept away as the outcome of the indetermination of the philosophical search for truth. Agreeing so far with the Japanese Enlightenment philosophers obviously says nothing about whether their portrayal of Confucianism as backward and dogmatic was adequate. At this point, Western philosophy might still turn out to be an entirely wayward complex of thought when compared with the Chinese tradition. Merely affirming the paradigm of ancient Greek philosophy entails no predilection for any concrete tenets. The concept of philosophical research is moreover not the only idea that constitutes Enlightenment. As defined above, the term Enlightenment should be used as an assessment for historical moments when ideas became apparent, that we still consider valid today. The dawn of Chinese Humanism during the period of the Various

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Masters and Hundred Schools 諸子百家 was certainly an Enlightenment age. Thanks to Wm. Theodore de Bary the many civilizational achievements Neo‑Confucianism meant for East Asia have become known to the West: individualism in learning, an educational program based on human equality, access to government service based on capability, and political reformism (de Bary 1983). What Minamoto Ryōen called eighteenth‑century Empirical Rationalism in Japan anticipated many features of the Meiji scientific enlightenment (Minamoto 1979). This list is not closed, and it is certainly beyond my scholarship to complete it. In order to know what humanity can learn from East Asia, its history has to be continuously re‑viewed and reevaluated. These few remarks are meant to underline that we should not follow Japanese Enlightenment thinkers unquestioningly in their criticism of Confucianism. Their need to push themselves away from their own educational background resulted in an overly negative assessment. Arguably, this is reflected in the new terms by which they referred to Confucianism and the other great traditions. The modern Japanese equivalents to the English terms Confucianism and Buddhism, are Literati Teaching 儒教 and Buddha Teaching 仏教. In the case of Buddhism, the category teaching replaced older expressions such as the Buddha Dharma 仏法 or the Buddha Path 仏道 (Shimazono 2004, 193–96). The former expresses the self‑concept of the religion as transmitted from India. The latter, although the metaphor of the Path 道 is not alien to Indian Buddhism, suggests an East Asian apprehension. The metaphor of the Path, like the metaphor of the Gate 門 evokes a movement onward, and therein appears less static than kyō 教 (teaching), hō 法 (law or dharma), or shū 宗 (school or sect). The Gate metaphor mostly implies a plurality of approaches, whereas the Path more often involves a claim of singularity. This is also the case with the self‑concept of Taoism, as the tradition of the Path per se. In analogy with Buddhism and Confucianism, the reference to Taoism was equally composed with “teaching” in modernity, that is, Teaching of the Path 道教. Now, the reference to Buddhism, Confucianism, Islam, Taoism, Christianity, and so forth in modern Japanese as “teaching” suggests that they are all constituted by a certain invariable set of tenets. Rather than a certain Path that has to be followed or a certain Gate that has to be entered, the traditions are thought to be constituted by their canonic contents. In the case of Confucianism in particular, it is questionable whether this apprehension does justice to the tradition. The literati themselves referred to their

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repertoire of cultural practices as a type of “learning” 学 (Yoshida 2012, 47). Although learning is seemingly only the complement to teaching, the former not only emphasizes activity and motivation on the part of the individual, but also leaves open the question of whether or not a canon of content exists. Analogous to Nishi’s translation of the term, if philosophy is Wisdom Learning 哲学, Confucianism can be referred to as Literati Learning 儒学. Like the love of wisdom, the will to learn evokes an open‑ended process, and thus entails the possibility of discovering the new. It is noteworthy that in Chinese the expression Buddhist Learning 仏学 also existed and is still common today (cf. Azuma 2009, 258f). The Japanese expression Literati Teaching suggests a canonic set of ideas, whereas the Western term Confucianism suggests that the figure of Confucius is the single focus of the tradition. Both expressions, therefore, stress a tendency to orthodoxy in Chinese thought. Since, in contemporary East Asian academia, nobody would argue a proposition only by invoking the authority of the Analects, the problem merely concerns how Chinese philosophy in the past should be described, not how academic discussion should be pursued in the present. To what extent and in what respect Neo‑Confucianism after the life of its foundational thinker Zhū Xī (1130–1200) developed into an orthodoxy in East Asia has been comprehensively discussed by Wm. Theodore de Bary. De Bary points out that, inside the Neo‑Confucian paradigm, at least three different types of orthodoxy can be distinguished. Orthodoxy in the narrower sense can be seen in the Neo‑Confucianism of the Míng dynasty (1368–1644), when Neo‑Confucianism was first made the state doctrine. The second type was represented by scholars of nonofficial schools, who upheld orthodoxy by cultivating the nonpolitical, more existential aspects of Zhū Xī’s teaching. Regarding the third, most liberal type, under which de Bary subsumed the overarching thinkers Wáng Yángmíng (1472–1529) and Huáng Zōngxī (1610–1695), a clear line between an orthodoxy based on an authoritative set of scriptures and a scholarship based on a conventionally acknowledged corpus is difficult to draw (de Bary 1981, 187–94). Wáng Yángmíng’s refusal to accept tenets against his own insight even if they are sayings by Confucius (Roetz 1992, 280), indeed closely parallels the Amicus Plato quotation from Aristotle (cf. chapter 12). The model of the sage Confucius as a political adviser of feudal lords predisposed Chinese philosophy to be developed into an official doctrine for

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the bureaucracy. During the Míng dynasty (1368–1644), the Neo‑Confucian canon of the Four Books and Five Classics, as formed by Zhū Xī, was made the examination standard for entering government service. The central institute of higher learning as first established by the Hán dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE) became the scholarly and ceremonial center for official Confucianism. This was to last until the end of the Imperial era. The primary source of authority in the case of Neo‑Confucianism was therefore not reli‑ gious, in the sense that it was based on a notion of holiness or transcendence, but imperial, that is, political. This difference is veiled by the Japanese nomenclature Literati Teaching coined in analogy to Buddhist Teaching and Christian Teaching as well as by the Western term Confucianism in analogy to Buddhism and Christianity. Confucius was certainly not the founder of a religion like Jesus or Buddha. Neo‑Confucianism was consecutively made official doctrine in Korea, Vietnam,4 and, by the end of the eighteenth century, in Japan. Whereas in tenth‑century Korea and in twelfth‑century Vietnam an examination system for government officials was established, the military or feudal regime of the Tokugawa in Japan refrained from introducing this central feature of political Confucianism. Access to government service in Japan was not based on performance only, but remained hereditary, that is, was restricted to the warrior class. It might be assumed that the absence of such an examination system decreased the necessity of determining doctrinal positions. However, this was not necessarily the case. The Japanese Zhū Xī school also professed to a political program, which outlived Tokugawa rule. The ambitions of state Confucianism to control official education played an important role in the events preceding the foundation of Tokyo University in 1877. The Japanese equivalent to the central training institute for governmental officials in Imperial China was the Prosperous Plain School 昌平黌 in Tokyo. The school, named after the birthplace of Confucius, had been assigned the education of the bureaucracy during the Edo period. In 1869 the new Meiji government attempted to restructure the Prosperous Plain School to become the central national academy, which led to the quarrel between Confucianists and Shintoists concerning ceremony that has already been mentioned (chapter 11). The preamble of the regulations for the new school issued in 1870 reads as follows:

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There are no times or circumstances that are not substantially the Path. Its principles are the [human] ties and the abiding [virtues]. Its tasks are ruling and government. The school’s purpose is to explicate this Path and to benefit world and nation. The teaching to heed filial obedience, the Path to govern the nation and pacify the world, and the learning of the ever‑renewing [日新] natural sciences [kakubutsu kyūri 格物窮理] must therefore all be thoroughly investigated. It is essential “to stay on the just Path of heaven and earth” and “to search knowledge throughout the world,” so that inside and outside may be mutually supporting, here and there mutually serving. How could we not serve this sacred direction!5

A long list of notes would be necessary to explicate all references and allusions included in this rather cryptic text. In the first half, the Confucian references are pervasive. Social cohesion, the cardinal virtues, and the responsibility for good government are exposed as the unchanging moral basis of academic endeavor. The phrase kakubutsu kyūri, which literally means “investigating things and examining their principles,” refers to scientific studies in the Neo‑Confucian system. The addition “ever‑renewing” suggests a continuity between Neo‑Confucian empirical rationalism and the progressive natural sciences that were to be pursued at the new academy.6 With the “just Path of heaven and earth” and the “search for knowledge throughout the world” the enlightenment aspects of the 1868 Imperial Oath are cited. By referring to the oath as “sacred direction,” the academy as such is distinguished as an imperial undertaking. The attempt to give the national academy a metaphysical foundation in the Path, with either the Confucian or Shintoist interpretation, was also reflected in the faculty order: the four faculties of Science, Law, Letters, and Medicine that later constituted Tokyo University were presided over by a Faculty of Teaching for the study of Confucian morals and Shinto theology. The national academy was discarded five months after the issuance of the regulations. The two years of constant struggle between Zhū Xī Confucians, State Shintoists, and the scholars of Western Learning, over curriculum, administration, and ceremony is the historical background for the unanimous chiding of dogmatic scholarship by the intellectuals of the Japanese Enlightenment.7 These events underline Katō’s accomplishment in founding Tokyo University

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as an institution free from dogma and orthodoxy based only on the idea of free academic inquiry. Katō nonetheless demanded that no less than everything, that is, the Indian, the Chinese, the Japanese, and the Western classics, had to be studied to meet the standards of the university. To say that Neo‑Confucianism did not allow for discussion or science is obviously erroneous. Every literate tradition will, at a certain level of its refinement, develop a philology, have discussions about authenticity, and conduct exegesis of its scriptures. Further, since no orthodoxy is comprehensive, scientific investigation can be cultivated wherever it does not collide with the doctrine. But as such, dogmatic content or canonic scriptures of religious or political authority present a blind spot. The 1869 preamble of the national academy, cited above, permitted scientific progress, but posited morality and politics beyond academic inquiry. The separation of the practical and the theoretical realms has sound reasoning behind it, since progress in ethics is less manifest and less regular than scientific and technological advances. But who would deny that utilitarianism and human rights represent significant modern contributions in practical philosophy? The preamble of 1869 would not have allowed for a critical evaluation of the moral and political foundation of the nation in the light of these developments. This is best illustrated by the nativist scholars’ attempt to censor the famous passage in Mencius that allows for a right of revolution.8 In contrast, the idea of the university as it was realized in 1877 grants a 360‑degree view from the purely formal vantage point of truth. Early Tokyo University had no founding document. Its only theoretical underpinning was Katō’s conviction that “The final aim of all sciences is to investigate the truth.” Although it is doubtful whether Katō’s positivist idea of truth is equally as appropriate in law and ethics as it is in the theoretical sciences, it is in my view not overstated to pinpoint the founding of Japan’s first modern university as the transition from the scholarly paradigm of Neo‑Confucianism to the paradigm of philosophy in East Asia. A last observation shall be added: since around the middle of the nineteenth century, the technological margin of the more and more aggressive European imperial powers was apparent to every government in East Asia. In Japan, Korea, and China, reform movements arose demanding steps to face this threat. Similar slogans expressed the envisioned compromise between their own particular cultural identity and Western modernity. The key slogans

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were, in Japan, “Japanese Spirit, Western Skills” 和魂洋才, in Korea, “Eastern Path, Western Technology” 東道西器, and in China, the expression “Chinese Substance, Western Functions” 中体西用 (Kōsaka 1997). By the nineteenth century, the examination system in China and Korea, although originally based on human equality, had resulted in both dynasties in a distinguished Confucian gentry. From within this gentry, namely the mandarin 官 (Ch. guān) in China and the “two orders” 両班 (Kr. yangban) in Korea, the reform movements faced considerable opposition, were protracted, and ultimately failed.9 In Japan, the ruling class were “warriors” 武, and so were all the early protagonists of revolution, modernization, and enlightenment. Although equally infused with Neo‑Confucian education, the samurai stripped off their Confucian ideology without thereby completely negating their identity. In this one decisive moment in history, they repelled their Chinese heritage with the resolution with which the warrior repulses his enemy. Needless to say, many other factors played a role in this. The most important, surely, was the existence of a powerless, but legitimate, emperor in Kyoto who represented an alternative to the military Tokugawa rule. It might still be correct to say that an examination system that, regardless of social status, allows the most capable to work for the state is a major civilizational achievement worthy of all admiration. In this respect, Japan lagged behind China, Korea, and Vietnam during the Edo period. That this circumstance turned out to be an advantage in what was a turning point in world history, exposes the contingency in historical processes. A contingent advantage that bore tragic consequences; as soon as the new Japanese leaders had accomplished their strenuous task to catch up with Western civilization, their warrior heritage smoothly transformed into imperialism that plunged Korea and China into even deeper calamity.

Part III 

The Protection of Country

15

The Truth and the Good

E nryō began his Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism with a statement of his philosophical principles about Protection of Country and Love of Truth: “Who is born and does not care about his country? Who learns and does not love the truth? . . . Generally, it is the duty of the scholar to love the truth and the duty of the people to protect their country” (3: 330). Enryō confirmed this basic stance several times in later writings (Miura 1986). Two years before his death, in his last important monograph Philosophy of Struggle (1917), Enryō expressed the wish that his life would be remembered as being consistent regarding his two principles, Protection of Country and Love of Truth (2: 443). A critical examination of Inoue Enryō as a philosopher must, therefore, examine not only the validity of these principles, but also whether Enryō’s life and works were indeed consistent with Protection of Country and Love of Truth 護国愛理. Following the initial declaration of Protection of Country and Love of Truth, Enryō complicated the matter considerably by arguing that both normative principles or duties were not only not contradictory, but ultimately even one and the same. The nation cannot progress without scholarship. A scholar cannot exist without his country. . . . The nation occupies only a small part in the world of truth. It is like an isolated island in one corner of the great ocean. In this perspective, we have to say that the duty to love the truth is heavy and the responsibility to protect the country is light. But if countries do not exist, mankind cannot live. If only the truth existed, who would know about it, who would explicate it? Explication of the 127

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truth is up to intellectuals and scholars. For intellectuals and scholars to be born, an independently existing country is necessary. Therefore, if scholars know about their duty to explicate the truth, they will certainly have to pray for the independence of the nation. . . . Seeing it this way, Protection of Country and Love of Truth are not two but one. Separate from the sentiment to love the truth, no wish to protect the country exists. Separate from the wish to protect the country, no sentiment to love the truth exists. . . . Although the basic spirit [本心] of Protection of Country and Love of Truth is one, their direction is different. In the same way as it is impossible to go east and west at the same time, one person cannot pursue both at the same time. Therefore, according to circumstances and status, one person will place Protection of Country first and the Love of Truth second. Another will pronounce the Love of Truth on the front and pray for the Protection of Country on the back. The tendency to put an order of first and last or front and back between Protection of Country and Love of Truth is therefore inevitable. . . . Although I put the Love of Truth first and the Protection of Country last, because the basic spirit of loving the truth is one with the wish to protect the country, everything I say for the sake of the truth is finally nothing else but an outflow from my affluent spirit to protect the country. (3: 331–32)

Enryō identified the Love of Truth as the duty of the scholar and Protection of Country as the duty of the citizen. Both duties demand different practices and therefore cannot be pursued at the same time. Reading books in order to find the truth and paying taxes in order to maintain the state go in “different directions” insofar they pursue different ends. However, philosophically the duties are not only not contradictory, but they are also necessary complements of each other. “The nation cannot progress without scholarship. A scholar cannot exist without his country.” It is not controversial that knowledge and technology can benefit a country, but how about the more abstract truths of philosophy and religion? Enryō does not discuss the utility of truth any further at this point, instead he stresses that scholars, just like any other citizen, should be aware of the social circumstances that sustain their existence. Enryō even claims that the survival of mankind in general depends on the existence of nation‑states. And without humanity, nobody would be there to know the truth.

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Thus far, Enryō gives support to the claim that Protection of Country and Love of Truth are necessary complements of each other. In what sense, then, are both principles one and inseparable? Enryō suggests that because each principle alone is philosophically inconsistent, then they must be brought together in one mindset. As one underlying mindset or “basic spirit” they are inseparable. Even in the moment of fulfilling the one duty, fidelity to the other duty is present in form of the basic mindset to fulfill both. The search for truth may be conducted in the hope that it benefits the country and the paying of taxes may be done as support of academia. Enryō’s insistence that the values of truth and national well‑being are in harmony with each other has a concrete historical background. The enactment of the Imperial University Law in 1886 sparked a debate about the independence of the university.1 It was from this law that the older Tokyo University was reformed to become the Imperial University. The Imperial Ordinance for the Founding of Imperial Universities (according to the official translation) is known to have been the first official document to use the term imperial in public (Terasaki 2008, 234). The contentious first paragraph reads in the official translation: “Imperial Universities shall have for their objects the teaching of such arts and sciences as are required for the purpose of the State, and the prosecution of original research in such arts and sciences.”2 Katō Hiroyuki opposed the law and resigned as president of the university because the law not only established more government control over the university but also confined academia to utilitarian purposes. In a later essay, “What Makes the University a University” (1899), he gave reason to his resignation by explicating his basic concept of academic research. It is obvious that the university as such has a certain solemn aspect to it. It is the place where the innermost of science is investigated. To research the profundities of science, to a certain degree removed from society, is the essential character of the university. If this feature gets lost, then that what makes the university a university is lost. Examining animals and plants, investigating psychology, scrutinizing the profundity of philosophy, and knowing the sublime of literature is not directly necessary for society. But this does not contradict the idea of the university. Instead to criticize this feature is a vulgar misunderstanding of what higher education means. Compared with the Faculties of Letters and

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Science, the Faculties of Law, Medicine, Engineering, and Agriculture have a more direct relation to society and respond greatly to social needs. But even these departments not only teach what is immediately necessary for society. At the university, scientific theories are researched as scientific theories in their full depth.

Katō advocated the idea of research for its own sake. The idea is that if science is always confined to what is useful, then groundbreaking discoveries, such as Newton’s mechanics or Darwin’s theory of evolution, might never be made. Such discoveries are only possible through scientists who search for the truth as such, irrespective of its applicability. This requires the university to be independent from utilitarian considerations as demanded by the state. Enryō’s two principles, Protection of Country and Love of Truth, which he pronounced the year following the enactment of the Imperial University Law, can be interpreted as an entry into this indeed intricate debate. Enryō’s discussion in the Prolegomena seems to imply that the tension between scholarship and social contribution is merely superficial. In A Survey of Ethics (1887), published the same month as the Prolegomena, Enryō moreover formulated a utilitarian stance that is different from Katō’s idea of research for its own sake. Although it is right to say that the end of all the sciences is to disclose the truth, there is no reason to take something as true, that has nothing whatsoever to do with the [human] world. If truth really has no relation to utility, science pursuing the truth would certainly not exist. Further, there is theory and application in all sciences. The purpose of the theoretical sciences may be to disclose the truth, the purpose of the applied sciences is clearly public benefit. Seen in this way, the [final] purpose of the scientific search for truth is to generate benefit. Particularly politics, morals, and religion are studies that emphasize benefit. Their purpose is nothing else but social peace and happiness. Hence, all sciences and technologies are not more than means to achieve the purpose of life. (11: 24–25)

The difference between theory and application shows that truth is not the ultimate end of science, but only an intermediate result that is finally applied for practical purposes. Compared with Katō’s theory, Enryō’s standpoint has the advantage that it rules out forms of research that are indeed futile, such

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as, for example, counting grains of sand, researching the use of the comma in Kant, or coining neologisms to verbalize the ineffable. In Enryō’s speech at the opening ceremony of the Philosophy Academy, in January 1888, he shows an awareness that philosophy in particular is easily criticized as useless. He convincingly argues for the manifold benefits philosophy can have for other vocational studies. For example, philosophy improves the medical doctor’s understanding of human nature, it will provide the historian with a theoretical framework for writing about society or politics, and it will also be helpful for the priest in reflecting on the doctrines of his religion (Schulzer 2014b). During his middle period, Enryō added to the understanding of his key principles, Protection of Country and Love of Truth, by explicating them plausibly in terms of practice and theory as well as nationalism and universalism. However, he also remarks that Protection of Country springs forth from “self‑love” 自愛 and Love of Truth from “universal love” 汎愛 (4: 199f). By this claim, Enryō again wishes to underline the complementary and inseparable character of his two principles. The assumed symmetry between self‑love and universal love, however, veils the fact that the love of universal truth is a metaphor derived from love between human beings. Self‑love might also be seen as a metaphor applied in the relation to our selves, but it stands in contradistinction to the real love of the other, not of the truth. The category mistake apparent here obscures the fact that the universal love of truth does not benefit anybody in the concrete and immediate sense, as the principle of self‑love benefits the individual. The love of truth might be universal, but it is not apt to balance national egoism. In order to prove the unity of his two principles, Enryō’s comparison with egoism and altruism, as he also says, is not convincing. In his late period work, Philosophy of Struggle, Enryō elaborated once more on Protection of Country and Love of Truth: Philosophy has an Upward Gate and a Downward Gate. The Upward Gate is in the direction of theory, the Downward Gate is in the direction of practice. The Upward Gate starts out from [research on] the grounds of mind‑matter relations and proceeds from there [step by step] to the true realm of the Absolute. The Downward Gate applies the such explored theory in direction of us mankind. (2: 416) The purpose of the Upward Gate is the Love of Truth. The original intention of the Downward Gate must be the Protection of Country.

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According to my experience accumulated in decades, I feel that the state of our country demands to put energy not in the Upward Gate but in the Downward Gate. Unintentionally, I came to discover the Love of Truth in the Protection of Country. This is the basic principle of my Living Philosophy [活哲学]. (2: 292)

Based on this elaboration, Enryō further specifies that “the Upward Gate is the means and the Downward Gate is the end” and defines that the final end of the Downward Gate is “improving human life” (2: 235). In Part II, the primacy of theoretical philosophy was apparent in both the Aristotelian concept of philosophy as the systematization of all knowledge (i.e., horizontal truth) and the Hegelian or respectively Buddhist notion of philosophy as the speculative sublation of all theory in the Absolute (i.e., vertical or upward truth) (cf. chapter 13). During the course of his intellectual development Enryō came to feel increasingly dissatisfied with the latter type of “upward philosophy” and therefore complemented it with a downward type of philosophy. This downward philosophy, which includes ethical, political, and educational aspects, can be referred to as practical philosophy. When Enryō states that upward philosophy is the means and downward philosophy the end, it is a clear declaration of the primacy of practical philosophy. Some expressions of the primacy of practical philosophy can already be found in Enryō’s early works. As has been quoted from A Survey of Ethics, Enryō specifies the purpose of all science as the application of knowledge for the benefit of society. In the Prolegomena, he characterized Buddhism as applying metaphysics in religion, which is in fact Enryō’s most basic argument for the superiority of Buddhism (3: 339). Buddhism transposes upwardly directed speculation into ascetic and charitable religious practice. The idea that not only Buddhism, but philosophy too, has a direction downward to concrete practice is prominent only in Enryō’s late writings, particularly Philosophy of Struggle. There he argues that philosophy itself becomes a religion by descending from the Absolute and being realized in practice. Enryō, therefore, defines Buddhism as philosophical religion and in addition eventually also postulates a “religion of philosophy” 哲学宗. The center of veneration of this new philosophical religion was to be the Four Sages Shrine in his Temple Garden of Philosophy.

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There is a shift in meaning when we compare Enryō’s late thoughts about the primacy of practice with his earliest discussion of Protection of Country and Love of Truth. In the Prolegomena, he states that the duties of Protection of Country and Love of Truth cannot be fulfilled both at the same time, because protecting the country in war, or maintaining the country through taxes, are essentially different from reading books. Therefore, Enryō professes that he personally takes Love of Truth to be his first duty and Protection of Country his second. When, in Philosophy of Struggle, Enryō says that he found the truth in the Protection of Country (2: 292), his perspective has changed. In the first instance, Protection of Country referred to concrete actions as opposed to scholarship. In the second instance, Protection of Country is a value claimed to be valid or true by practical philosophy. The philosophical problem Enryō broached by claiming that Protection of Country and Love of Truth are “one not two” is an intricate one. It touches the general question of how the Truth and the Good relate to each other. Two ways of stating the identity of the Truth and the Good have to be distinguished in order to clarify the relation between theory and practice: 1. External Perspective: Truth functions as value (or as good) in scholarship. The life lived for theory is also a practical life. Just as the medical doctor’s primary value is health, the scholar’s primary value is the truth. 2. Internal Perspective: Ethical propositions claim to be true. Whatever we discuss—the Good, the Beautiful, or the Holy—truth claims are involved. Truth is the medium of philosophy.

In very concise form, the intertwined relationship between the two perspectives can be summed up by the sentence: By saying the truth about the good, the philosopher does good. Applying this to Enryō’s discussion of his key principles in the Prolegomena and Philosophy of Struggle, we can say, that in the Prolegomena, Enryō claims in external perspective (A) that the life of a scholar is his contribution to the country. In Philosophy of Struggle, Enryō claims discourse-internal perspective (B) that his emphasis on the practical philosophy of Protection of Country is true. In his Quick Primer of Philosophy from 1899, Enryō expresses the primacy of practical philosophy for the first time with great clarity:

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Philosophy researches the distinctive feature that makes human beings human among all things in the cosmos: in other words, it researches the mind. It is correct to say that, among all fields of research, only philosophy can be called the study of mankind [人間の学]. We have to say—although from outside seemingly with self‑praise—that the scholarship that specializes in the research of human beings is the worthiest among all sciences, because human beings are the worthiest of all things in the world. . . . The aim of the sciences to research all kinds and all things between heaven and earth comes down to nothing else but the aim to benefit human society and to correspond to its needs. However, it is philosophy that studies human society itself. Therefore, philosophy can indeed be called the king of sciences. (2: 29f) To be born as a human being and to walk through this world without questioning the end of mankind, is in my view the greatest impropriety. Confucius even said: “hearing about the Path in the morning, I might as well die in the evening” [Ana. 4.8]. The Path is the same as the end of mankind. But this aim cannot be researched by physics, or by astronomy: this for sure is up to philosophy. However many days one might spend peering into the microscope, the Human Path is certainly not going to appear there. However many months one might spend staring into the telescope, the human end will never be found out that way. Since we have been born as human beings, it is right to realize the study of philosophy irrespective of pleasure as one’s inevitable duty. (2: 53)

In the same lecture, Enryō introduces Socrates as the founder of ancient European “human philosophy” 人間哲学 (2: 48). Together with the quote from the Analects this testifies beautifully how philosophy, in its Socratic point of departure as seen in Plato, and ancient Chinese wisdom, as seen in the Analects, coincide in their overall humanistic outlook. In Part II of this book (chapter 13), German Idealism and Mahāyāna Buddhism come together at the crossroads of world philosophy because of their shared speculation on the Absolute. In this instance, Socrates and Confucius shake hands regarding their common interest in the Human Path 人道. At the university, all sciences aim for the truth. However, it is only philosophy that provides a reflection on the general meaning that knowledge has

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for mankind. This is due to philosophy’s overall practical horizon and not because philosophy produces supreme theoretical ideas. Enryō, therefore, calls philosophy the “king of sciences” 学問中の王様 (2: 30). This distinction of philosophy as the highest form of wisdom comes close to Plato’s original vision of political philosophy as the “kingly art” (Gr. basilikê technê), which leads human beings to wisdom, virtue, and happiness (Euthydemos 291). Plato was the founder of the academy, which produced the archetype of the scientific scholar, Aristotle. In Aristotle, the academic standpoint of theory for its own sake prevailed. Yet, this theoretical outlook from within the academy loses sight of the practical significance of the academy itself. It is the function of the academy to be theoretical, but this function was assigned to the academy for practical reasons. The founder’s idea was that theory for its own sake has practical value, in other words, that the Truth is a Good. When this practical idea about the function of the academy is taken inside the academy and kept alive in philosophical thinking, the university can be called self‑reflexive. This means the university not only functions to produce scientific truth, but is also capable of answering the question, What is this truth good for? The university is self‑reflexive only by knowing its own value for human civilization. The principles of Love of Truth and Protection of Country and their analogy with philosophy and religion as well as theory and practice are the indeed lifelong coordinates of Enryō’s thought. In the following, these principles will be the framework for the examination of Enryō’s activities and the contents of his practical philosophy.

16

Man of the World

E nryō laid the foundations for his later life between 1884 and 1888. He established himself as leading intellectual of his time and founded a private school for philosophy that had many notable supporters. Now, in 1888, he wanted to see the world, which he had read so much about, with his own eyes. Enryō had a geographical and historical knowledge of a kind that was inaccessible to most people in Japan a mere fifty years before his time, and he was also able to read and communicate in English. His studies at Tokyo University had further provided him with the global outlook he had longed for during his childhood years in Niigata. He was trained in Chinese, he had studied both Buddhism and Christianity, and lastly, but perhaps more importantly, was his rare expertise in modern Western philosophy. The great traditions of mankind had come together to provide him with a unique global purview. In his childhood poems, he had welcomed the age of globalization as an age of peace and brotherhood of man, where the “eldest sons are acquiring wisdom near and far.” At the age of thirty, he left Japan for his first of three trips around the world (cf. Miura 2013). Enryō’s global journeys had the purpose of study and inspection; they were not mere tourism by today’s standards. The first trip, in 1888–89, especially was modeled on the Iwakura Embassy. Enryō followed almost the same route as this embassy to the West that had birthed a whole epoch. He traveled over the Pacific to the United States of America, then crossed the Atlantic to Europe where he visited England, France, Germany, Austria, and Italy. On his return trip, he took a ferry through the Suez Canal and cruised around India and Southeast Asia on his way back to Japan. Enryō concentrated his first inspection tour on an element of Western civilization that had largely 137

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Map 1. Inoue Enryō’s World Travels

been outside the focus of the government officials of the Iwakura Embassy. As a problem to be solved, religion was a constant issue in political discussion between the ambassadors (Maxey 2014, 72–92), but compared to factories, government institutions, public transport, education, science, and so forth religious organizations were not given much attention in their inspection visits. Enryō wanted to compensate for that lack of information about religion in the West. In his Journal on Religion and State in Western Countries (1889), he reported on a broad range of observations about the institutions, practices, and doctrines not only of the various strands of Christianity, but also about Mormonism in the United States and Judaism in Europe. This first trip provided Enryō with many ideas for his proposals for the institutional reform of Buddhism. The second world trip in 1902–03 took a similar course, but this time in a westward direction. Going on land first in India, Enryō visited the holy places of Buddhism. His tour through the Western countries, which this time also included Russia, had a broader focus. Enryō spent three months in the British Isles, and his records show, besides a general ethnographic curiosity in churches, industry, and domestic life, a particular interest in the educational

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system. His extended stays in English villages inspired Enryō to found the Morality Church 修身教会 in 1903, into which he poured so much effort during his late period. Enryō’s third trip around the world, in 1911–12 at the age of fifty‑three, is the most unique. Enryō was a character who literally went his own way. Enryō might have been the first Japanese to travel extensively in the Southern Hemisphere. Departing from Japan, he traveled to Australia and from there to South Africa. From Cape Town, he took a boat all the way to Europe, where he visited the Norwegian city Hammerfest, which claimed to be the northernmost city of the world. Enryō’s plan was to travel from the most northern point of human habitation to the most southern one. From Europe, he headed to South America and visited Punta Arenas in the south of Chile. Passing the dangerous Magellan Strait, he traveled with several stopovers up to Mexico, from whence he took a boat via Hawaii back to Japan. Up and down and around was the concept behind Enryō’s third trip. He wanted to know the world in its full extension. Another purpose of the journey appears to have been an expedition in anticipation of Japanese expansion. Enryō proposed that Japan’s future colonization efforts should be directed toward the Southern Hemisphere (Feb 1914, 138). Coming back from his first world tour, Enryō not only had the authority of a scholar with a broad intellectual view, but also the air of a man of the world, one who knows what he is talking about. After the phase of establishment between 1881 and 1888, Enryō’s life entered a period that is best described by the word leadership, both in opinion and as manager of the Philosophy Academy. A letter written by Lafcadio Hearn (1850–1904) for the Japan Weekly Mail (July 4, 1891) is an impressive testimony to what the thirty‑ three‑year‑old Enryō represented at that time for the Japanese public. The lucky snapshot depicts Enryō in his best light during his best days.

Letter from Shimane Matsue, June 23rd. The visit of Mr. Inouye Enrio [sic] to Matsue [松江] was an event of considerable interest here. The author of the Bukkyō Katsuron [仏教活論, or Living Discourse on Buddhism], and director of the Tetsugaku Kwan [哲学館], or “College of Philosophy” is too well known in educational

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circles to need any little sketch of his life and work at the hands of your correspondent. Mr. Inouye visited Matsue in the course of a tour which he has been making through Japan, for the purpose of enlisting friends and obtaining substantive support for a very important undertaking, which is neither more nor less than the establishment of a Japanese University of Oriental Languages,—somewhat after the style of the Parisian École des Langues Orientales, and to be called “Nippon Daigakko” [日本大学校, or Japanese University]. However, in the present idea of Mr. Inouye, I think the purpose of the proposed University to be especially philosophical education: in other words, the purely linguistic part of its programme would be somewhat subordinated to the philosophical; and the teaching of Sanscrit or of Pali would have for its special object the study of ancient Indian philosophy, such as that of the Vedantic School, and the philosophy of the Northern and Southern Schools of Buddhism. The same would hold good of the teaching of Chinese and perhaps several other Oriental tongues. But the study of certain Eastern dead languages, of archaic Chinese and archaic Japanese, would represent, nevertheless, but one side of the University system. On the other side the modern Western system of philosophy would be taught by teachers capable of harmonizing modern science with the profounder truths of Oriental metaphysics. Modern scientific evolution,—the systems of Spencer and Haeckel,— would find their spiritual symbolism in the ancient thought of the East. Schopenhauer,—himself an emanation of Buddhism, would be elucidated through the works of the great Indian teachers from whom he drew his best thoughts,—thoughts which have now a far larger influence in Europe than during the life‑time of their Occidental apostle. The system of Spinoza and the mightiest of Sanscrit poems, the Bhagavad‑Gita, might be brought into apposition. What would be attempted as an ultimate end would be a synthesis of Occidental and Oriental Philosophy,—an elucidation of cosmic philosophy through the study of the best thought of the human race, combined with the knowledge of the largest results of contemporary science. That so large an undertaking should be dreamed of in Japan will certainly startle those who hold the Japanese to be an essentially unspeculative people. There will be many to say this cannot be done at all,—that

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for generations to come the Japanese must seek for the highest educational opportunities abroad, and that no native institution will ever be able to offer such facilities to the student as those great universities of England, France, and Germany, where Oriental languages are taught. That there should ever be a Japanese Max Muller, a Japanese [Eugène] Burnouf or [Stanislas] Julien, a Japanese [Albrecht] Weber or [Viggo] Fausböll, a Japanese [James] Darmesteter or [Georg] Buhler, will be doubted by those who know that the only great native Sanscrit scholar in Japan, Bunyiu Nanjio [sic], is a graduate of Oxford. But Mr. Nanjio has done for Oriental studies no small service;—his catalogue of the Buddhist Tripitaka is the most perfect work of the kind in existence; and this work, I believe, was done at home. At all events, one cannot always judge the fate of an undertaking from the difficulties or weaknesses of its beginnings. Vast results have been evolved from smaller beginnings than this effort of Mr. Inouye Enrio. Moreover, he has a foundation to build upon,—the Tetsugaku Kwan,—which is by no means a weak one. He has also the support and confidence of many of the best minds in Japan. I had the extreme pleasure of meeting and conversing with Mr. Enouye [sic] during his brief stay in Matsue. A handsome, courteous, elegant gentleman, who seemed as much at home in this faultless European attire, as if he had been born in Paris. Although, with his vigorous health, he appears somewhat younger than he really is, he still gives the impression of being very young to attempt so much as he is attempting; but certainly such an undertaking will need the vigour and self‑confidence of youth to push through. Mr. Inouye also gives one the impression of a man without prejudices—eclectic in his ideas and his judgments. I should say that his strongest sentiment is devotion to Japan. It is, indeed, this sentiment which is the stimulating motive of his present project. He is not one of those who wish merely to make Japan independent of foreign teaching; but one of those who desire to make her preserve and cultivate her own precious bequest of knowledge from the past. “In travelling through Europe,” he said “I was struck by the fact that in the great educational establishments there, the teaching of sciences and arts is conducted upon a patriotic system whenever possible;

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especial attention being directed to the history of a native art or a domestic invention, or any branch of knowledge which had its beginning at home. Particularly is this true of American educational tendencies; large importance being attached to every noteworthy discovery or science of American origin; those of foreign origin receiving not a smaller, but nevertheless a secondary, consideration in order of examination. This is a healthy manner of considering large facts in their relation to national life; and has the effect of strengthening the student’s pride and confidence in his native country. It were well if Japan should imitate this spirit. While it is true that much which now belongs to Japan had a foreign origin, it is equally true, and much more important to remember, that it was afterward greatly modified in Japan, and made distinctively national through the experience of centuries. Men have indeed claimed that Japanese Buddhist philosophy, for example, and Japanese Buddhism itself in all its phases, are exotic. Both, however, have been so much changed and remodeled since their introduction into this country that they have become so strikingly specialized as to obtain a distinctive native character. So with various Japanese arts, the origin of which may be sought abroad: they have become so differentiated from the parent forms as to constitute various totally new species of aesthetic production. Japan is now learning of what other countries have done; but while thus reaping vast advantages, it would be in the highest degree regrettable that she should allow herself to forget what she also has been able to do. Oblivion of it would mean, to some extent, loss of self‑confidence.” Mr. Inouye made a number of addresses during this visit; one to the students and teachers of the Chiu Gakko [中学校, or Middle School], two to those of the Normal School, two to the members of the Educational Society of the Prefecture, two to the public in Miosoji [?] Temple, and one to the public in Saikoji [西光寺] Temple—and one to the Buddhist Society of Matsue (Bukkyō Seinen Kwan) [仏教青年館, or Young Buddhists Clubhouse]. In his address to the students, he spoke to them of the influence of natural surroundings upon the sense of beauty and upon the imagination,—introducing his subject by an account of his first impression of the scenery of Matsue, which is remarkably beautiful. He said that, viewed from some eminence overlooking the city, the scenery of Matsue, with the outline of its hills, bore a curious

Figure 3. Photograph of Inoue Enryō (ca. 1890)

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resemblance to the scenery of Rome, which he had visited,—excepting that instead of a lake, low vast plains extended beyond the Eternal City to the hills. His speech had such influence with the elder students, that I understand numbers of the young men propose to travel this summer to certain parts of Japan, simply for the purpose of trying to realize those higher sensations which the lecturer described as the effect of beautiful or sublime scenery. It is one charming instance of the profound faith of Japanese youth in their teachers and mentors.

Hearn’s high expectations in the Philosophy Academy as the crossroads of the “best thought of the human race” and the “largest results of contemporary science,” where a synthesis of East and West would first become possible, was shared by Enryō’s Japanese protectors. Thinking of such famous men as Katsu Kaishū or Katō Hiroyuki, it is without exaggeration that Hearn writes that Enryō has the “support and confidence of many of the best minds in Japan.”3 Hearn’s statement that Enryō’s “strongest sentiment is devotion to Japan” is remarkable and accurate. The reform of Buddhism and the revival of Oriental scholarship as a contribution to Japan’s independence was already a feature of Enryō’s activities before his first international journey. Enryō was part of a group of young intellectuals that came together in 1888 as the Politics and Teaching Society 政教会. In its journal The Japanese, which was published in Enryō’s Philosophy Press, the society pronounced the “principle of the preservation of national genuineness” 国粋保存主義, or simply “nativism” (Nakano 1993). The Japan Weekly Mail commented on this trend in “The Rising Generation” (1889), as follows: In our excess of enthusiasm to learn from Europe and America, we unconsciously overlooked much in our own original civilization that was worth preserving and developing. . . . Notions like these are now strongly agitating the minds of the educated classes, especially of the rising generation. . . . Not dislike, still less hatred, of foreigners constitutes the essential feature of that spirit, but an intense absorbing desire to be independent and original in national development.

Immediately after his return from overseas in 1889, Enryō further co‑founded with several fellow Buddhist scholars the Great Coalition for Revering the Emperor and Serving the Buddha 尊皇奉仏大同団, an organization

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described as fiercely anti‑Christian (Thelle 1987, 103). Based on the nativism principle, it asserted Buddhism’s status as the national religion and as an intrinsic element of Japanese history and culture (Klautau 2011). The same claim, which is also articulated in Hearn’s article, was pronounced by Enryō as early as the Golden Compass of Truth and the Prolegomena. Hearn’s report moreover correctly testifies that Enryō’s observations in the Western countries fostered his mission to revive native Japanese religion and scholarship. What he had experienced in the leading Western nations was a patriotic spirit that extended into the education system. “National life” and “domestic inventions” were stressed to the “effect of strengthening the student’s pride and confidence in his native country.” When we consider the increasingly aggressive fervor that was accumulating in the Western powers at that time, Enryō’s observations appear realistic. The idea of civilization that Enryō strove to emulate was based on national principles. The contradiction entailed in the universalist claim of civilization and national pride became more and more apparent during the peak of imperialism that ended in the disastrous consequences of World War I. In 1891, however, Japan was a country stifled by unequal treaties in the midst of an existential struggle to avoid colonization. Fighting for independence is always based on nationalism, as no fight would be necessary if there were nothing national to preserve. In such a crisis, it is the legitimate ambition of an educator to safeguard as much as possible of national scholarship and culture. A last aspect of Hearn’s depiction of Enryō shall be noted. Hearn met Enryō in Matsue, capital of today’s Shimane prefecture facing the Sea of Japan in the Southern part of Japan’s main island. This was on Enryō’s second lecture tour through the country, an activity he continued throughout his life. These lecture tours, which covered the whole country, were conducted for educational reasons as well as in order to raise revenue for the Academy. This method of fundraising came about after the destruction of the new school building by a typhoon in 1889. In 1896, the Academy was again destroyed, this time by fire. Student fees and donations by rich benefactors were not enough to overcome such hardships, much less to expand and improve the Academy. On his lecture tours, Enryō collected entrance fees, asked for donations, and encouraged enrollment in the intra-­or extramural program of the Philosophy Academy. His personal popularity was an important asset in the promotion of the Academy. During these early years he sometimes gave lectures before

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crowds of two or three thousand people (Miura 1998). Far from the capital, he must have been an impressive figure in his “faultless European attire,” speaking about the conditions in the West and about the unknown science called philosophy. The fact that this man of the new world professed to Buddhism, a religion considered a relic of old times and expected to fully wither in the near future, was surely an eye opener for many.

17

Education

A fter his graduation from Tokyo University, Enryō had several options: first, returning to his village to succeed his father’s ministry; second, working as a scholar priest for the modernization of his sect in Kyoto; and, third, making a career as a government official in the Ministry of Culture (Miura 2008b, 344). It is difficult to give definite reasons for Enryō’s choice to dedicate his life to private education. Several influences shall be considered: Philosophy. Enryō introduced philosophy to the varied educational landscape that was emerging during Meiji Japan. In the Founding Ideas of the Philosophy Academy, he presented philosophy as the highest form of science because it determines the principles of all things. Philosophy, in the spirit of Aristotle, delegates the other sciences to their respective ontological domains and takes the overarching realm of metaphysics to be philosophy’s original competence. The founding document of the Academy further states that this highest form of scholarship is also the best training for the human mind. This claim, however, is given little corroboration in this founding document. In his Quick Primer to Philosophy, Enryō fills this logical gap by giving four benefits metaphysics has for the individual learner. The study of philosophy is a method, firstly, “to refine the intellect,” secondly, “to widen the thinking,” thirdly, “to ameliorate the sentiment” by diverting from bodily desires, and, fourthly, “to pacify the mind” by giving final answers (2: 56–58). The fourth point expresses Enryō’s belief that philosophy can provide the individual with a metaphysical worldview that answers questions about the cosmos and about life and death. The horizon of practical philosophy that examines human virtue and asks for the good ends of conduct is not 147

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part of the argument. Besides Enryō’s appreciation of Socrates as a teacher of morality, there is little evidence that he perceived education as an important idea of Western philosophy. In the overall importance Enryō gave to education, however, he was in fact closer to Plato than he realized. To propose ideas about morality implies a hope that fellow human beings will live accordingly. In the Republic, Plato demonstrates how the question of education naturally arises from the inquiry into the good (bk. 2–3, 7). And yet it was Aristotle and not Plato who dominated Enryō’s idea of Western philosophy. Enryō’s practical horizon of the Protection of Country nevertheless led him to reflections on philosophy’s overall contribution to human civilization. Inside the academy, the Aristotelian paradigm reigns, but the academy’s overall raison d’être lies in the practical ideas of its founder. In his Quick Primer to Philosophy, Enryō elaborated on the necessity for the spread of philosophy in Japan. Because the [natural] sciences are about the concrete world, they easily affect the human eye. Because philosophy is about the formless, it is overlooked by the human eye. Therefore, the public only admits the blessing of science, but it does not know the gifts of philosophy. We can call this the misfortune of philosophy. In the concrete world of the past, it took many days to walk across mountains wearing straw sandals. But now that steam‑boats and steam‑trains have been invented, we can travel for one hour or half a day, sleeping with our hands in [our] pockets. Therefore, everybody thinks there is nothing to be more thankful for than this. In the politics of the past, people were suppressed by violence. Indeed, exceedingly cruel [practices existed] like holding the whole family liable if a single person committed a crime. Because today, on the grounds of philosophy, the aim of mankind and the reason of law and freedom are understood, punishments like clan liability have disappeared. But this is not met with gratitude to the same extent. . . . Furthermore, if there is no progress in education and morals, there will certainly be no inventions in science. It is obvious that the various inventions that have been made in recent times are in every respect a result of the progress in education and morals. For example, there is

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technology and knowledge. Is knowledge born from technology, or is technology born from knowledge? It is obvious that the progress of knowledge first allows the invention of technology. If we look at the modern civilization of the West, various technologies have been invented in the eighteenth and today’s nineteenth century. But in the course of the past three or four hundred years, politics, religion and education have first been entirely reformed, according to the progress in philosophical thinking. Afterward, the results of the technological civilization appeared. In other words, philosophy is the root and the stem on which the flower of technology blossoms. In sum, if the progress of philosophical thought means progress of knowledge, it can be ascertained that today’s civilization came into being through the progress of philosophy. (2: 54f)

On the first reading of the second paragraph, it is not obvious why progress of morality should be a precondition for scientific inventions. Enryō’s argument only shows that knowledge is antecedent to technology. Yet, if we think of law and freedom, as mentioned in the first paragraph, it is possible to concede that liberal ethics are an important precondition for individual efforts in science and technology. The quotation testifies to Enryō’s strong commitment to the idea of philosophy. Philosophy had to be promoted in Japan because it was the key to civilizational progress. The above quote is, however, not representative of Enryō’s philosophy. Freedom is not a frequent topic in Enryō’s other writings. He also did not profess to a liberal ethics. Western philosophy was the main contributor to the theory part of Enryō’s teaching, but his elevated ideas on education and the educator had their origin elsewhere. Buddhism. As has been mentioned in chapter 1, Enryō received most of his early education in the main hall of his father’s temple until the age of fourteen. Enryō was aware of the important social function temple schools had in providing education for the lower classes during the Edo period (2: 426). In his Buddhist philosophy, Enryō stressed how the spirit of Mahāyāna Buddhism lay in active welfare and education sectors. Moreover, he took pride in not being an educator for the elite, but called himself a “peasant scholar” 百姓的学者 (2:

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205) of “country learning” 田学 (14: 365). In directing his educational projects explicitly to the unprivileged classes, the spirit of True School Buddhism is apparent. The following words by Shinran could easily have been spoken by Enryō: That people of the countryside, who do not know the meanings of written characters and who are painfully and hopelessly uneducated, may easily understand, I have repeated the same things over and over. The educated will probably find this writing peculiar, and may ridicule it. But paying no heed to such criticism, I write only that ignorant people may easily grasp the meaning.4

Confucianism. In Part II, light was shed on the structural dominance of Western concepts in the academic metalanguage of modern Japanese. As the prefix meta-­ indicates, this does not rule out that original East Asian ideas were preserved in the new discourse. This applies particularly to ethics and education. The modern Japanese terms for “learning” 学習 (gakushū), “morals” 道徳 (dōtoku), or “education” 教育 (kyōiku) convey the same meaning that these Chinese characters have in the ancient sources. The Chinese humanist tradition is essentially a philosophy of learning and teaching about wisdom and virtue. Famously, the first sentence of the Analects reads: “The master said: Is it not delightful to learn and regularly practice [the learned]?” An influential text for primary education during the Edo period called Real Words Teaching 実語教 contains the lines: “Jade which is not polished does not shine. . . . Humans who do not learn have no wisdom.” Thanks to the tradition of Chinese learning, Japan was a highly literate society around 1800, a half‑century before the opening of the country.5 The key to Japan’s success in modernizing herself with such breathtaking speed was the recognition on all sides of the necessity of education. Government officials and private intellectuals, the State Shintoists and Buddhists of all schools, new Christian converts and old Confucian scholars, all saw education as the key to reform. This broad consensus cannot sufficiently be understood without reflecting on the more than two thousand years of Confucian learning in East Asia. Enryō’s thorough training in the Chinese classics has already been mentioned. This educational background came to the forefront in Enryō’s manifold efforts to spread the Imperial Rescript on Education, which will be introduced in the next chapter.

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Fukuzawa Yukichi. What has been said about Chinese learning being a formative element of Enryō’s education applies even more so to the first generation of enlightenment thinkers. Although Fukuzawa famously criticized the uselessness of traditional Chinese scholarship, the influence of the Confucian tradition in terminology and ideas is also apparent in his An Encouragement of Learning (1872–76). At least the early volumes belong to the most widely circulated texts during the early Meiji period, and were also among Enryō’s early readings. The work’s overall motifs, as expressed in the title as well as the idea that education should be open for everybody, are thoroughly Confucian.6 The text is nevertheless for good reasons the locus classicus for modern Japanese liberalism. Heaven does not create one person above or below another person. This means that when people are born they are all equal. There is no innate distinction between high and low. It means that people can freely and independently [jiyū jizai 自由自在] use the myriad things of the world to satisfy their daily needs through the labors of their own bodies and minds and that, as long as they do not infringe on the rights of the others, may pass their days in happiness. . . . [T]here are no innate status distinctions separating the noble and base, the rich and the poor. It is only the person who has studied diligently, so that he has a mastery over things and events, who becomes noble and rich.7

Fukuzawa set the example of the modern educator in a private initiative. His private school, today’s Keio University, was the first of a number of nongovernmental schools that were founded during the Meiji period, and which eventually developed into Japan’s large private university sector. Enryō is only one of several influential educators and school founders during the Meiji period who followed Fukuzawa’s example. Enryō mentioned Fukuzawa explicitly as the role model in his efforts to popularize philosophy (Miura 1996, 37). Regarding the origin of Enryō’s conception of himself as being an educator, the evidence is not clear. The self‑concept itself is, however, most apparent. Arguably, all of Enryō’s activities can be subsumed under the category of education. Being an educator was equally as important for his self‑concept as being a philosopher and being a man of religion. Rather than writing for eternity, he wanted to help Japan in the present. The close relationship between

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his lecturing and his works is symptomatic of his attitude of speaking immediately to the Japanese public. As a scholar, Enryō could only see himself as contributing to the reform of Japan by being an educator. Enryō’s educational activities not only included publishing and managing the Philosophy Academy; he also worked as a type of lobbyist for private education in the capital. His idea was to develop the Philosophy Academy into a school for the training of middle school teachers. This was based on the notion that while philosophy is not a vocational study, philosophical training produces good teachers. In 1890 and 1894, Enryō, together with other private academies, applied for permission to grant teaching certificates for governmental schools. The first time, the application was declined; the second time it was permitted. In addition, in 1899, Enryō founded the Capital North Middle School. Aiming at an integrated school system from kindergarten up to the university, in 1905 he also developed the Capital North Kindergarten. Further, between 1898 and 1904, Enryō edited at least five series of middle school textbooks for moral education. In 1900 he was appointed to be a member of the Examination Board for Moral Education Textbooks by the Ministry of Culture, and in 1901 the cabinet appointed him member of the Committee for High School Education. This line of Enryō’s activities came to an end because of a personal crisis that was triggered by the Philosophy Academy Incident in 1902–03 (see chapter 20). He resigned as principal of the Philosophy Academy and the Capital North Middle School in 1906 and withdrew from the Capital North Kindergarten in 1907. However, all three institutions still exist today. Enryō also expressed theoretical ideas on education (Jacinto 2014). In The Pedagogical View of Life and the World: or, About the Educator’s Mental Peace (1898), he expounded his high and, to some extend, visionary notion of education. This book emerged from lectures given to schoolteachers in the provinces. In the lectures, Enryō directly addresses primary school teachers and attempts to elevate their spirits and stimulate a heightened sense of their responsibility. The structure of the book is not perfectly clear and the text as a whole is somewhat puzzling. As the title suggests, Enryō holds that there is a genuine pedagogical worldview in the same way as there is a philosophical and a religious one. Enryō first widens the view of the educator through a comprehensive account of the formative influences on human development. Besides intentional education in the family, in schools, and among friends, there are

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unintentional formative influences on the individual through the social environment. Every aspect of society, custom, politics, industry, religion, games, sports, ceremonies, amusement, and even naming plays a role in the formation of the individual. These factors of socialization in the “human school” are complemented by environmental factors in the “natural school.” The climate, the earth, the landscape as well as flora and fauna all influence the mentality of the people. Enryō proceeds, So far I have explained how every single thing and circumstance in the cosmos teaches and influences us human beings. In other words, heaven and earth are our school and all things are our teacher. Therefore we can say that all things between heaven and earth are endless learning and endless books provided by nature. The school you gentlemen are engaging in is a dead thing [死物]. The school of nature is a living thing [活物]. The studies you gentlemen pursue is dead learning. The study of nature is living learning. The books you gentlemen love to read are dead books. The book of nature is a living book. (36) School education is like a branch office of natural education set up in the human world. School education is like natural education presented to human beings in small scale. If so, then you gentlemen engaged in school education, you should be called the pedagogical representatives of nature, or else, heads of the branch school of nature. As heads of nature’s branch school you represent everything between heaven and earth and shoulder alone all competence in the human world. This is why I say that your profession is not a human profession, it is a heavenly profession. (39–40)

Enryō further encourages the educators to find joy in the perception of the whole of nature as their own garden or their own villa. The moon and the sun are their friends, mountains and rivers are their colleagues, and minerals, plants, and animals their relatives. After his treatment of the human and the natural school, Enryō goes on to distinguish a “mental” or “spiritual school.” The spiritual world is the realm of our mind. The mental world is a small cosmos and a small nature. It contains everything in miniature. It opens another world and thereby becomes another school and another place of education. The teacher and books of this school are

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nothing else but all the ideas won through past experience. Although the mental world is small, because the realm of experience is extremely broad, the ideas that can be won from there are not at all few. By combining and connecting all these ideas, ideas not born from experience come into existence. It not only becomes possible to catch a glimpse of ages bygone for innumerable years, but also to imagine the future uncountable years ahead. . . . Our mind convenes the great sages, great scholars, and great educators of past and present during thousands of years. We meet them and have exchange with them in one room. Buddha should be invited for a talk. From Confucius one thought should be elicited. What has been desired from teachers a thousand years ago and will be desired from friends hundreds of generations in the future, to become free and detached, only exists in the mental world. (44–46)

In the case of the environmental factors in human development it is imaginable that awareness of these influences is of some help for the educator. The mental world, instead, is not a secondary influence on the developing child. Acquaintance with the cultural heritage is the very content the child should learn at school. Enryō passes over this asymmetry and proceeds to define the educator as the mediator of the natural and the mental world. Natural education is like the infinite space limitless in its scope. Spiritual education is like the endless time eternally in its extension. In the former, everything in the world is our teacher. In the latter, all saints and sages of past and present are our teachers. . . . The school you gentlemen engage in is really a small school when compared with the natural and the spiritual school. No, devising education by selecting and combining [elements of ] nature and spirit is only a small example of education. In other words, taking materials from nature and schemes from the spirit is nothing else but a school of convenience to organize the human world. Gentlemen, if you are engaging in education, you have to know that you represent nature on the one side, and that you express the spirit on the other side. In sum, gentlemen, you are in the human world representing the natural and the spiritual world. (47–49)

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Upon hearing such a discourse, it is conceivable that provincial school teachers might be left perplexed. Enryō not only refrains from giving any concrete advice on how the natural and spiritual school could be employed in education, he explicitly criticizes education that only exploits natural and cultural elements for teaching. Enryō wants to awaken the educator to the role of being the psychic medium of all possible cultural and natural meaning. It is the luck of the educator that he is allowed to span all worlds. The greater his hermeneutic sensitivity to the manifold significance that lies in human existence, the more he is able to exemplify for the next generation. The worldview of the educator must begin from the fact that he means the world for his children. As expressed in the title, Enryō also becomes more specific about the life‑view of the educator. Given that humanity is the most wonderful creature in existence, teaching humanity is therefore the most superb profession of all. The most important and thereby the most responsible form of school education is the primary school education. It comes first and therefore lays the groundwork not only for the individual child but also for the whole nation. Although salary and appreciation are low for primary school teachers, the educator’s gratification is happiness and immortality. By moving the children’s hearts, the educator sends out waves on the ocean of society that continue to exist in later generations. It is in the consciousness of an eternal presence in the human world that the educator finds mental peace (50–57). The book indeed delivers what the title promises. Enryō shows that an educator’s perspective on existence does not need to rely on philosophy or religion. Enryō provides educators with a quasi‑religious worldview that raises their sense of responsibility and affords them mental peace. While we may indeed question whether the provincial teachers found Enryō’s discourse helpful, the book does reveal much about Enryō’s own sense of being an educator. Enryō saw himself as a psychic of nature and mind. The notion of “reading the living book of nature” that Enryō unfolds in Pedagogical View of Life and the World was seminal for his late masterpiece, the Temple Garden of Philosophy. In this park, Enryō gave expression to his intuition of how nature can be perceived under the aspect of its significance for human existence. Not objectively and not aesthetically, but as a semiotic message that, when properly read, speaks to us. The narrowness of the gorge represents the dogmatic intellect. The Island of Reason is surrounded by the dark waters of madness. But calmness of the pond also reflects the tranquility of the mind.

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Walking the path through the Grove of Endless Beings is like the continuing flow of history. Upon finally reaching the open hill, time and space are disclosed to the mind. In a famous passage, Nietzsche verbalized a similar inspiration, which can be kept in mind while exploring the Temple Garden of Philosophy in Tokyo. The involuntary quality of the image, of the simile is most strange; one no longer has any idea what is image, what is simile; everything offers itself as the next, the truest, the simplest expression. It actually seems . . . as if of themselves things came to one and offered themselves as similes. . . . Here on every simile you ride to every truth. Here the words and word‑coffers of all being spring open for you; here all being wants to become word, here all being wants to learn speech from you.8

18

Japanese Ethics and National Polity

B esides theoretical philosophy in an Aristotelian as well as Hegelian manner, Enryō also had concrete ideas about practical philosophy. Downward philosophy aims at the Protection of Country and the improvement of life. In this chapter, the contents of this idea shall be discussed. What sort of ethics was Enryō proposing? What kind of morals are taught in his middle school textbooks? How could the individual improve human life and help his country? In his early works A Survey of Ethics (1887) and Fundamentals of Ethics (1891), Enryō introduced Western ethical theory to Japan. His discussions are critical of the intuitive faculty of conscience, which he regards as the common ground of English moral sense theory, Christian ethics, and Mencius. Enryō disagrees with moral sense theory and criticized it based on a combination of utilitarianism and evolutionary theory (11: 62–87), which can be traced back to Herbert Spencer’s Data of Ethics (1879). Conscience is not an invariable trait in human beings, but like everything else in nature the result of evolution. Humanity should be striving to evolve to higher forms of society that maximize human happiness. This kind of ethics, however, does not play any role in Enryō’s moral philosophy after 1891. The modern Japanese State was given its legal and ideological basis when the Constitution of the Great Japanese Empire 大日本帝国憲法 was enacted in 1889, and the Imperial Rescript on Education 教育勅語 was promulgated in 1890. The constitutional system, with the god‑emperor as the political and religious axis of the nation, remained in effect until 1945. When the Imperial Rescript on Education was promulgated, Enryō fully embraced the decree as the new moral foundation of the emerging Japanese nation. From then on, his effort to protect the country manifested in educational activity that he based 157

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on the Education Rescript. His moral and educational writings from 1891 until his death were without exception based on the generally Confucian morals contained in the different imperial edicts (cf. Jacinto 2016). The Education Rescript is a complex topic. Filling only half a page, it was the single most influential piece of text until the end of World War II. From the late Meiji period onward, it represented the Imperial Household in ceremonies performed in schools and other public spaces (Gluck 1985, 146–56). The historian Robert K. Hall said of the period beginning about 1931: “By official interpretation, it was possible for militaristic leaders in Japan to convert a relatively innocuous and even rather impressive document into a tool of ultranationalism” (Hall 1974, 35). The translation below is not the official translation from 1907, but instead the less cited rendering contained in Inoue Tetsujirō’s officially commissioned commentary Extended Meaning of the Rescript (1891).9 Our ancestors founded the State on a deeply meditated plan, while their virtues were implanted with deep and far spreading roots; and Our subjects, loyal to their Sovereign and dutiful to their parents, have all been as of one mind, and have thus in every successive age been able to bring to maturity the beauty of their character. Such is the essence and flower of Our national polity, and such is verily the source from which Our educational system takes its origin. You, Our beloved subjects, ought to be dutiful to your parents, affectionate to your brothers, loving to your wives or husbands, and truthful to your friends. You must deport yourselves with humility and moderation, while in your relations with your fellow creatures you should practice an enlarged benevolence. You should develop your intellectual powers and ripen your moral capacity by acquiring knowledge and by learning some business pursuits. You should then proceed to promote the public interest and give extension to the affairs of the community, always respecting the constitution and obeying the laws of the country. In case emergency demands it, you should courageously sacrifice yourselves to the public good, and thus offer every help for the maintenance of Our dynasty which will be eternal even as are the heavens and the earth. You will thus not only be Our loyal and faithful subjects, but will serve to display the good character of your ancestors of old.

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These are the precepts which have been bequeathed to us by Our Ancestors, and it is the duty alike of their descendants and of their descendants’ subjects to observe them. These precepts are sound, whether viewed in the light of the past or in that of the present, and are found to be correct, whether practiced at home or abroad. It is Our wish that We, in common with yourselves, laying these precepts to Our hearts, may equally attain to the same virtues. Given this 30th day of the 10th month of the 23rd year of Meiji.

Besides loyalty to the unbroken line of emperors, allegedly reaching back to prehistory, in its main part the Rescript teaches mostly traditional Confucian values. Yet, it is noteworthy that the relation between woman and man is postulated to be “loving” or “harmonious” toward each other. This suggests a symmetry that deviates from the Confucian classics, where the gender roles are described as “separate,” which in effect meant the subordination of woman to man.10 In this point, the Education Rescript is likely to have been influenced by the Western discourse on gender equality, which was received in Japan for example through John S. Mill’s The Subjection of Women (1869). Other modern elements are the mentioning of public interest and obeisance to law and constitution. The most problematic aspect is, of course, the commandment to sacrifice oneself for the nation and emperor in the case of an emergency. The pseudo‑religious instrumentation of the Education Rescript was moreover possible in combination with paragraph three of the constitution, which provides for the sacredness of the Emperor. The divinity of the Imperial Household is based on the oldest Japanese chronicle from the eighth century, the Record of Ancient Matters 古事記, which tells of the mythical ancestry of the Japanese emperors from the sun goddess. In the Rescript we also witness the citing of the key concept of Aizawa Seishisai’s New Thesis (1825), the term national polity 国体. In the course of the history of modern Japanese nationalism, the idea of a sacred Japanese political body took on a quality of sheer mystical importance. Enryō’s adolescent reading of Aizawa’s manifesto, the most influential writing of the Late Mito School, must have facilitated his affirmative scholarly reaction. In 1893, Enryō published his Proposal of Japanese Ethics, which transposes the ideas of Aizawa’s Chinese treatise into readable modern Japanese. In the chapter “About

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the Japanese National Polity” Enryō discusses the coincidence of loyalty and filial piety in following way: The numerous subjects of our country are all descendants of the Imperial Household and family. When we understand that our country is characterized by the family union of lord and subject, we should also know that from old the coincidence of loyalty and filial piety is the great origin of [our] morals. This is the unique character of our nation. The path of loyalty and filial piety in other countries is different. As for example in China filial piety is esteemed. But in our country loyalty is most esteemed. This is because on our shores everybody is royal retainer, and because our country is characterized by its unified people. Loyal service to one’s lord is equivalent to pious service to ones parents. When loyalty and filial piety cannot be accomplished both, we rather neglect piety and keep up loyalty. Therefore, all subjects offer their service to the Imperial Household. Thinking further about the reasons for this development, [the answer is] that in our country the relation between lord and retainer equals the relation between father and son of one family. The heavenly Emperor is our father. To exert loyalty toward him feels like exerting piety toward one’s father. Loyalty has been regarded as the great filial piety. This led to the national character of the coincidence between loyalty and filial piety and to morals which particularly esteem loyalty. (11: 238–39)

Enryō states here the theory that the Fundamental Meaning of the National Polity, the notorious summary of Japanese ultranationalism from 1937, expressed using the concept of the “family state” 家族国家 (9). According to this theory, the relation of Emperor and subject is analogous to the relation between father and son. The nation as whole has a family‑like structure. In times of national crisis, loyalty is given primacy over filial piety, because the small family depends on the continuance of the great family. Through this streamlining of all social relations on to the figure of the Emperor, the national polity gains a totalitarian structure. Further, Enryō holds that the Japanese people are all descendants of the Imperial Household. According to this claim, family and nation are not only structurally analogous but, in fact, biologically related. Qua this relationship, the nation would be one great family or clan. The idea of biological

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coherence of the national polity is not expressed in the Education Rescript. Inoue Tetsujirō’s translation, as well as the official translation, analyzes the compound shison shinmin 子孫臣民 in the last paragraph as being separate groups, namely “descendants and subjects.” Grammatically, it would also be possible to read shison as an attribute of shinmin, in the sense that the subjects are the descendants of the Imperial Household. Yet, this idea is also not made explicit in the Fundamental Meaning of the National Polity, which keeps up the separation of Imperial Household and subjects by saying the Emperor regards the subjects “as descendants of the subjects of the Imperial Ancestors” (30). Although the text defines the Imperial Household as the “head family” 宗家 (sōke) of the Japanese people (46), the question of kinship is left somewhat ambiguous. The ancestry of the Japanese people from the Imperial Household and thereby also from the Gods themselves is not explicitly stated. In Living Discourse on Loyalty and Filial Piety, another work from 1893, Enryō elaborates on the idea of the people’s ancestry in the Imperial Household. In order to give the Japanese national polity a transcendent underpinning, Enryō cites the same metaphysics that also appear in his Buddhist philosophy, namely, the idea of an immanent Absolute of which all phenomena are but manifold embodiments. In Living Discourse on Loyalty and Filial Piety, Enryō calls this immanent Absolute “pure ether” 純気 or “divine ideal” 理想即神 (11: 327f). Enryō explains that the national polity should be discussed from an objective and a subjective point of view. The objective point of view can be further divided between focusing on the material or on the human world. The material world are the features of the Japanese environment, such as climate, landscape, and animate nature. Focusing on the human world, the objective perspective reveals the Japanese national polity as the historical singularity of an unbroken line of Emperors since the founding of the country. Enryō proceeds to discuss the national polity in a subjective perspective in relationship to the mental world. From old a kind of sublime ether manifested to become the great Japanese Spirit [yamato damashii 大和魂] and grew into the purest loyalty and filial piety. In this way, a type of sacred national character took shape. The reason that this was possible is nothing else but emanation from the ideal divine ether. In other words, a particularly subtle kind of ether has aggregated here and revealed this Beauty and Goodness.

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This ether, it has emerged on our land and became the superior beauty of our mountains, rivers, and plants, it has become our mild climate, and the fertility of our earth. It has emerged as our national polity in the form of our bright and sacred Imperial Household. It has emerged in our people as the purely good and truly loyal Japanese Spirit. Because the divine ether has emanated becoming such Goodness and Beauty our country has to be called a divine country. Because in our ancient people this ether was abundant, and in their purest hearts no impure ether was mixed in yet, we revere the people of this age by calling them Gods [kami 神]. The notion of God should be understood as mind emanated from pure ether. Because our land emerged from the divine ether, this land has to be called a divine land. Because our nation developed on this sacred land, our nation has to be called a sacred nation. Because our Imperial Household has solemnly preserved the ancient pure ether until today, this Imperial Household has to be called sacred Imperial Household. Because we subjects originate from the Imperial Household, are descendants from the Emperor, the Son of the Gods, these subjects have to be called sacred subjects. (11: 328f)

Similar to the marriage between the duties of loyalty and filial piety, the chauvinist notion of the Japanese people’s ancestry from the Gods is also not Enryō’s original idea; rather, it can be traced back to the early modern nativist scholar Hirata Atsutane (1776–1843) (Antoni 1987). However, we do find in Enryō’s Proposal of Japanese Ethics and his Living Discourse on Loyalty and Filial Piety from 1893 early statements of the ideology that became the straitjacket of Japanese totalitarianism during World War II. The first director of Toyo University’s Inoue Enryo Memorial Research Center, Takagi Hiroo (1987b, 117), has acknowledged the agreement between Enryō’s ideas about the national polity and the ideology of later Japanese ultranationalism. The Proposal of Japanese Ethics is also considered as the primary model for the ensuing discourse on civic morality, particularly for Inoue Tetsujirō’s influential Outline of Civic Morality from 1912 (Ienaga 1959, 84). Nevertheless, it remains uncertain as to whether Enryō’s writings were particularly influential or particularly radical. Already by 1893 more than thirty commentaries on the Education Rescript had been published (Katayama 1974, 310–11). The commentaries and related writings on the Education

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Rescript, published between 1890 and 1926, were collected into fifteen volumes. In this postwar edition, Enryō is represented by four texts.11 Given the decline in Enryō’s academic reputation in his later life, it is questionable whether his writings held much influence. Enryō’s references in the Living Discourse on Loyalty and Filial Piety to Buddhist metaphysics and Western philosophers, such as Spinoza and Hegel, make it unlikely that this book was an important source for the compilers of the Fundamental Meaning of the National Polity. The Proposal of Japanese Ethics, on the other hand, was certainly superseded by Inoue Tetsujirō’s Outline of Civic Morality, which is more substantiated in a scholarly sense. Although Enryō’s influence on later ideologues is doubtful, it is another question how effective Enryō was in spreading the Education Rescript among the Japanese people. This question will be taken up when we examine his later life (chapter 23). I found no evidence that Enryō revised his thoughts on imperial ethics and the Japanese national polity during his later years (cf. e.g., April 1912). Thus, when these thoughts form the content to his principle, Protection of Country, it is by no means acceptable. As Enryō himself stated, Love of Truth means universalism, whereas Protection of Country is the principle of nationalism. In his practical philosophy, Enryō refrained from seeking any universal foundation for ethics, but instead based his moral writings solely on the imperially decreed virtues. This is a position that is a long way from liberalism and human rights. Enryō’s biases when he sings the praises of the sacred Japanese Empire are obvious. The fact that patriotism is always in danger of becoming perverted and ending up as chauvinism points to a tension entailed in Enryō’s principles Protection of Country and Love of Truth. That patriotic fervor is an enemy to the truth can be observed at every international soccer tournament. That thousands of supporters of one national team perceive a foul, where thousands of supporters of the other national team have seen a legitimate play, is not due to a common aim in being objective. Much moreso in war, where truth is always the first victim, as the saying goes. By the turn of the century, Japan had not only caught up in terms of economic and military strength with the Western powers, but the Japanese public also showed signs of the same jingoistic nationalism that was prevalent in the Western imperial nations (Gluck 1985, 150–51). Already during the First Sino‑Japanese War (1894–95), Japanese society had been swept by a wave of martial enthusiasm.

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When, in 1905, after the victory over Russia, the peace treaty of Portsmouth was made public, severe riots broke out in Tokyo, because the terms of the treaty were perceived as a humiliation (Hibiya Riots).12 Korea became a protectorate of Japan the same year.

19

Mystery Studies

E nryō’s Mystery Studies 妖怪学 are, together with the Philosophy Academy and the reform of Buddhism, one of his most noted projects. It is also the field of activity that is best covered in English‑language research.13 Enryō’s writings that relate to studies of the mysterious are collected in volumes 16 to 21 of his Selected Writings, thus filling more than 3,500 pages. This chapter will outline the philosophical implications of the project. Enryō’s Mystery Studies can be summarized as the overcoming of superstitious beliefs through rational explanation. Enryō already had the idea for his Mystery Studies during his last year as a student at Tokyo University (Miura 2014, 130). This was during the time when he read several works written by members of the London X‑Club. Superstition was a key term in the religion versus science debate, which was ardently argued by the X‑Club members. With the prevailing of the scientific worldview during the nineteenth century, the notion of superstition had gained stability. Enlightenment philosophy can argue against erroneous religious views, but modern science is able to prove them wrong. Herbert Spencer’s discussion of the science versus religion issue in his First Principles (1861) may have been particularly attractive for Enryō because Spencer does not reject religion as such; rather, he espouses the idea of a progressive purification of religion from superstitious elements (§28). A similar theory was brought forth by Fenollosa in his lecture about the Origin and Development of Religion (1878). The translation published at Tokyo University uses the hitherto relatively uncommon word meishin 迷信, which became the standard term for superstition in all of Enryō’s writings. For Enryō, however, the enlightenment project of overcoming superstition did not equate with Occidentalism. He discovered the same idea of 165

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enlightenment in classical Chinese sources, particularly in Xúnz , about whom he wrote his graduation thesis. In the chapter on “dissolving obfuscation” [kaihei 解蔽] [Xúnz ] said: “Generally, having doubts in examining things, these external things are not clear because inwardly the mind is not settled. When my reflections are not clear, I will never be able to determine how things are and how not. Someone who walks in darkness sees a stone lying [somewhere] and thinks there is a tiger in ambush. He sees a tree standing [somewhere] and thinks there is a man behind him. The darkness has obfuscated clarity.” Further [Xúnz ] said: “Generally, people who [believe] there are ghosts, have certainly determined this in dark and dubious moments of affect or perturbation.” What Xúnz says here, means: People believe in spirits and mysteries [kishin yōkai 鬼神妖怪] not because they really exist, but because [these people’s] seeing is unclear due to their unsettled minds. Seemingly, Xúnz dissents here with Confucius, who does not talk about magic and demons. Confucius feared that talking about such things would make people more confused. Xúnz wanted to solve the people’s confusion by teaching about these [phenomena]. Both agree in their intention of eliminating people’s confusion. However, I think that using reason [道理] to clarify how the force of the mysterious comes into being is immeasurably superior to keeping silence about it. (25: 736)14

Xúnz , whom his English translator compares in spirit and importance with Aristotle (Knoblock 1988, 1: vii), is similarly portrayed by Enryō as an “empiricist” (25: 730) and “psychologist” (25: 740). As Xúnz was not part of the Neo‑Confucian canon, he had not been widely studied in Japan until the modern era. By choosing him as the topic of his graduation thesis, Enryō philosophically rejects the Neo‑Confucian orthodoxy on the one hand, and on the other hand he demonstrates that enlightenment is not specific to the Western tradition. The title of the chapter, “Dissolving Obfuscation” or “Dispelling Blindness” (Knoblock 1988, 3: 89), on which Enryō comments in the above‑cited passage, might well be translated “enlightenment.” The term yōkai 妖怪, which gave Enryō’s Mystery Studies 妖怪学 (yōkai gaku) its name, Enryō took from the chapter about “Heaven” in which Xúnz argues for the disjunction of the human from the celestial realm (25: 734). Enryō’s usage of

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the term yōkai is closer to its broader classical meaning than to its narrower modern Japanese one. In modern Japanese, yōkai refers to all sorts of human-­ or animal‑like apparitions such as monsters, ghosts, or goblins. The way Enryō employs the term yōkai is to effectively subsume under it every kind of mysterious or allegedly supernatural phenomenon. In Part I (chapter 4), it was noted that True School Buddhism denounced prayers, divination, and other magical practices. This type of Buddhism that Enryō was socialized in had an indigenous distinction between true religion and superstitious practices. It is further noteworthy that there is also a precedent in ancient Indian Buddhism for the rejection of superstition as a diversion from the overall aim of salvation (Nakamura 1995, 640–48). Yet, as long as there is no case of falseness, the rejection of superstition is indistinguishable from the dismissal of heresy. Enryō pursued his campaign against superstition in the name of philosophy using the methods of science. In the first sentences, Enryō makes unmistakably clear that the first and foremost aim of his Lectures on Mystery Studies is revealing the truth. Seated in the lofty hall of sublime nature inflaming the light of the marvelous mind. Who would doubt that this is the meaning of human life? What elucidates the woods of endless beings in our life are really the rays of the mental light. The oil that nourishes these rays are the various sciences. Because the sciences have finally progressed and the mental light is finally inflamed, the mental light becomes increasingly bright and nature becomes increasingly beautiful. Being endowed with the light of the mind, how could we neglect the pursuit of the sciences? (16: 19)

Enryō published his encyclopedic Lectures on Mystery Studies, for which he had collected materials for almost ten years, in 1893–94. It was not Enryō’s intention to simply eradicate folk wisdom; he also desired to preserve it as cultural heritage. He documented, categorized, and explained every kind of superstitious belief that he heard about. The basic scheme he created for categorizing the manifold mysteries is his system of the sciences. Enryō’s Mystery Studies are composed of six sections: a science section, a medicine section, a metaphysics section, a psychology section, a religious studies section, a pedagogy section, and a miscellaneous section. Each mysterious phenomenon is discussed in the section of that science that is in charge of the respective

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ontological domain. The natural science section, for example, covers celestial events and mirages. The medicine sections discusses magic healing, wonder drugs, or anatomic abnormalities. The psychology section deals with possession, dreams, hallucinations, and the like. The various practices of soothsaying are refuted in the metaphysics section, because divination is about the future and hence cannot be solved by empirical means (17: 13). Systematically, the religious studies section needs more explanation. In the case of mysterious natural, medical, and psychological phenomena, the science that examines the respective ontological domain is also the science most competent to falsify any misapprehension in that field. In the religious studies section, Enryō examines many phenomena that are part of the traditional array of religious beliefs, for example, reincarnation, hell, miracles, and prayers. Yet, it is difficult to argue that religious studies can refute any belief without relying on the other sciences. The reason for this categorization lies in Enryō’s understanding of religious studies. Rather than the empirical or historical religious studies in today’s sense, Enryō’s religious studies resemble what we would call philosophy of religion. Enryō’s philosophical studies of religion discuss what sort of religion is possible according to our metaphysics. Enryō essentially understood religion as applied philosophy. Religious studies, therefore, apply philosophical theory to the realm of religion. Like the metaphysics section, the religious studies section discusses mysteries that cannot be falsified by empirical means. The difference with the metaphysics sections lies mainly in the fact that the religious studies section contains criticisms of doctrines of the great religions such as Buddhism or Christianity. Because Mystery Studies uses theories and knowledge from all sciences to overcome the various human misapprehensions, Enryō defined Mystery Studies as an applied science. As indicated by the chart that shows Enryō’s system of the sciences (see chapter 14), Mystery Studies relates to all sciences except the applied natural sciences. Technology and engineering do not have theories by themselves that could further elucidate the world. Like Mystery Studies, they only draw on the theoretical results of the natural sciences and apply them for practical purposes. In order to distinguish between application of theory in technology and the application of theory in Mystery Studies, Enryō specifies that the former requires the application of theory in practice, whereas the latter type is about the application of theory to falsify another theory (16: 67). According to this logic, however, the pedagogy

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section in the Lectures on Mystery Studies appears problematic. Pedagogy is also defined by Enryō as an applied science, particularly as an applied psychology. It would have been possible, and perhaps more consistent, if Enryō had treated the pedagogy section cases, such as idiocy or prodigy, in the psychology section. The psychology section, on the other hand, already tends toward overcrowding. Many forms of superstition do not start out from strange phenomena, but simply originate from strange human thoughts. Enryō was fully aware of the special relationship Mystery Studies shares with psychology. In fact, he started out his project as applied psychology, before he eventually pronounced Mystery Studies an independent type of science (Miura 2014, 136). The premise of Mystery Studies is that the alleged mysteries are not real mysteries caused by an object, but rather are false apprehensions coming from the subject. The refutation of superstition therefore has two components: first, the erroneous belief must be falsified by adequate scientific theory and, second, the deceptive mental mechanism must be exposed by psychology. In his epochal essay The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (1904–05), Max Weber grasped the process of rationalization in European history with the noted formula of the “disenchantment of the world.” What Enryō presented in 1894 to the Japanese public in 2,500 pages had nothing other than this idea of the disenchantment of the world as its main purpose. It is the project of enlightenment in a very specific sense. Kant famously defined Enlightenment as “man’s emergence from his self‑imposed tutelage.” “This tutelage is self‑imposed,” Kant explained, “if its cause lies not in lack of understanding, but in lack of resolve and courage to use reason without another’s direction” (AA 8: 35). In his Critique of Judgment (1790), Kant further elaborates that there is one type of “prejudice” that particularly marks the “passivity of reason,” and this is superstition. Because superstition imposes the notion that nature is not ruled by conceivable laws, it equals intentional blindness and eminently indicates the passivity of reason. Kant hence defined enlightenment also as “the liberation from superstition” (AA 5: 294–95). Kant’s second definition of enlightenment is, however, only relevant theoretically because the passivity of reason is not considered in terms of determining the own will. The eminent practical example for self‑imposed tutelage is deliberate slavery. Both conditions, superstition in the theoretical respect and slavery in the practical respect, systematically inhibit the self‑determination of the individual. Kant

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was perhaps overly optimistic in saying that only courage to use reason would be necessary to emerge from tutelage. Superstitions are deeply implanted by culture and slavery is a system of coercion. However, Kant’s consideration allows the diagnosis of the abolition of slavery and the decline of superstition in nineteenth‑century Europe as the process of enlightenment itself (Osterhammel 2009, 188–214, 1154). Enryō did not, of course, advocate slavery in any way, but his embracing of the Education Rescript, which under critical circumstances requires one to sacrifice oneself for the Emperor, fails to fulfill the definition of enlightenment as emancipation from tutelage. This does not, however, undermine the achievements of his Mystery Studies in the theoretical realm. Enryō knew that the overcoming of superstition was not just a matter of self‑initiative, but also of education. His position was that it is not enough to discover the truth at the university; it is also necessary to enforce the truth in the social reality. Enryō’s Mystery Studies demonstrate superbly how the truth, even if purely descriptive, has practical consequences. Social practices that are based on false beliefs will change when the falsity of these underlying assumptions becomes apparent. In order for this to happen, however, the truth must prevail under practical conditions. Indeed, Plato expresses this responsibility of the philosopher to make the truth prevail in his famous Allegory of the Cave (Rep. 514a–520). In this allegory, the enlightened person has a duty to go back into the darkness to free his fellow prisoners. In this sense, Enryō is a preeminent example of an enlightenment educator. Thus, Enryō can convincingly argue that his Mystery Studies fulfilled both of his professed duties, the Protection of Country and the Love of Truth. In Enryō’s emphasis of the truth, he rendered service to the progress of civilization in his own country. Presenting the Lectures on Mystery Studies now to the public, intends nothing else but the realization of the two great ends of Protection of Country and Love of Truth. Examining the reasons of mysteries in order to refute false mysteries and to reveal the True Mystery [shinkai 真怪], is based on the spirit to love the truth. Applying this to the practical realm in order to ease the discomposure of the people and to reform the worldly teachings is based on the innermost wish to protect the country. Hence, the one task of mystery research well accomplishes both great ends. (16: 44)

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This quotation mentions the revelation of the True Mystery as another purpose of Mystery Studies; besides the documentation and refutation of superstition, Enryō also had in mind the more positive aim of laying bare the truly mystical. Once more, this idea seems to be influenced by Spencer’s First Principles. Spencer envisioned a “reconciliation” of science and religion in the vanishing point of the Unknowable. About the Unknowable, Spencer wrote, The explanation of that which is explicable, does but bring out into greater clearness the inexplicableness of that which remains behind. (§21) The absolute is conceived merely by a negation of conceivability; and all that we know, is only known as—won from the void and formless infinite. (§24)

The idea of the ineffability of the Absolute, and the void in the quote from John Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667), must have reminded Enryō of Buddhism. Enryō frequently indicated that all religions ultimately coincide in their intuition of the True Mystery. We see this in the preface to Lectures on Mystery Studies, where he writes, Although nobody knows its name, we know it exists [体ある]. Although we know it exists, we do not know how to name it. Although we should know its existence, we do not know it. Although we should not know its existence, we know it. This is truly the great mystery. . . . Laozi called it the nameless, Confucius called it Heaven, the Book of Changes calls it Supreme Ultimate [太極], Shakyamuni called it suchness, Dharma‑Nature, or bodhi [awakening], Christians call it the Lord of Heaven, our country calls it kami [神]. All these are nothing else but provisional names referring to one aspect of its reality. I call it the Ideal, but this is just another partial description. (16: 24)

Enryō then explains, in what is for him a typical trope, how the True Mystery is not a transcendent entity, but ultimately an immanent Absolute identical with reality as such. Several pages later, in the paragraph where Enryō relates his Mystery Studies to his own commitment to Protection of Country and Love of Truth the following passage can be found: I believe in the existence of the Ideal. In regard to the material world, I believe, all things between heaven and earth are the crystallization or

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the manifestation of the Ideal. In regard to the human world, I believe, the Imperial Household and the national polity are the splendid brilliance of the Ideal. Therefore, in the world we see the sublime beauty of all existence and the exquisiteness of the mind joining together as nature and cosmos rising in the haze of the divine ether. In the State, we see the pure ether of the sacred Imperial Household and our original spirit of loyalty and filial piety reflecting each other as the national polity shining in full subtlety of the divine light. (16: 44)

Enryō repeats here the same metaphysics we have encountered already in Living Discourse on Loyalty and Filial Piety, published one year before. There is not much to say in defense of this theory, which Gerald Figal (1999, 91) commented on in the following way: Inoue’s “path to True Mystery” seems nothing more than the channeling of religious truth and moral obligation, derived from the application of monsterology, into a nation‑building ideology based on the myth of imperial divinity. In this articulation, the divinity of the imperial line itself appears as the true True Mystery, the ultimate unchanging Ideal in the individual subject’s relation to the state Subject.

This interpretation is possible, but is not, in my view, a balanced evaluation of Enryō’s Mystery Studies project. The sacredness of the Imperial Household is theoretically not constitutive for the whole undertaking. When this idea is eliminated, Enryō’s Mystery Studies do not lose any consistency. For understandable reasons, Enryō’s Chinese translator Cài Yuánpéi simply did not translate the passage that states the sacredness of the Imperial Household (Cài 1906). Further, passages in Enryō’s writings that identify the True Mystery with notions of the Absolute in the various philosophical and religious traditions are frequent (cf. 5: 23; 20: 285; 25: 30). But I could not find another instance in Enryō’s later writings where he explicitly related the True Mystery to the divinity of the Imperial Household. The plan of the Temple Garden of Philosophy also suggests otherwise. The center of the park is not the Imperial Forum in the Universe Hall, but the sculpture symbolizing the Absolute in the Shrine of the Four Sages. Whether Enryō’s ultimate motivation for his Mystery Studies was the Protection of Country or the Love of Truth remains

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fodder for psychological speculation. Mystery Studies as such are in the first place an enlightenment project. Enryō gave various examples to illustrate the absurdity of superstition. Three cases shall be introduced. First, a Shintoist shrine named Hitomaru after a legendary ancient poet sells amulets for fire protection and safe childbirth, because hitomaru is phonetically identical with “stopping fire” and phonetically close to “bearing children.” Second, in a village Enryō saw paper slips on the doors that note the children’s absence from home in order to prevent the Measles Deity and the Smallpox Deity from entering. The third example, the northeastern direction in houses is generally assumed to be calamitous and called the Demon Gate. Enryō traced this belief back to China where the same celestial direction is abhorred, because an island inhabited by demons is assumed to lie in the Northeast. The Chinese identify this island with Japan, Enryō reported (2: 376–78). Apart from Enryō’s own works, there is ample evidence that superstition was a reality in the everyday life of the Japanese during the Meiji period. In 1904, the German Buddhist studies scholar Hans Haas (1904, 165) published a translation of Records of Japanese Religion and Customs (1902) by Katō Ichirō which states, “[P]oor superstition which is pervasive can be found more or less all over Japan. But nowhere is it more in bloom than in Tokyo.” In 1910, the French scholar Henri L. Joly reported in Paris about popular superstitious beliefs in Japan, saying: “Like the Europeans the Japanese believe in the devil, in sorceries, curses, black magic, phantoms, goblins, divination and the like” (93f). A similar observation was made by the French language magazine Mélanges Japonais in 1910. The journal, printed in Tokyo, featured the topic in two issues, saying: “There are [as many] superstitions as there are weeds” (no. 25: 85). Widespread superstition was perceived as a problem in the Ministry of Culture, too. After Enryō’s Lectures on Mystery Studies were reprinted in book form in 1896, the minister of culture welcomed the work as “tremendously beneficial” and wished for its wide circulation (Miura 2014, 142). At least since 1904, the censure or discrediting of superstition was also an issue in governmental textbooks for primary and secondary education. The beliefs that were denounced were fox possession, curses, magic, divination, and many more things (Josephson 2006a, 136). Today, a similar list in primary school textbooks would be anachronistic. Except from doubtful practices kept up by

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religious organizations and various kinds of divination, superstition has largely disappeared from the urban scene. It seems as if the Meiji campaign against superstition with Enryō as foremost exponent was a success story. However, not so in the perspective of postmodern research, which portrays Enryō as a crusader for enlightenment and civilization (Figal 1999, 40) or an advocate for the ideology of progress (Foster 2009, 114). The rationale behind this evaluation is not easily explained. I assume that the respective postmodern scholars would feel decisively uncomfortable if their children were given a talisman at school as protection against influenza, instead of being taught to wash their hands. The obstacle that false religious beliefs present to the fight against epidemics such as HIV or Ebola are unfortunately still virulent. The hazards of superstition are as real as the women who were burned as witches by the Christian church. How is the absence of positive evaluation of Enryō’s Mystery Studies in postmodern research to be interpreted, then? Perhaps it is because of the respectable ideas of academic neutrality and objectivity, despite the fact that these concepts are usually not the figureheads of postmodern methodology. While the “referential ecology” (Foster 2008, 94), the “conceptual web” (Josephson 2006a, 6), and the “taxonomy of the supernatural” (Figal 1999, 40) are analyzed, the question of truth is methodologically put aside. This would be a consistent approach, if it were not thwarted by the strict stance against nationalism taken at the same time. There are no fair judgments to be gained from the combination of an extreme methodical relativism theoretically and a great evaluative sensitivity ethically. Enryō continued to publish about mysteries and superstition for the rest of his life. The achievements of his activities are easily overseen. Mystery Studies are a peculiar science, insofar as they make their object vanish. If we hold with Wittgenstein the disappearance of a philosophical problem to be an indicator for its solution, Enryō was a very successful philosopher. Enryō was a ghostbuster. His curiosity for apparitions and ghostly stories made him known throughout Japan as Doctor Specter or Ghost Doc (お化け博士 or 妖怪博士). Even the New York Times mentioned this nickname in Enryō’s obituary of July 18, 1919 (PA 45). Today, if the figure Inoue Enryō is at all known outside academic circles, it is in due to this humorous title.

20

The Philosophy Academy Incident

With the English translation of Miura Setsuo’s Educational Principles of Enryō Inoue, Toyo University made its history accessible to the Western reader. The book also provides a detailed account of the so‑called Philosophy Academy Incident (2012b, 108–48). This incident was not only a turning point in Enryō’s life, but also a major public debate that is highly significant regarding the limits of freedom of expression in Meiji society. In 1899, the Philosophy Academy acquired permission from the Ministry of Culture to grant teaching certificates for governmental middle schools. Degrees of the Philosophy Academy would thereby qualify graduates to teach in state‑run schools without further examination by the Ministry of Culture. The Department of Ethics of the Philosophy Academy was to grant such a degree for the first time in 1902. The teacher responsible for this department was Nakajima Tokuzō, who used a translation of John H. Muirhead’s (1855–1940) Elements of Ethics (1st ed., 1892) as a textbook in his courses. On the day of the final examinations, two supervisors from the Ministry of Culture were present. One of the examination questions was: Are there bad acts with good motives? The circumstance that caused the Academy Incident was the answer of a student to which Nakajima awarded a full score. The answer sheet has either been lost or is kept inaccessible in the Ministry of Culture, but there is a consensus that the student’s answer, according to a passage in Muirhead’s book, was approximately as follows: An act cannot “be judged good or bad on the ground of that part of the consequences which was his intention merely and not his motive. So judged, the regicide for the cause of freedom would have to be condemned.”15 The Japanese term for regicide, which had been used in the translation of Elements of Ethics and which 175

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also appeared in the student’s answer, was shigyaku 弑逆. The compound does not specify the type of the killed sovereign, whether feudal lord, king, or emperor. In the contemporary Japanese context, it would have meant the assassination of the Emperor. After the student’s answer and Nakajima’s positive evaluation had become apparent to the Ministry of Culture, it withdrew the Academy’s license to grant teaching certificates. It also refused to grant certificates to the graduates of the respective year and demanded Nakajima’s resignation. The Ministry personally conveyed to Nakajima that his opinions and the content of the textbook were inappropriate to the “national polity” 国体. It was further conveyed that only leniency prevented the Academy from being closed down. The strong reaction of the Ministry of Culture perhaps was due to the fact that political assassination was a real threat during this epoch in Japan, as it was abroad. Not only was the minister of culture assassinated in 1889; in light of the High Treason Incident 大逆事件 of 1911, in the aftermath of which more than twenty people were executed, it can be assumed that the government was particularly worried by the worldwide growing socialist and anarchist movement. Already in 1881, Tsar Alexander II had fallen victim to a plot by socialists. Only one year before the Academy Incident, U.S. president William McKinley was shot by an anarchist. One might also think of the assassination of Empress Elisabeth of Austria in 1898. And the Academy Incident had another significant historical prelude. When in 1900 the Ministry of Culture convened the Examination Board for Moral Education Textbooks (including Enryō as board member), a subcommittee for the drafting of textbooks was also formed. Nakajima Tokuzō took office as head of this drafting committee. The catalog of virtues Nakajima put forth as a direction for the drafting of textbooks was not based on the Imperial Rescript on Education; instead of loyalty and filial piety as cardinal virtues to be taught in elementary education, Nakajima proposed wisdom, humanity, and courage. The triad of wisdom, humanity, and courage occurs in the Analects (9: 29) and is also cited in the Doctrine of the Mean (chapter 20). In Zhū Xī’s commentary, wisdom, humanity, and courage are distinguished to be the preliminary virtues for entering the Path.16 Nakajima’s proposal appears even less scandalous when it is further considered that the Imperial Regalia mirror, jewel, and sword had been respectively interpreted as symbols for wisdom, humanity, and courage some 250 years earlier.17 However, Nakajima’s

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proposal was leaked to the public and Nakajima was accused of intending the revocation of the Education Rescript. The incident led to Nakajima’s dismissal from the committee (Omata 1990). This preceding episode explains why inspectors from the Ministry of Culture were present at the examination day of the Philosophy Academy and indeed were especially keen to observe Nakajima’s teaching. The certificates that were to be granted by the Academy qualified a graduate to teach in the same governmental schools for which Nakajima had been assigned to draft textbooks. Although Nakajima had not defended himself publicly after his dismissal from the textbook committee, he did so in the case of the Philosophy Academy Incident. After his forced resignation from the teaching position at the Philosophy Academy, he published an article in which he revealed the incident to the public. He claimed that the question and answer in the examination were based on the ethics of Muirhead, an acknowledged authority in this field. He noted that, like killing, tyrannicide is not under all circumstances an evil. Further, the capability to theoretically discuss ethical ideas is what qualifies the moral educator. Nakajima described his teaching as “emancipatory” 開発的, aiming at the “free development of reason” and a “critical eye.” He admitted his carelessness regarding the notion of shigyaku, but insisted that that did not justify the ministry’s action against the Academy and its graduates (Nakajima 1903, 1–28). Nakajima’s call for public debate was successful. Between January and August 1903, more than five hundred articles concerning the Philosophy Academy Incident were published.18 The Ministry of Culture was accused of being against private education and of restricting academic freedom. The ministry responded with two written statements saying that it was not Muirhead’s ethics as such they found inappropriate, but merely the idea that good motivation could justify regicide. Further, they contended that it was the teacher’s negligence in dealing with this theory that required action to be taken against the Academy. They also advised that the Academy would only be shut down if it again taught ethical theory that was dangerous to the state.19 The ministry’s denial that they objected to Muirhead’s ethics and Nakajima’s appeal to the authority of Muirhead appear to be contradictory claims. This raises the question if the exam question and its contentious answer were indeed in accordance with Muirhead’s theory or not. The relevant passage from Elements of Ethics says,

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Motive [is defined] as that for the sake of which an action is done; whereas the intention includes both that for the sake of which, and that in spite of which, anything is done. Intention is thus wider than motive. . . . A man cannot be held responsible for consequences which he did not foresee, except in so far as he is responsible for not foreseeing them. Nor is he to be judged good or bad on the ground of that part of the consequences which was his intention merely and not his motive. So judged, the regicide for the cause of freedom would be condemned, the tyrant who saved a victim from drowning to burn him at the stake would be justified. Only when we have taken into account the act as a whole, and answered the questions (1) whether the [conscientiously calculated] consequences as a whole are good or bad, (2) whether these consequences were the end aimed at [i.e., the motive], have we a right to found our moral judgments upon them. (§23)

Muirhead uses the example of regicide to clarify his distinction between intention and motive. In the example of regicide, the motive of the act is to free the people, that is, to prevent further murdering by the king or tyrant. The homicide itself is not a consequence of the motive, but merely an intended side‑effect of the act. Muirhead’s ethics do not generally sanction means for moral aims, but they allow a trade‑off between the benefits of a legitimate aim and the necessary evil to achieve it. He does not admit any absolute moral law; instead, for him, the consequences of an act have to be judged according to their utility in bringing about the common good (§62–64). Now, what would Muirhead have answered to Nakajima’s question: Are there bad acts with good motives? He first would have asked to specify what “act” refers to in the question: the “act as a whole,” including the consequences, or the act in the narrower sense as the mere operation? In the first case, Muirhead might have answered: Of course there are bad acts with good motives, for example homicide to free an animal. The act as whole is bad, but the motive is good. In the second case, Muirhead might have answered: Of course there are bad acts with good motives, for example homicide to free an animal or regicide for the cause of freedom. In both cases the motivation is good and the operation bad, but the legitimacy of the act as a whole is still to be decided. Therefore, Nakajima’s question misses the point of Muirhead’s distinction between good end (motive) and undesirable side‑effects (intention). To elicit the answer: If not, regicide for

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the sake of freedom would have to be punished, the question must be: Are there good motives that render bad acts legitimate? The result of this discussion is that neither Nakajima nor the ministry were correct in their statement regarding Muirhead’s ethics. The question and its answer in the examination do not represent an appropriate account of Muirhead’s theory, as Nakajima claimed. Instead, question and answer suggest that neither Nakajima nor the student had sufficient command of the theory. The ministry’s claim, on the other hand, that it did not oppose Muirhead’s moral philosophy, but only the idea that good motives could legitimize regicide, is also inconsistent, because Muirhead’s ethics do allow for tyrannicide under certain circumstances. In the course of the public debate this was confirmed even by Muirhead himself. Muirhead came to know about the affair through the English‑language newspaper Japan Weekly Chronicle, and sent a letter to the editor. It is the duty of anyone who undertakes so responsible a role as that of the reformer not only to make sure that he is acting from conscience, but that he is acting for the welfare of Society as seen in the light of the best accessible information and advice. . . . [E]verything that reformer and conservatives apart from their politics hold dear—family, property, society, art, science, religion—depend in the last resort upon loyalty to the spirit of law and order that has expressed itself with whatever shortcomings in the existing constitution of Society and the State. Only therefore as a last resort and in despair of other means should any proposals be tolerated which would tend to undermine and weaken this spirit in the general body of citizens. Now I am not prepared to say that there may not be circumstances which justify even such a risk. To deny that there may be would be to preach a doctrine of passive obedience to despotism which would be fatal to all progress, and in the long run to government itself. . . . [I]n a country where, as in Japan, a solid foundation of political well‑being has been laid in the liberty of the press and representative institutions, such methods are in the highest degree criminal. Discussion, organization of opinion, constitutional agitation, are open to the reformer. (May 6, 1903, 398f)

Muirhead avoids the example of regicides, but he admits that there may be circumstances that legitimize actions against the law. The ministry, however,

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was anxious to restrict its concerns and stated in a letter to Muirhead that it did not oppose his theories. This was implausible, since the point of concern, the hypothetical legitimacy of regicide, follows from Muirhead’s overall consequentialist standpoint. If we now set aside the question of consistency with Muirhead’s ethics, the evaluation remains whether the ministry’s action against Nakajima and the Academy was appropriate. The ministry was responsible for education in governmental schools; thus, if it considered the ethics course of the Academy deficient it could consequently withdraw the license to grant teacher certificates. The teacher training in the ethics department was deemed deficient because the curriculum contained moral philosophy that in theory allows for regicide. The ministry did not want to support training primary and secondary school teachers in free hypothetical thinking. Although this had to be accepted, the ministry’s action went one step farther. By prohibiting the discussion of certain theories not only in primary and secondary education, but also in institutions of higher learning, it effectively restricted academic freedom. Two paragraphs of the Meiji Constitution are relevant here: Paragraph 3 that states the sacredness and inviolability of the Emperor, and Paragraph 29, which grants freedom of speech within the limits of law. The restriction of freedom of speech by the phrase “within the limits of law” is not necessarily problematic. Grave defamation or the call for violent action are illegal in every liberal system. The encouragement of revolution or political assassination justifies official action irrespective of the alleged sacredness of the Emperor. The fact that in the academic context moral theory is proposed that does not encourage but merely hypothetically allows for regicide, did not concern the British crown, but it did concern the Japanese Ministry of Culture. The reason for this can be seen in the sacredness and inviolability of the Emperor. To say that regicide is hypothetically legitimate means to deny the divine status of the Emperor. Theoretical legitimacy of regicide was against the constitution, because a sacred emperor is under all circumstances inviolable. Mencius, who also admitted the right to revolt against an evil reign, was regarded as inappropriate by the Ministry of Culture for the same reason.20 Nakajima, of course, denied that the theory would be applicable in the current Japanese context, but he also defended Muirhead’s ethics. This was unacceptable to the Ministry of Culture. One might therefore concede that the forced resignation of Nakajima was an appropriate measure. In addition, the ministry granted

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the Philosophy Academy the right to reapply for the license to train governmental school teachers on the provision that it reform its ethics curriculum. The ministry had good arguments on its side. However, when we look back today, what does the Philosophy Academy Incident reveal about the Meiji constitutional system? The clash between philosophy and the Meiji state occurred, it could be said, due to a certain necessity. A system based on the dogmatic premise of divine reign cannot grant the academic freedom that is essential to philosophy. Kant, although himself denying a right to revolt, would certainly have defended Nakajima. Critical examination of ethical and political theory is at the very heart of the business of philosophy. Nakajima’s defense demonstrates that he represented the idea of philosophy and indeed represented philosophy at the one academy in Japan that received its name from this idea. The Meiji Constitution could not allow the freedom that philosophy essentially demands. Moreover, freedom under such a constitution is not really freedom but merely conceded latitude. The idea of freedom is absolute. This means that only a system that is based on the idea of securing freedom, can without contradiction restrict freedom for the sake of freedom (cf. Kant AA 4: 231f). The Philosophy Academy Incident exposed the nonliberal character of the Meiji state. Muirhead’s assessment of the Meiji system as open for discussion and reform is, therefore, doubtful. Enryō himself had left Japan for his second world tour shortly after the infamous examination day. He heard about the incident when he was in London. After receiving a letter from Muirhead, he asked for a meeting. Shortly afterward, he met with the Japanese ambassador in London, who was concerned that the incident could strain relations between the two empires. The day Enryō received an answer from Muirhead, Enryō left for Hastings. The reasons why the meeting never took place are not clear. Either the health problems, which Enryō noted in his diary, or the intervention of the ambassador could have been the cause. Back in Japan, Enryō kept silent about the incident. Since Enryō did not profess to liberalism, he did not have the philosophical means to protest. For Enryō, the Academy Incident meant the collision between his twin philosophical principles, Protection of Country and Love of Truth. Protection of Country implied loyalty to the Emperor, who was the center of a system that could not allow the freedom of research philosophy requires. However, there are two facts that show Enryō’s continuing allegiance to philosophy: firstly, the Philosophy Academy continued to use Muirhead’s

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Elements of Ethics as a textbook, and secondly, despite the ministry’s order, Enryō solicited Nakajima to resume his teaching at the Philosophy Academy. Nakajima responded to this request and was welcomed back by his students in August 1903. Twenty‑three years later, in 1926, Nakajima took office as the sixth president of Toyo University from 1926 to 1931. Until the Incident, Enryō had close contact with the Ministry of Culture. Although Enryō stayed firm in his loyalty to the Imperial Household, as a result of the Philosophy Academy Incident he distanced himself from the Ministry of Culture and was unwilling to again apply for permission to grant teaching certificates. During the Meiji period, the expressions “Chinese philosophy” 中国哲学 and “Oriental philosophy” 東洋哲学 were common in academic language. This has changed in the contemporary situation where the term philosophy in Japanese refers mainly to Western thought. The conceptual content of Buddhism and Confucianism are today mostly referred to as “thought” 思想, not “philosophy” 哲学. This differs from universities in mainland China, where the research on East Asian thought is located in the philosophy faculty. In Japan, only Toyo University maintained the use of the word philosophy from the Meiji period, which is reflected in the names of its departments of “Chinese philosophy” 中国哲学 and “Indian philosophy” インド哲学. When pondering why the change in language usage occurred in Japan after the Meiji period, it could be worthwhile to consider the influence of the Philosophy Academy Incident. It is conceivable that, in the course of the nationwide public debate, the term tetsugaku acquired the connotation of a foreign, potentially subversive, theory.

21

Crisis and Resignation

I n January 1902, Enryō bought land outside of Tokyo in today’s Nakano District as a new location for the Philosophy Academy. Encouraged by the new license to grant teaching certificates, he planned to enlarge the Academy and move it to a bigger campus. The Philosophy Academy Incident 1902–03 was the beginning of a crisis in Enryō’s life that resulted in his resignation from the Academy in January 1906. The Academy had been the core of all of Enryō’s activities since its foundation in 1887. His full withdrawal from what was meant to be his lifework marks a dramatic turning point in his career. The detailed biographical reconstruction of the three years following the Philosophy Academy Incident in December 1902 until Enryō’s resignation in January 1906 needs further research. All evidence, especially letters written by Enryō and other persons involved in the Academy have to be considered. The following outline of the events, however, suggests that Enryō’s withdrawal from the Academy was not a harmonious parting. After returning from his second world tour, when he first realized the gravity of the outcome of the Philosophy Academy Incident Enryō was determined not to apply again for the license to grant governmental teaching certificates. In March 1903, a new Professional School Law was enacted and Enryō pushed to develop the Academy into a private university based on the new law. Emphasizing the nongovernmental character of this undertaking, he proclaimed the new slogan “independence and self‑initiative” 独立自活. In October, the Ministry of Culture granted permission to rename the Academy as the Philosophy Academy University 哲学館大学. Just before this, in September, Enryō had also founded the Morality Church. The relationship between the Morality Church and the new university 183

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format of the Academy is not perfectly clear. Perhaps Enryō wanted to reinvent his ideas for social education, which had, in the past, taken the form of the Academy’s distance learning program. The Morality Church Magazine was to function as successor to the Philosophy Academy Lecture Records, which had served as textbooks for distance learning. Their publication had been, however, discontinued already around 1896. The first issue of the new Morality Church Magazine was published in February 1904. On the first of April, the opening ceremony for the Philosophy Academy University was held on the old campus. On the same day, the Philosophy Shrine, the central building of today’s Temple Garden of Philosophy, was consecrated on the land outside of Tokyo. During this time, Japanese society was astir due to the political situation. After the end of the First Sino‑Japanese War in 1895, the tensions between the Japanese Empire and the Russian Tsardom had increased, and military conflict was widely regarded as inevitable. On the eve of the Russo‑Japanese War, in January 1904, Enryō published an article in the noted political magazine The Sun entitled, “My Thoughts on Facing Russia” (25: 596–606). In the first part of the article Enryō made several straightforward statements: First, the conflict between Japan and Russia was not merely a conflict between countries but also a struggle between races and religions; second, it was legitimate to declare war if it served the cause of peace in East Asia; and third, Buddhism was not pacifist—fighting for the souls of the East Asian people was a realization of the Bodhisattva Path. In the main part of the text, Enryō argued that military force alone would not be enough to secure peace under Japanese hegemony in East Asia. In order to win the hearts of the East Asian people for Japanese leadership it would be necessary to appeal to the common cultural heritage. Enryō made a threefold proposal to accomplish this end: 1. The establishment of a Confucian and Buddhist university inside the Japanese Empire 2. The foundation of an Oriental Society based in Japan with branches in Korea, Manchuria, Mongolia, and Tibet 3. The organization of a Buddhist Conference in Japan that assembles religious representatives from the various Buddhist countries in order to form an alliance between the regional strands of Buddhism

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For the intellectual public, it must have been obvious that Enryō himself wanted to lead the initiative and establish his Academy as the Confucian and Buddhist university called for in the first article. For everybody involved in the Philosophy Academy, the link to Enryō’s attempt to restructure the school was also apparent. At the same time, defamation and violence against the Russian Orthodox Church in Japan were exacerbated. Immediately before the war was declared on February 10, the Japanese prime minister Katsura Tarō (1848–1913) issued a circular to the heads of the various Buddhist and Shintoist sects demanding that they keep up religious tolerance and respect the principle of religious freedom provided for in the constitution.21 In April, a French‑language magazine that was based in Tokyo, Mélanges, published a partial translation of Enryō’s article under the title “Holy War.”22 Thereupon, the editors of the magazine were admonished by Japanese officials and were requested to make a rectification in the next issue clarifying that the war had nothing to do with religion or race. In May, a large Congress of Japanese Religionists took place in Tokyo, attended by more than one thousand people. Various distinguished Buddhist scholars, along with prominent Shintoists, as well as Christian representatives of Japanese and Western provenance, came together for the congress. The organizers hailed the event as singular in Japanese intellectual history. The addresses and the joint resolution that was passed in the presence of the mayor of Tokyo were published in August in Japanese and in October in English translation.23 The resolution reads: The war now being waged between Japan and Russia has for its object, on the part of Japan, the security of the empire and the permanent peace of East. It is carried on in the interests of justice, humanity and the civilization of the world. With differences between races or religions it has nothing whatever to do. We are therefore, meeting together without distinction of race and religion, agree that we will endeavor to publish to the world, each in a manner accordant with the methods observed in the religious body to which he belongs, the real purpose of the present war as now described. We also express a most earnest desire for the speedy accomplishment of an honorable peace. (14–19)

Apart from patriotic support for the war, the main point of the declaration is the denial of religious and racial aspects of the military conflict. This

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was also the key theme of most of the addresses. The religious conference that included Christianity was meant to be a visible signal for religious tolerance and national unity. Not only the resolution, but the event itself was directly opposed to Enryō’s proposal of an exclusive convention of Oriental religions. Although Enryō’s name was not mentioned, the event’s statement of purpose seems to refer if not exclusively, at least also, to Enryō. One speaker also said that it was “a cause for regret that instances are reported of an exhibition of an anti‑foreign spirit on the part of narrow‑minded men in Japan; and of a readiness to make use of what presents itself to them as an opportunity to advance, by means injurious to others, interests of their own religious faith” (8). Enryō apparently was persona non grata at the congress. At least five active and three former teachers of the Philosophy Academy were part of the organization committee, among them several noted Buddhist scholars who had been Enryō’s companions since the early Buddhist Enlightenment and anti‑Christian movements.24 They were Nanjo Bun’yū, Murakami Senshō, Shimaji Mokurai, Ōuchi Seiran, and also Maeda Eun, who succeeded Enryō as principal of the Philosophy Academy by the end of the following year (Schulzer 2014c). In July 1904, Enryō’s neurological condition worsened again. He thought about dissolving the Academy. Due to the consequences of the Philosophy Academy Incident, the school had experienced a significant loss of students and was suffering financial problems. Since there also was a significant shortage of schoolteachers in Japan (Gluck 1985, 151–52), the call to reapply for the teaching license, which Enryō had refused upon his return from abroad, rose again from within the Academy. Teachers and fellows of the Philosophy Academy met in October several times. Between October 21 and November 10, four memorandums were presented to Enryō that requested the reapplication to the Ministry of Culture for granting teacher licenses. The first memorandum was signed by thirty‑three teachers, alumni, and supporters of the Academy; the second written statement was exclusively from the Fellow Association 同窓会; the third one was only by the teachers; and the last one was presented by the 1902 graduates who did not receive the teaching certificates because of the ministry’s sanctions. Enryō did not grant his assent.25 During the same October meetings of the Fellow Association, conflict among the members arose. Three full‑time teachers of the Academy, who were Enryō’s close disciples, were accused of monopolizing the executive board of

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the association, of which Enryō was the president. A reform proposal for the Fellow Association was presented to Enryō one day after the last memorandum on November 11, which excluded active teachers from the board and allowed for another president as the Academy’s principal. The proposal was declined by Enryō for reasons of meddling. The conflict about the reform of the Academy lasted until the end of the year 1904. During the first half of 1905, Enryō put his efforts into the founding of the Capital North Kindergarten, which was opened in May. Increasing exhaustion and sickness brought about the wish to retire. Between July and September, he went on a lecture tour throughout the country. At the beginning of December, he had two breakdowns, and at the Academy’s anniversary day on December 12, he finally made the decision to retire. He passed on the responsibility to Maeda Eun, with whom Enryō arranged that he would buy in installments from the Academy the land outside of Tokyo. In 1906, the Philosophy Academy University became a public trust with the new name Toyo University 東洋大学. In 1907, the license to grant governmental teaching certificates was applied for and approved within two weeks. In February 1906, Enryō published an article in which he gave four “Reasons for My Retirement.” Enryō began by mentioning his bad health as the first cause of his resignation. Second, he pointed to unfinished writings, likely having in mind the last part of his magnum opus, Living Discourse on Buddhism. Third, he wanted to dispel doubts about his intentions regarding the future of the Academy. He never planned to bequeath the Academy as private property to his family and it was now time to transform it into a foundation. Fourth, in order to guarantee the financial security of his family, he wanted to concentrate on writing and lecturing as a private scholar. Only a few days after Enryō’s public statement, an article appeared in the Recent School Revue about the “Philosophy Academy University,” which reviewed the development of the Academy since the Academy Incident and until Enryō’s resignation.26 The article is very critical of Enryō. It denies that Enryō is a proper scholar and instead merely accords him the status of an education entrepreneur. The fact that Enryō himself mentioned “criticisms” and “distrust” relating to questions that were also touched on in the Recent School Revue points to a certain degree of isolation. The possibility that Enryō not only had become lonely in the Academy’s administration, but also was estranged

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from other Buddhists leaders, is corroborated by Maeda Eun’s remarks on the occasion of Enryō’s death more than ten years later. Maeda’s highly ambiguous statement expresses no appreciation for Enryō’s achievement of having founded the Philosophy Academy (Miwa 1919, 93–94).

22

Darwinism and Empire

E nryō’s support for the Russo‑Japanese War was not a new attitude; indeed, he also had expressed support for the First Sino‑Japanese War in 1894–95 in his A Fragment of a Philosophy of War (1894). Based on this text, Enryō was criticized in the postwar period by Ienaga Saburō for his “belligerism” 好戦主義 (1959, 96). During his later life Enryō further wrote Life is a Battlefield (1914) and Philosophy of Struggle (1917). These titles raise the question of Enryō’s opinions about social struggle and military conflict. In Part I (chapter 2), a poem of the young Enryō is presented, containing the line from the Analects: “Among the four seas, all are brothers” (Ana. 12.5). We have to ask what happened to the dream of world peace that was present in Enryō’s early verses. Often, Herbert Spencer is cited as an advocate of Social Darwinism. He is known for having coined the phrase “survival of the fittest,” which was later taken up by Charles Darwin in Descent of Man (1871). Spencer’s philosophy is indeed thoroughly evolutionary. In his First Principles, evolution is a scientific principle that is based in physical processes, shapes the biological world, and reaches into the human realm. Spencer defines evolution as “advances from simplicity to complexity” (§129), or more exactly as “transformation of an indefinite homogeneity into a definite heterogeneity” (§169). Human society crowned by modern civilization is located on the highest strata of the constantly evolving natural systems. The moral imperative, which Spencer derives from his evolutionary outlook in Data of Ethics (1879) is the adaption of the individual to the respective social state. Human nature has to be developed to fit into the increasingly complex formations of the social environment, which in turn allow for an increasing amount of happiness. Despite the fact that these 189

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days Spencer’s ethics would gain few supporters, it is not an altogether morally questionable stance. Perhaps the recent revival of research in epigenetic inheritance will even give some substance to the idea that individual effort results in the evolution of higher morality (Szyf 2014). Spencer’s identification of evolution and progress provides him with a moral orientation that points to the overcoming of conflict in the direction of a higher social state. His cosmology of evolving complexity is his “warrant for the belief, that Evolution can end only in the establishment of the greatest perfection and the most complete happiness” (§167). Dissolution, which in the human realm means social chaos and war, is certainly part of the upward spiral, but Spencer does not conclude from this that conflict has to be accepted. Instead, conflict has to be mastered by establishing an even higher form of society comprised of individuals that are more adapted. Spencer’s philosophy is therefore not Social Darwinism in the sense that the Darwinian struggle for survival is practically affirmed. Social Darwinism is dangerous if conflict, particularly on the international level, is perceived as an inevitable fact that renders peaceful efforts futile. The idea that a “rich country with a strong army” 富国強兵 must be the overall imperative of political action, because among nations “the weak is the fodder of the strong” 弱肉強食, dominated Japanese imperialism until the end of World War II. This same double standard of national union and international conflict is also apparent in Enryō’s A Fragment of a Philosophy of War. Enryō presents war as a metaphysical principle that should be regarded not as an exception, but instead as a constant feature of human society (chapter 1). The struggle for survival, for happiness and pleasure as well as for the truth, renders war an unmistakable social fact (chapter 2). Although Enryō allows for a certain evolution of war from the material to the immaterial, from physical to intellectual warfare (chapter 3), he is clear that there can be no expectation of a global empire or a Golden Age (14, 19). Enryō, therefore, proposes that the national polity should be understood as a union of life and death and that in this vein the people themselves should be prepared for uncountable wars to come (chapter 14). When thinking of the long tradition of the idea of peace in Confucianism, the standpoint Enryō takes here is indeed deplorable. This piece of Enryō’s philosophy might have been, again, influenced by Fenollosa, who in his lecture on the Development of Chinese Philosophy

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presented continued struggle as a necessary precondition for the ascension to higher syntheses. Besides Fenollosa, yet another author has to be taken into picture: Katō Hiroyuki, whose achievement in founding Tokyo University has been emphasized in Part II (chapter 9), first made his conversion to Social Darwinism explicit in 1882 with the publication of a New Theory of Human Rights (cf. Davis 1996). This was followed by a systematic exposition of Social Darwinism published 1893 in Japanese and in 1894 in German. In Der Kampf ums Recht des Stärkeren, Katō applies evolutionary theory to all social levels. Between individuals, nations, and races, conflict is based on a natural law that allows no moral judgment. While there was not a second edition to Enryō’s philosophy of war, Katō’s work was republished in 1942 during the unfortunate alliance between Germany and Japan in World War II. It is not impossible that Bismarck’s sincere but nonetheless cynical warning directed at the representatives of the Iwakura Embassy was also noted by Katō. Bismarck presented international politics as a domain of mutual distrust and struggle for power behind a thin veil of diplomatic courtesy. Nevertheless, Katō, the most outspoken and influential proponent of Social Darwinism in modern Japan, drew nearly exclusively from German sources. He particularly mentions Friedrich von Hellwald’s Kulturgeschichte in ihrer natürlichen Entwicklung (1875), as well as Ludwig Gumplowicz, whose Der Rassenkampf (1883) he frequently cites, as important for his own work (35). Hellwald personally helped Katō with the editing of his German manuscript for publication.27 The calamitous influence of this line of German scholarship culminated in the unmasked inhumanity of Hitler’s Mein Kampf (1925–27). To be sure, compared to Mein Kampf, Katō’s Der Kampf ums Recht des Stärkeren is a masterpiece of scholarship and integrity. It was still a disturbing experience to read in my own language a systematic rejection of freedom, human rights, and democracy ornamented with quotes from Goethe and Schiller by one of the most influential intellectuals of Japanese modernity. Katō’s conversion to Social Darwinism is all the more deplorable when one remembers that he was acquainted with the Enlightenment idea of freedom rights through translating Bluntschli’s Allgemeine Staatslehre. The following discussion does not aim to account for the valid descriptive elements in the respective works by Enryō and Katō. In effect, both texts naturalize and practically affirm conflict by evolutionary arguments. Against the evolutionary legitimation of war, three arguments shall be presented:

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Biological Argument. The currency of evolution is not power or strength, but reproduction. Reproductive success depends on many factors. Of these, competition is but one example. Inaptness in finding nutrition, in finding a reproductive partner, or in staying in good health does not necessarily depend on other organisms. Fitness to the sum of circumstances determines the reproductive success of the individual organism, not strength. Apart from the fact that Social Darwinism is based on a false account of evolutionary theory, it is also based on an unsound anthropology, in particular when it claims that warfare is natural to mankind. Genetically, the modern human species appeared around two hundred thousand years ago in Africa (Mitochondrial Eve). A module for cooperative raiding or warfare might have evolved if selective pressure from innate violence among human subspecies was persistent during the evolution of homo sapiens. We do not know whether that was the case. When homo sapiens left Africa between sixty and seventy thousand years ago, descendants of homo erectus lived across the Eurasian continent. We also do not know whether homo sapiens violently eliminated these human subspecies. Instead, recent research has proved that interbreeding with Neanderthals occurred. The “victims of love” hypothesis says that the Neanderthals could have been “genetically swamped” through interbreeding with homo sapiens.28 This certainly does not rule out violent conflict but neither is it definitely suggested. Since its spread out of Africa, homo sapiens developed a variety of phenotypes. The blurry entities among these phenotypes, which have been referred to as races, may be a product of the last seventy thousand years. The no less blurry entities one commonly refers to as ethnicities may be a product of developments spanning more than ten thousand years.29 Whether or not violent intraspecies competition among such groups before the Neolithic Era was common is speculative, because we do not know about population density. Homo sapiens has sufficiently proved over the last ten thousand years that he is capable of coalition‑based violence, but the claim that it is his nature is not based on paleo‑anthropological findings. Instead, as Spencer knew, we have all the evidence we need to support that it is the supreme ability to cooperate that has afforded the success of mankind. Deontological Argument. The political value of peace can be derived from the Golden Rule. The Golden Rule, which is an ethical heritage in various literate traditions such as the Old Testament (Tobit 4,15) or the Analects (15.23),

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is based on the idea of human equality and demands reciprocity in human interaction: One should treat others as one would like others to treat oneself. Every individual wishes circumstances that assure its inviolability. Hence, everybody must commit to the aim of establishing circumstances that secure everybody’s inviolability. This is only possible in a world of peace. To argue that peace never existed in transmitted history, and that the end is therefore not realistic, is a misconception of the function of values. Values point the way into the future and therefore never correspond to the present. If they were realized already, they would lose their function as ends. This shows the limits of Katō’s positivist idea of truth and the primacy of empirical science. Katō was not able to prove ethics right, because they do not correspond to reality. The naturalistic fallacy of Social Darwinism exhibits the important function of the concept of validity: The Golden Rule is not true; it is valid. Comprehending moral theory as descriptive truth misses the point that ethics own a distinctive status of validity. As Kant stated in order to clarify the distinction between is and ought: “Pure honesty in friendship can be demanded from everybody, even if no honest friend might ever have existed yet” (AA 4: 408). Pragmatic Argument. Plato developed his ethics against the naturalism of the Sophists. The Sophist Callicles in Plato’s dialogue Gorgias (483d) and Thrasymachos in the Republic (338c, 344c) both hold that the Right of the Strong is an inevitable natural law. Plato argues that denying the value of harmony inevitably leads to self‑contradiction. In the same way that discord in human groups leads to incapability of joint action and to eventual dissolution, an individual is not capable of any directed action stretching over two moments in time if the antagonism of mental impulses is not brought into a temporary harmony. Temporary unity of the soul is the conditio sine qua non of action (Rep. 351e–352c). Even the statement of an alleged universal law of conflict presupposes some persistence if the statement is not to be obsolete in the next moment. The claim itself, therefore, commits a performative self‑contra‑ diction. Speculation about reoccurring cycles of war and peace, dissolution and unity should not belie the fact that in a practical perspective unity and peace are the preconditions of all purposive action in individual life and politics. Nietzsche’s call for the eye of justice in historiography is particularly hard to achieve in political history; the bigger the picture the more tentative the

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judgment. However, in order to put Japanese imperialism into perspective a wider outlook becomes inevitable here. The Russo‑Japanese War (1904–05) marked a turning point not only in Enryō’s life, but also in modern Japanese history (cf. McClain 2002, 283–315). The victory over Russia signified Japan’s rise to the ranks of Great Powers. It was the first time in the modern era that a Western imperial power was defeated by a non‑Western country in an all‑out war. The Russo‑Japanese War therefore has been assessed by historians as the end of the Chinese World Order and the beginning of Japan’s attempt to restructure the East Asian sphere, which lasted until 1945. In terms of warfare, the Russo‑Japanese War also foreshadowed the static trench warfare of World War I. The death toll in the siege of Port Arthur exceeded one hundred thousand. In comparison, the whole First Sino‑Japanese War had only cost around fifteen thousand lives.30 With industrialization and technological progress, war had changed continuously. Since the rifle had been adopted by all European armies in the 1850s, guns and artillery used by infantry and marines were constantly improving in precision, frequency, and explosive force. The quantity and quality of warfare technology became the determining factors of victory and defeat (Osterhammel 2009, 692–705). War had changed dramatically. We are reminded of the harrowing words of Nietzsche from 1885: “On a thousand bridges and paths they shall throng to the future, and ever more war and inequality shall be set between them: thus my great love commands me to speak!”31 Thirty years later, after World War I, Zarathustra would not have spoken thus any more. With victory against Russia, Japan was one of the few countries in Africa and Asia that secured its independence in the age of Western imperialist aggression. Reactive or defensive nationalism in the imperial age has to be judged with caution. The complexity of the term nationalism lies in the fact that it denotes a political principle, which is the basis of the order we still draw our hopes for peace from. The first attempt to realize the ideal of an international community, based on the idea Kant had developed in his Perpetual Peace (1795), was made in 1920 with the foundation of the League of Nations, the precursor organization of the present United Nations (Gerhardt 1995, 219f). The only order we can so far imagine to secure world peace is based on the structure of nation‑states. Nationalism as the political aim to secure sovereignty is, therefore, in many cases legitimate. That Japan accomplished this goal at such an early stage was her good fortune. Vietnam had to fight for its

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independence in several bloody wars during the twentieth century. China had to pay an immeasurable death toll for its autonomy, and Korea has still not achieved national unity. Japan was deeply involved in the tragedies of her neighbor countries. The development of Japan into an open imperialist power was, of course, a gradual process. Yet, one historical moment signifies the transition from reactive nationalism to imperialism more than any other event—the full annexation of Korea in 1910. The first paragraph of the Korea Annexation Treaty is explicit: “The Korean Emperor cedes the complete sovereignty over the whole of Korea entirely and eternally to the Japanese Emperor.” Korea—“the phial,” from which, in the past, “milk and honey was poured into the mouth of Japan” (Nitobe Inazō)—ceased to exist.32 Japan had failed to obey the principle that Itō Hirobumi had put forth for her modernization in his Sun Disc Speech, namely, “to adopt the advantages, and avoid the errors” of the Western nations. Itō, who himself had opposed the annexation, functioned as Resident General with full authority in Korea during the protectorate between 1906 and 1909. His failure to restrain the dynamics of imperialism became symbolic, in that his assassination by a Korean in 1909 provided the final incentive on the side of the Japanese government to push for annexation.33 Enryō’s principle of Protection of Country has a defensive meaning. After Japan had evolved into an imperial power, it was prone to veil the political reality. The dynamic of securing the spheres of influence between the imperial powers trumped the principle of the independence of nation‑states. In view of the approach of Western powers, Korea, the phial of milk and honey, had become a “dagger pointed at the heart of Japan.”34 At this point, I quote again from the 1889 article in the Japan Weekly Mail about “The Rising Generation”: We redoubled our efforts to assimilate Occidental civilization, in the full hope that, justice being on our side, our patience and earnestness in pursuing our cherished ambition could not fail in the end to appeal to the high sense of right professed by the civilized races of the West. What has been the result? Seeing that years of patient toil and struggle have not brought us perceptibly nearer the realization of our hopes, we begin to understand that right and justice are not the guiding principles in the intercourse of nations; that conscience does not mould

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the conduct of one State towards another; that might and interest are the real arbiters of international questions. . . . It is not enlightenment, we perceive, but effective strength, that must be trusted eventually to convince Western States of our fitness to exercise judicial and tariff autonomy. (600)

Entirely disillusioned, the same point was expressed four years later by Katō Hiroyuki in his Der Kampf ums Recht des Stärkeren: It is hardly necessary to cite special examples to demonstrate how much calamity the European cultured nations have brought many primitive people only to serve their own benefit. . . . Why do the Christian and humane European people not abstain from such immoral and illegitimate enterprises, if they are reigned by the principles of love, human rights and international law? . . . The Christian and civilized European nations could truly be called the cruelest and smartest predators; because no predator causes more suffering than the European people. The cruelest and smartest predator is the reasonable‑moral being, the so called likeness of God! (182–84)

Although he was, by this time, a firm believer in Social Darwinism, the outrage in Katō’s words cannot be missed. The blatant self‑contradiction of the Western powers played its part in convincing the Japanese that international relations were governed by nothing other than the rule of force. Between the publication of A Fragment of a Philosophy of War in 1894 and the publication of Life Is a Battlefield in 1914, Japan and the world had changed. Enryō also had changed his opinion about war. In 1908, another Imperial Rescript was promulgated. The so‑called Boshin Rescript 戊辰詔書 appealed to “the cultivation of international relations in friendship and justice.” Although this was not applied to Korea, the edict promoted foreign relations and encouraged economic activity as its main purpose. In Life Is a Battlefield, Enryō interpreted the edict as the “rescript of peace” (25). He still expressed doubts about whether war would ever cease (90), but Enryō now emphasized the idea of “human civilization” 人文. Instead of only “strengthening the army,” competitiveness should be channeled into the aim of “enriching the country” (26). He explicitly stated that war is not the aim of politics, and that peace has to be pursued (85). Enryō underpinned his point that war and world

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civilization are a diametrical dynamic, with some farsighted observations about economic interdependence in the age of progressing globalization (93–95). The concept of competitiveness in evolutionary terms was an integral part of Enryō’s philosophy, but the Darwinian legitimation of war disappeared during his later period. The title Life Is a Battlefield should be read as an exhortation to be ambitious because life is competitive. In the preface, Enryō states that he originally planned to give the book the innocuous title Animating the Youth 活青年. A similar reading should also apply to the title Philosophy of Struggle from 1917. Struggle is a word for effort, and Enryō’s philosophy of “struggle” 奮闘 is an argument for activism. The book was republished in 1926, under the appropriate title Philosophy of Life Conduct 処世哲学. Was Enryō an ideologue of Japanese imperialism (Jee 2013)? The answer is negative in the sense that he advocated military action and direct political rule over foreign territories. Enryō did, however, certainly support Japanese expansion. But his objective in Life Is a Battlefield was inspired by civilizational mission more than by military jingoism. The fate of the Orient will depend on the fate of China. China has developed earlier than Japan and our country’s traditional culture has all come from China. The ancient Japanese civilization has been imported from China. Today, our country has taken in Western civilization earlier than China. In the past, China was our country’s senior. Today our country has become senior to China. Therefore, we should become pioneers, missionaries, and teachers to introduce Western civilization to the Chinese mainland. This is the role of our country. . . . Deciding the fate of the Orient and preserving peace in East Asia can only be achieved by the strength of our Japanese Empire. (177f)

If Enryō was not an imperialist in the military sense, he was still an advocate of Japanese colonial policy (Park 1997). He went on lecture tours throughout the Japanese colonies teaching the Education Rescript, and repeated his call for religious mission as the vanguard of economic expansion (Dez. 1917). A final aspect of Enryō’s political thinking shall be pointed out. In Philosophy of Struggle he writes, Our country is part of ourselves and the world is part of our country. Hence, our personal development becomes the development of the

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country, the development of the country becomes the development of the world. Therefore, if we wish for the development of the world, we should first devote all our effort to the country. (2: 278) Promoting global civilization and perfecting the happiness of mankind by being arduously active for the country . . . , this is what I call improving human life. (2: 280)

In this passage, the nation appears to be merely a means to further human civilization. Nation‑states are the institutional framework that allows the individual to participate in the global enterprise of mankind. It is only on the basis of flourishing independent countries that the prosperity of global civilization can be approached. If Enryō had always stuck to this line of reasoning, his principle, Protection of Country, would be acceptable.

23

Late Life

I n 1906, Enryō retired to the land outside of Tokyo that he had originally bought as the new campus for the Philosophy Academy; instead, he used the land to gradually create the Temple Garden of Philosophy. As early as April 1906, Enryō resumed his lecture tours, which were essentially fundraising for his park, and continued them until his death in 1919. Enryō had begun his lecture tours in 1890 at the age of thirty‑two. His ambition was to lecture literally everywhere in Japan (see Map 2). He might have achieved this aim had he not died early. With the exception of three years (1894, 1895, 1903), he went on at least one tour every year. He spent a total of ten years and nine months traveling throughout the country. After 1906, he extended his radius to the new Japanese colonies in Korea, Manchuria, Hokkaidō, Sakhalin, Okinawa, Taiwan, and China. His travel diaries fill more than two thousand pages.35 During the years 1907 to 1919 alone, he gave lectures in more than two thousand communities before more than 1,300,000 people (Miura 1998, 491–99). If we take into the picture the volume and success of Enryō’s writings as well as the correspondence learning at the Philosophy Academy, Enryō likely reached more people than any other intellectual of modern Japan until the end of World War I. Enryō directed his teaching at the lower classes, who had no access to modern education. His ambitions bear some resemblance to the so‑called People’s Enlightenment during the 1780s in Germany.36 It was an enlightenment not aimed at political emancipation, but at providing general knowledge for the self‑help of uneducated, often rural people. Exemplifying the new type of scholar called “philosopher,” Enryō gave his audience an idea about this hitherto unheard of form of scholarship. Matters of religion, such 199

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Map 2. Inoue Enryō’s Lecture Tours

as the adequateness of Buddhism for modern civilization, and the dangers of superstitious beliefs, also occupied much space in his lectures. We can imagine his ghostly stories, followed by a smart explication, and episodes from his world travels, as having been especially popular. However, the Education Rescript was ranked among the most important topics even before Enryō’s resignation from the Academy (Miura 1998, 498). Enryō took it as one of his personal lifelong missions to spread the message of the Rescript among the Japanese people. After 1906, Enryō continued his lecture tours as part of his Morality Church initiative, which he had not abandoned with his withdrawal from the Philosophy Academy. He republished the outline of the project almost without changes in 1906 and conducted all his lecture tours until 1912 in the name of this initiative. The English name Morality Church 修身教会 (Shūshin kyōkai) is just one possible translation. More literal renderings would be Teaching Assembly for Personal Cultivation, or Congregation for Self‑Cultivation. The compound shūshin 修身 is a core Confucian concept referring to the individual cultivation of virtue. Virtues are character traits that have to be trained to become second nature. The term shūshin therefore denotes the individual

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effort to become a moral person. The first Chinese translation of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, made by the Jesuits during the seventeenth century, was titled Personal Cultivation in Western Learning.37 The term shūshin is but one Confucian concept that has been thoroughly corrupted by the modern Japanese education system. In postwar Japan, shūshin only evokes indoctrination and coercive discipline in governmental schools. This connotation has its origin in the application of the term in moral education based on the Education Rescript since the latter half of the Meiji period. The name of Enryō’s Morality Church is but one example of the widespread use of the term at that time. Since Enryō was a declared opponent of Christian influence in Japan, the translation of kyōkai 教会 as “church” seems questionable. Like the English word “church,” kyōkai in modern Japanese refers only to Christian congregations and buildings. Nonetheless, the translation is justified because Enryō explicitly cites the Christian Sunday school as a model for his initiative (25: 631). Enryō had the idea for his Morality Church during his extended stay in British communities on his second world trip. In choosing the term kyōkai, Enryō was possibly trying to wrest the concept from Christianity and challenge the Christian monopoly on Sunday schools in Japan (cf. June 1902, 35). Enryō was convinced that Japan lacked secondary moral education outside of school. In the statement of Purpose of Establishing the Morality Church (25: 628–39), Enryō outlined the organizational structure of a nationwide web of Sunday schools for the teaching of civic morality. The Morality Church was to be spread in cooperation with existing religious institutions. Enryō wanted to borrow religious awe from temples and shrines in order to give impetus to lifelong moral education. He also provided that the lectures or sermons should be framed by music and song. The Education Rescript was not only the basis for the teachings in the Morality Church, it was also to be recited at the beginning of each congregation. Besides the cardinal virtues of loyalty and filial piety, the Morality Church was to promote the economic virtues of industry and parsimony and lend help to the reform of customs in household and society. Enryō expected that in each community, autonomous societies would form led by priests and schoolteachers. This was to contribute to the prosperity and harmony of the community. Teaching materials with

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contributions from the local Sunday teaching societies were to be published and spread in the Morality Church Magazine. Enryō was moreover hoping that his Morality Church initiative would create an impulse for the reform of Buddhism. If the Buddhist priests were to teach every Sunday the secular ethics of the Education Rescript, the otherworldly character of Buddhism could slowly be turned around. The teaching society would exert a certain pressure on the priests to refine their scholarship; otherwise they could be excluded. On his lecture tours Enryō gave examples of Morality Church sermons and instructed the establishment of local branch societies. This was the plan. However, there is scant evidence as to the success of Enryō’s project. In 1912, he renamed the society and dropped the idea of establishing branch organizations. Further, all traces of Buddhism have disappeared in the statement of purpose of the Society for the Spread of Civic Morality. The venue of Enryō’s lectures moved away from the temples and into primary schools (Miura 1998, 476). The society was now a one‑man initiative to teach national morals and spread the Education Rescript. By that time, the Education Rescript was enshrined next to the portrait of the Emperor in every school and its recitation was integrated into the daily routine of elementary schoolchildren. Enryō also recited the Rescript at the beginning of each of his lectures. Carol Gluck, in her profound study, Japan’s Modern Myths (1985), recapitulates her research about ideology during the late Meiji period as follows: Late Meiji ideology, while by no means spontaneous, had emerged through a process in which suasion outweighed coercion as a means of establishing ideological hegemony. The suasion was sometimes moral, sometimes social, and sometimes institutional, as it was in the schools and the military. And in each of these cases coercive forces of varying degree were also at work. But the overall effect was that of an orthodoxy as Orwell described it: powerful because widely held and widely held because it made sense to the people at the time. (281)

Enryō had distanced himself from the Ministry of Culture after the Philosophy Academy Incident. He took pride in being a “peasant scholar” 百姓的学者 for the common people. His activities were, therefore, not indoctrination from on high, but rather education in aid of private initiative. It was a

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grassroots form of education. And yet with a content derived from higher up, namely, decreed by the sacred Imperial Household. Considering the breadth of Enryō’s audience, he must have added considerably to the emergence of ideological homogeneity during the late Meiji period. For the purpose of his lecture tours, in the name of the Society for the Spread of Civic Morality Enryō prepared a list with forty topics divided into two groups, each with twenty subjects. The first twenty topics revolve around civic morality, the national polity, industry, and social education. The second complex of subjects comprehended the relation between ethics, religion, and philosophy, the future of Buddhism, Mystery Studies, and travelogue. If a community or local society wanted to invite Enryō to lecture, the organizer was expected to choose two topics for a one‑hour lecture each. At least one topic had to be selected from the first group (Miura 1998). Enryō never fully turned his back on Buddhism, but during his late period his advocacy of the reform of Buddhism became secondary. He finished his magnum opus, Living Discourse on Buddhism, in 1912 and published a summary of his scholarship on Japanese Buddhism in the same year. But compared to his research and writing about Buddhism during the period of the Philosophy Academy, a certain shift away from Buddhist scholarship is obvious. A new genre appeared in Enryō’s late writings instead. He began to write verse and aphorisms in Chinese. The first publication of this type in 1909, the Homemade Proverbs, he later gave the alternative title Meiji Herbal Root Sayings, which alludes to a Chinese collection of aphorisms by Hóng Zìchéng (1572?–1620) from the late Míng dynasty.38 The title Herbal Root Sayings stems from the idea that simple truths have to be chewed well to be fully grasped (Hung 1985, Introd.). Enryō’s modernized version of Hóng’s work was just the beginning of a long list of classical texts that Enryō rewrote during his late period. Texts of the highest order, such as the Analects 論語 (Feb. 1919), the Heart‑Sūtra 心経 (2: 422f), or the Iroha いろは (2: 261f) were remolded by Enryō to fit the modern age. Classics that had served for centuries in primary education, such as the Thousand Character Text 千字文 (2: 285–88), the Three Character Guideline 三字経 (2: 289–91), and the Real Words Teaching 実語教 (2: 393–97) were purged of all passive and pessimistic tones by Enryō. The deep conviction that this unprecedented age demanded reform, not only of the material culture but also of the people’s mentality, was one of the great

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constants in Enryō’s thinking. He rewrote the chrestomathy of Japanese literature so that it conveyed the spirit of world‑affirmation, optimism, and activity necessary in the age of progress. Everything had to be reformed. Customs, rituals, clothes, art, smoking, literature, and education. Enryō invented a Philosophy Checkers (Jan. 1890). He laid out the plot for a Buddhist wedding ceremony (2: 365–74). He presented ideas to improve the abacus (19: 491–504). He even made a proposal to reform the toilet (19: 542–43). Enryō was not a conservative. He wanted to keep the tradition alive by reforming it. Yet, in one important point Enryō’s attitude toward reform changed. In the Prolegomena, he had proclaimed that upon having found the truth in Buddhism, “I first relinquished my long cherished wish to found a new religion. I came to the resolution to reform Buddhism and to make it the religion of the enlightened world” (3: 337). During the so‑called Second Debate about the Collision between Education and Religion in 1899, Enryō derided Inoue Tetsujirō for his proposal to create a new “ethical religion” from scratch. For Enryō, to call for a moral religion that was in accordance with science and that would substitute for all the old creeds demonstrated a poor understanding of what religion meant. Religion must answer to the hopes of the common people, and thereby relies on images of gods, myths, and rituals in order to represent the perfection for which the people are longing. Buddhism was already the comprehensive religion Inoue Tetsujirō was calling for (Hasegawa 2013) because it allowed for a multiplicity of soteriological “means” 方便 to help the people (see chapter 30). Enryō added to his criticism, Humanity already has a religion of this character, that of Auguste Comte. And when, after incredible efforts, I succeeded in finding his church in London, I was told that the number of these adepts has never exceeded forty or fifty persons.39

The Religion of Philosophy at home in the Temple Garden of Philosophy, which Enryō promoted during his later life, was in fact very similar to what Inoue Tetsujirō had called for some fifteen years earlier and what Auguste Comte had attempted in founding the Religion of Humanity during the early 1850s. Enryō never denounced Buddhism. However, the fact that his dedication to the reform of Buddhism during his later life diminished, and that he promulgated a new Religion of Philosophy instead, corroborates the

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hypothesis that the crisis of the years 1903 to 1906 was the great turning point in his life. The estrangement from the other Buddhist scholars could have been deeper and longer lasting than hitherto recognized. Enryō wanted to reform Buddhism by nourishing it with philosophy. This two‑pronged approach and Enryō’s twofold identity of philosopher and Buddhist scholar first alienated him from his Buddhist order in Kyoto and eventually also from the modern Buddhist academia gathering in Tokyo. In his very last writing, “My Mission in Philosophy,” from 1919, Enryō described how he planned to shape the Temple Garden of Philosophy into a place where philosophy could be practiced. Just as Buddhism was applied metaphysics, so the cultivation of the mind in the spirit of philosophy would also be of a religious character. The practice Enryō appointed for the Religion of Philosophy was to be performed in the Four Sages Shrine. From the “ceiling” 天井 (tenjō) of the building a sculpture suspends that symbolizes the Absolute, the “heavenly well” 天井 (tenjō) from which all phenomena emanate. Below the sculpture on the ground stands the Stele of Invocation. Directed to this stele the adept is supposed to recite the chant Hail, Hallowed Infinite Absolute 南無絶対無限尊. By doing so, the mind becomes clear, the heart flooded with joy, and the will animated to the Good. Enryō died on June 6, 1919, after suffering a stroke while lecturing in the Japanese colony of Guāndōng 関東 in Dàlián 大連 (Port Arthur), China.

Figure 4. Photograph of Inoue Enryō (ca. 1918)

Interlude on Progress

I n the face of the technological, scientific, and institutional superiority of the West in the mid‑nineteenth century, Japan had two options; either to accept inferiority due to cultural or biological reasons, or to perceive the margin between the West and the rest of the world as the result of a development that, in principle, every society can undergo. The political leaders of Japan chose the latter option, and wholeheartedly adopted the idea of “beginning the transformation into a bright civilization” 文明開化. In the light of the human catastrophes of the first half of the twentieth century, and the continuously growing threat of ecological disasters in our own time, we cannot but judge the optimism prevalent in Japan and the West during the period from the mid‑nineteenth century until World War I as naive. Mankind had yet to learn the bitter lesson that change is by no means an indicator of progress. Why were the overheated dynamics of industrialization and imperialism before World War I perceived so uncritically as advancements? Karl Löwith’s influential analysis in Meaning in History (1949) interpreted the belief in progress as the secularization of Christian eschatology. All modern striving for improvements and progress, is rooted in that singular Christian progress to the Kingdom of God from which the modern consciousness has emancipated itself and from which it is still dependent, like the run away slave from its distant master.1

In the first part of The Legitimacy of the Modern Age (1985), Hans Blumenberg argues convincingly against Löwith’s thesis of a secularized Christian mentality. The concept of secularization that is in question here is different from the three meanings established by José Casanova: the decline of religion; the 207

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privatization of religion; and the separation of religion from the secular sphere (Asad 1999). In contrast, Blumenberg problematizes the concept of secularization because it suggests that a certain content is transformed, or transposed from the religious sphere into the secular sphere. In analogy with the juridic category of secularization, which originally signifies the dispossession of church property, so too in the realm of thought, speaking of secularization, suggests that some originally religious ideas are wrested from Christianity and, in a new disguise, applied in the secular sphere. Blumenberg particularly cites Carl Schmitt for the position that “[a]ll meaningful concepts of modern state theory are secularized theological concepts” (103). In Schmitt’s political theology, human equality before God became civic equality and God himself the almighty and omnipresent State. If the secular discourse is derivative of the religious, this, so Blumenberg proposes, exhibits pressure on the modern discourse to justify itself against the Christian background from which it emerged. The concept of secularization, therefore, directly questions The Legitimacy of the Modern Age. Blumenberg’s main argument is that the notion of transformation from being religious to secular or vice versa implies a misleading reification of ideas. He argues that just because analogies are drawn this does not mean transformations have taken place. Empire and church have always subverted each other’s concepts and symbols for their own purposes. Surmising about substances that are transformed necessarily raises the question of original belonging, and in this way the problem of legitimacy arises. In the chapter on progress, Blumenberg, however, cites yet another type of argument that seems even farther beyond Löwith’s horizon. Drawing upon Kant, Blumenberg calls progress “a regulative idea for the integration of acts” (36). The notion of progress means “the constant self‑justification of the present through the future, which it gives itself, against the past, with which it compares itself” (41). In Löwith’s extensive study on the Meaning in History, Kant is the glaring blank. From his teacher, Löwith had not acquired an understanding of the Kantian primacy of practical philosophy. In Kant’s philosophy, progress is not a theoretical concept. Rather, it is a consequence of the standpoint of freedom. Free action that intentionally chooses the better over the worse is based on the premise that the state of affairs after the action will be better than before the action. The possibility of progress is therefore implied in the logic of human activity. Moreover, responsible

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action, particularly in politics, will want to take future consequences into account as far as possible. This sort of long‑term planning demands scenarios of conditions and dynamics in the past and present. Political farsightedness naturally extends its perspective into the past in the same way as it reaches out into the future. Lines of development that should be modified or inhibited, as well as dynamics that should be promoted, have to be identified. Successful political action needs a realistic scenario of progress that links the past with the future. Such reasoning is practical because it stands under the premise of freedom. “Practical is everything that is possible through freedom” (B 828). In this sense, Kant noted, the “[p]rogress of mankind to the better is . . . a moral‑practical idea of reason” (AA 19: 611). In other words, progress is a postulate of practical reason (Recki 2005). The deduction of the concept of progress from the intrinsic logic of political action suggests the opposite to Löwith’s thesis. The secular notion of progress is not derived from Christian eschatology; rather, it is the other way around. There must be a preceding intuition of progress to the better before any religious worldview of a future Kingdom of God can arise. Blumenberg, however, did not agree with this conclusion, despite his citation of Kant’s practical idea of progress against Löwith. According to Blumenberg, claiming the opposite, namely the precedence of the secular concepts to the religious concepts, would make the same mistake of reification (133). In my view, Blumenberg’s analysis here is too brief. We do not have to delve into the theories of Feuerbach and Freud to be sure that we could not speak of God the Father without knowing fatherhood as an existential biological fact. The idea of a contract between God and his people could not arise without there already being contracts extant in the human world (Assmann 1992, 256). The judge at court is not a secularized version of God. The whole complex of juridical metaphors in Paulian theology, that is, sin, justification, judgment, punishment, and mercy, is derivative of human law. It is astonishing that Blumenberg refrained from drawing this conclusion. His “metaphorological” approach should have pointed him to the fact that ultimately all metaphors originate in concrete experience (Lakoff and Johnson 1980, 137–38). The semantics of the concrete world must be established before our mental, abstract, and religious concepts can be derived from it through analogy and metaphor. The etymology of progress from the Latin “going forward” should make this sufficiently clear. I reject Blumenberg’s argument that it results in a misleading substantialization

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when we say that our existential concepts precede historically and etymologically, as well as logically and psychologically, their religious hypostasis. Löwith’s and Blumenberg’s common interest is the question as to what degree and in what respect modernity is or was dependent on Christianity. This problem concerns the European cultural sphere as a whole. In other words, the problem is discussed regarding only one case. But little can be induced from one example. Bringing East Asia into the picture gives us at least a second example. Although my scholarship falls far behind the two eminent scholars Löwith and Blumenberg, a certain acquaintance with modern East Asia is enough to give a relatively straightforward answer to their question. What does modern civilization owe to Christianity? The answer is, not much, if anything. Modernity in East Asia is an undeniable fact. Observing modernity in two cultural spheres necessarily gives a clearer idea of its character than observing it merely in one culture. In its original context, conjoined with numerous historical and cultural contingencies, the universal cognitive and institutional signature of modernity is difficult to identify. Just as a template first becomes visible when the board in which it was cut is removed, so too the shape of modern civilization first becomes apparent when observed against a different cultural background. The discussion Löwith and Blumenberg were engaging in is a good example of the ongoing navel gazing of European scholarship. Löwith’s case is, however, particularly tragic, because he lived and worked in Japan for four and one‑half years during his exile. He was one of few Western philosophers ever to be acquainted with East Asia. Yet, he showed no willingness to reflect on his main theorem, the alleged secularization of Christian eschatology, in the light of Japan. Instead, what he had to say about Japan and the Japanese appears to be only the flip side of his theory about modernity’s dependency on the Jewish‑Christian tradition. “ ‘Modern Japan’ is an undeniable fact and at the same time an impossibility. What is modern in Japan is not Japanese, and what is authentic Japanese (the ‘Japanese Spirit’) is ancient” (1960, 588–89). Further, he comments that the Japanese have learned modern civilization from the West, but they live on “two floors” without being able to integrate them (1943, 556). Löwith believed, that the Japanese cannot understand Western thought because they lack the Jewish‑Christian background. The Japanese have alienated themselves from themselves without being aware of it. Löwith kept up his thesis about the origins of modern civilization by judging the Japanese

Interlude on Progress  211

people to be blind imitators. Had he spent some time on learning East Asian languages and scripts, he might have known about the pervasive metaphor of the Path in the East Asian history of thought. The notion of the Human Path alone should have prompted him to the insight that he thoroughly overstressed his criticism of the concept of progress. How else could we move forward if not along the Human Path? Reading Meaning in History, the confidence with which Löwith presents his argument against Karl Marx is striking. Refuting Marx was one of the main objects of his work. Löwith believed Marx to be the preeminent example for the force of his argument because everything finds its match: the proletariat is the secularized chosen people; the revolution amounts to Judgment Day; and the classless society equals the Kingdom of God. For Löwith, The Communist Manifesto is the prophecy and its author, Marx, is the prophet. It is only in Marx’s “ideological” consciousness that all history is a history of class struggles, while the real driving force behind this conception is a transparent messianism which has its unconscious root in Marx’s own being, even in his race. He was a Jew of Old Testament stature, though an emancipated Jew of the nineteenth century who felt strongly anti‑religious and even anti‑Semitic. (44)

Marx, who fully assented to Feuerbach’s critique of religion, was, according to Löwith, unable to reflect on the religious signature of his race. Löwith believed that Marxism is actually the Jewish religion transpired through a thin membrane of secular consciousness. If Löwith was right that Marx was unable to understand himself, how much more do the Chinese misunderstand themselves by professing Marxism? And so, more than one billion Chinese people deceive themselves by what was already a self‑deception of its author. This is by no means a plausible theory. Today, Löwith’s debunking argument by an allegedly religiously impregnated unconsciousness must be seen critically. It represents a crude overestimation of the significance of ancient religions for the modern world. Had Löwith confined his criticism to utopian and revolutionary politics his underlying argument would not be more plausible, but there would be less necessity to refute it. By compromising an indispensable practical concept, he exhibited a very basic misconception. It is right to identify linear progress, linear decline, and circular turns between progress and decline as the basic metaphysical models of history. Yet, such a theoretical scheme obscures the

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practical meaning the concept of progress owes. The notion of progress can be misunderstood theoretically in two ways: on the production side and on the reception side of the narrative of progress. If civilization is described as ascending according to natural or metaphysical laws, progress is withdrawn from human responsibility. This represents an erroneous view on the production side of the narrative. The mistake on the side of reception misinterprets a practically meaningful narrative as being theoretical or metaphysical. The famous characterization of postmodernity as the era when the great legitimizing narratives of progress and enlightenment had lost their credibility (Lyotard 1979), is such a misunderstanding on the reception side of the narrative. Planning demands a realistic account of the past as a reflection on the possibility of desirable results in the future. Thereby, a practical narrative in principle certainly can legitimize political actions. Further, progress can rightly be distinguished as a metanarrative, because every action legitimizing narrative as such accords to the pattern of progress; otherwise the narrative would not be practical. Hence, to state that the metanarrative of progress has lost its credibility is a misconception of the logic of political action, and by extension a misconception of the practical perspective in general. As long as there is no trust in progress as natural necessity irrespective of human effort, the criticism of the “belief in” or the “ideology of” progress is a philosophical naiveté. The critique of progress itself originates from the hope for that which is criticized. The deduction of the concept of progress from the intrinsic logic of political action may be regarded as stating the obvious. Yet, the theoretical outlook is so dominant in Western scholarship that even distinguished scholars such as Löwith or Foucault missed the implications of Kant’s concept of freedom. In one of his last writings, Michel Foucault discusses Kant’s question, “What Is Enlightenment?” The text reads like a testimony of a historian’s eventual awakening to the meaning of philosophy. The critical ontology of ourselves has to be considered not, certainly, as a theory, a doctrine, nor even as a permanent body of knowledge that is accumulating; it has to be conceived as an attitude, an ethos, a philosophical life in which the critique of what we are is at one and the same time the historical analysis of the limits that are imposed on us and an experiment with the possibility of going beyond them.

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During the nineteenth century, parts of the world entered an ever‑accelerating maelstrom of change, which has now taken hold of the whole globe. Given the fact that mankind at that time faced unprecedented changes, one might be content with inexperience as an explanation for the naive trust in progress. If we deem this answer to be insufficient, then the influence of the new biological discourses has to first be considered. New, sometimes incorrect, knowledge about evolution, life, and the human species became interwoven with political discourses in several ways. In particular, it was the philosophy of Herbert Spencer that linked the new social developments with evolutionary processes. The social dynamic was regarded as an extended phenomenon of life itself, and was expected to ascend according to the same evolutionary laws as nature at large. Today, we do not share the premise that the evolutionary mechanisms of mutation and selection necessarily lead to higher forms of organisms. However, even more problematic was that Spencer’s sociology to a certain extent ceded human control to allegedly evolutionary processes. Naturalizing social dynamics led to a neglect of responsibility. Here, indeed, there seemed to be an uncritical faith in the invisible hand of evolution directing society toward civilization. The decades before World War I were appalling in many ways: military jingoism, unrestricted capitalism, racism, and chauvinism in all so‑called civilized countries (Osterhammel 2009, 1172–88, 1214–28). Theodore Roosevelt’s (1858–1919) speech “The Strenuous Life,” from 1899, is a formidable expression of this zeitgeist: I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life, the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to preach that highest form of success which comes, not to the man who desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger, from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid ultimate triumph. . . . The timid man, the lazy man, the man who distrusts his country, the over‑civilized man, who has lost the great fighting, masterful virtues, the ignorant man, and the man of dull mind, whose soul is incapable of feeling the mighty lift that thrills “stern men with empires in their brains”—all these, of course, shrink from seeing the nation undertake its new duties; shrink from seeing us build a navy and an army adequate to our needs; shrink from

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seeing us do our share of the world’s work, . . . for as the nations grow to have ever wider and wider interests, and are brought into closer and closer contact, if we are to hold our own in the struggle for naval and commercial supremacy, we must build up our power without our own borders. We must build the isthmian canal, and we must grasp the points of vantage which will enable us to have our say in deciding the destiny of the oceans of the East and the West. A man’s first duty is to his own home, but he is not thereby excused from doing his duty to the State; for if he fails in this second duty it is under the penalty of ceasing to be a freeman. In the same way, while a nation’s first duty is within its own borders, it is not thereby absolved from facing its duties in the world as a whole; and if it refuses to do so, it merely forfeits its right to struggle for a place among the peoples that shape the destiny of mankind. In the West Indies and the Philippines alike we are confronted by most difficult problems. It is cowardly to shrink from solving them in the proper way; for solved they must be, if not by us, then by some stronger and more manful race. I have scant patience with those who fear to undertake the task of governing the Philippines . . . ; but I have even scanter patience with those who make a pretense of humanitarianism to hide and cover their timidity, and who cant about “liberty” and the “consent of the governed,” in order to excuse themselves for their unwillingness to play the part of men. . . . So, if we do our duty aright in the Philippines, we will add to that national renown which is the highest and finest part of national life, will greatly benefit the people of the Philippine Islands, and, above all, we will play our part well in the great work of uplifting mankind. But to do this work, keep ever in mind that we must show in a very high degree the qualities of courage, of honesty, and of good judgment. Resistance must be stamped out. The first and all‑important work to be done is to establish the supremacy of our flag. I preach to you, then, my countrymen, that our country calls not for the life of ease but for the life of strenuous endeavor. The twentieth century looms before us big with the fate of many nations. If we stand idly by, if we seek merely swollen, slothful ease and ignoble peace, if we shrink from the hard contests where men must win at hazard of their

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lives and at the risk of all they hold dear, then the bolder and stronger peoples will pass us by, and will win for themselves the domination of the world. Let us therefore boldly face the life of strife, resolute to do our duty well and manfully; . . . for it is only through strife, through hard and dangerous endeavor, that we shall ultimately win the goal of true national greatness.

After Roosevelt had become president of the United States in 1901 and began to put his imperialist program into practice, the speech was translated into Japanese with the title “Life of Struggle” (1903). The book, whose title bears remarkable similarities with the titles of Enryō’s works Life Is a Battlefield (1914) and Philosophy of Struggle (1917), is stored in the library of Toyo University among the materials Enryō bequeathed. However, the spirit of the age was too pervasive to make any hypothesis about a direct influence. It is astonishing to what degree the ideas and sentiments of Western imperialism had taken hold of Japan by the time of the Russo‑Japanese war. From that time onward, the ideas of progress and civilization played an important role in the legitimation of direct military rule also for the Japanese polity. Countries who did not meet the so‑called standard of civilization were denied the right of sovereignty. It might be tempting, therefore, to dismiss the discourse on progress and civilization, as they functioned as accomplices of imperialism in the same way that we reject Social Darwinism. But we should not throw out the baby with the bathwater. Or, using a Chinese proverb: we should not “kill the ox, when rectifying its horns” 矯角殺牛. No values or ideas are immune to abuse. The fact that an idea was adopted in a certain historical situation to legitimate evil does not prove the idea invalid. Insincerity may corrupt any value. Today, we are in many ways still in the same situation that existed in the world one hundred years ago. The overwhelming dynamics of modernization and globalization have become even more apparent. Obviously, we want to differentiate in this maelstrom between desirable and undesirable lines of development. Citing the international ban on slavery and the decline of superstition in some parts of the world as steps in the right direction, or instances of progress, must be legitimate. Further, we need standards according to which we can judge social formations, not in order to discriminate “barbarians,” but to gain orientation for future political action. The United Nations Human Development Index, from 1990, presents such a standard.

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The index ranks societies according to three basic parameters: individual citizens’ health, education, and standard of living. These parameters are not sufficient to specify all of our political aims, and of course, such criteria have to be kept open for debate. Nevertheless, whatever standards we apply, we simply do not have better terms to express our hope for a better future than progress of human civilization.

Part IV 

The Philosophy of Buddhism

24

Not K antian

D uring his late period between 1906 and his death in 1919, Enryō wrote several books, in which he summarized his thinking and his scholarship. In the field of “pure” or “genuine philosophy” 純正哲学, that is, Enryō’s word for metaphysics, he published the New Proposal in Philosophy in 1909, which ties in with his early works, An Evening of Philosophical Conversation from 1886–87 and the second part of Epitome of Philosophy from 1887. New Proposal in Philosophy is the exposition of a baroque cosmology pregnant with Buddhist themes and keen speculation.1 The content is presented in a structure of three complementary dimensions, which Enryō calls “directions of speculation” 観察の方面 (1: 285). He distinguishes a vertical‑horizontal, an outward‑inward, and a front‑back dimension. He associates the vertical perspective with the diachronic, and the horizontal perspective with the synchronic view of the cosmos. Both views are specified as objective and are integrated by the outward perspective, which takes as its object the cosmos as a whole. The inward perspective is subjective and focuses on the mind. The outward‑inward dimension is again sublated by the front‑side perspective, which reveals what Enryō calls the “theory of mutual inclusion” 相含説. In terminology and content, this theory alludes to the metaphysics of Huáyán 華厳 (Flower Adornment) Buddhism, which teaches the reciprocal permeation of all things (Takemura 2013). Classical metaphysical topics of European philosophy, such as freedom and necessity, and the immortality of the soul, are also discussed from the front‑side point of view. The back‑side perspective finally attempts to tie these metaphysics back to the human realm. Enryō associated this last viewpoint with the realm of religion. Enryō’s approach to metaphysics using a system of complementary spatial dimensions is remarkable, because it points to the fact that our abstract 219

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thinking generally depends on analogies with the perceived world. The groundbreaking research by Georg Lakoff and Mark Johnson about conceptual metaphors has sharpened our awareness as to how spatial metaphors are inextricably interwoven with our thought processes. The parameters of up‑down, inside‑outside, and front‑back are, moreover, no intrinsic properties of space, but subjective in that they already presuppose the human standpoint. As organisms with a head on top and eyes in the front, we orient ourselves in space relative to our standpoint and perspective. Lakoff and Johnson have shown that the parameters of human spatial orientation structure our conceptual systems: good is intuitively associated with up, not with down. The future is imagined to be in front, the past in the back. The brain is inside our heads and the mind is metaphorically inside our heads. These basic metaphors structure many concepts of our value system, our construction of time, and our mental vocabulary. Lakoff and Johnson (1997, 22–30) call them orientational metaphors, because the parameters of spatial orientation provide the map for our experience in areas where the conceptual language is metaphorically derived. The similarities between Lakoff and Johnson’s orientational metaphors and Enryō’s three directions of speculation in New Proposal in Philosophy is striking. Enryō’s philosophy is based on the insight that spatial analogies are fundamental to our thought processes. By spelling out the metaphorical space that our thinking inhabits, Enryō gave reason to his claim that his metaphysics is more encompassing than preceding systems (1: 285–88). There is a Buddhist influence discernible here in the way Enryō gives priority of comprehensiveness over descriptive adequacy. By spelling out all logically possible positions the mind becomes indifferent toward them. Buddhist metaphysics is not so much about describing the cosmos, but rather about thinking all possible worlds. If the mind fills every corner of logical space, it cannot get lost. Enryō’s metaphysics is like a Buddhist mandala transposed into philosophy. The mandala is the visual meditative tool to merge the mind with the finely segmented and at the same time fully integrated idea of the cosmos. An obvious difference between New Proposal in Philosophy and the Philosophy of Struggle, which was published eight years later, is the metaphorical relationship between philosophy and religion. In New Proposal in Philosophy, Enryō conceives of the relationship between philosophy and religion in terms of front‑side and back‑side, whereas in Philosophy of Struggle it is in terms of upward and downward. Why is there no upward‑downward dimension in

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New Proposal in Philosophy? What would be its relation to the vertical perspective which represents the time line? Lakoff and Johnson also point to the orientational metaphor close‑far. Are there even more, and why does Enryō confine himself to three? A close analysis of New Proposal in Philosophy is not intended here, but a critical reading from the perspective of metaphor theory could prove insightful. The work once more confirms Enryō’s gifted fantasy and keen sense of analogy. There is an innovative aspect to Enryō’s directions of speculation as the approach to metaphysics. However, Enryō’s attempt to spell out the metaphysical space shows no epistemological caution; this aspect is generally missing in Enryō’s thought. There is nothing in Enryō’s works that reflects on the condition and possibility of knowledge in the realm of metaphysics. The basic insight of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason is that metaphysics, in being removed from experience, is not a field of theoretical cognition. Metaphysical and cosmological ideas may be brought into a coherent system, but that does not say anything about them being true or not, about corresponding to the world or not. When theoretical reason speculates about the cosmos, it simply exceeds the boundaries of its competence. Since Enryō does not reflect on this problem epistemologically or phenomenologically, his philosophy is not critical in the Kantian sense. Enryō was, of course, not the only nineteenth‑century philosopher who, in the wake of Hegel, disregarded Kant’s modesty in metaphysical speculation. More or less the same applies also to the Kyoto School. Regarding both of his key principles, Protection of Country and Love of Truth, Enryō’s thought was not Kantian in spirit: it did not acknowledge freedom as founding concept of practical philosophy, and it did not refrain from metaphysical speculation in theoretical philosophy.2 Considering the fact that Enryō made Kant, along with Buddha, Confucius, and Socrates, one of the Four Sages of world philosophy, a closer adherence to Kant’s insights might have been expected. Yet, this cannot be confirmed. Although Enryō himself thought very highly of his New Proposal in Philosophy, its lack of epistemological caution renders it of limited philosophical value, that is, if it is read as pure theory in the Western sense. In the following, it shall be argued that Buddhist thought, despite many striking similarities with Western metaphysics, has a different character, one to which Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason does not apply. It is in the area of Buddhist philosophy that we find the most relevant of Enryō’s writings for us today.

25

Identity Realism

I dentity Realism, which is the philosophical position that maintains the identity of phenomena and being, is the common theory among several representative thinkers of the Meiji period (Funayama 1959, 106). The term is known in Japanese by the expression “phenomena‑sive‑being theory” 現象即実在論, and was coined by Inoue Tetsujirō (1856–1944). The complex relationship between Inoue Tetsujirō and his younger (by two years) namesake Inoue Enryō has already been touched on in Part II (chapter 11). In many ways parallel figures, the Two Inoues, are today equally criticized by the labels of syncretism, because of the breadth of academic fields they attempted to cover, and of nationalism, because of their support of the imperial ideology. In contrast to Enryō, Inoue Tetsujirō was sent abroad to study philosophy in Germany. During his six years in Germany between 1884 and 1890, he heard lectures on the history of philosophy in Heidelberg, Leipzig, and Berlin in a predominantly neo‑Kantian spirit. However, according to Inoue Tetsujirō’s memoirs, the friendly contact during his four years in Berlin with Eduard von Hartmann (1842–1906) were particularly fertile and informative. Inoue Tetsujirō expresses gratitude and admiration for Hartmann.3 After returning to Japan, Inoue Tetsujirō began by developing his phenomena‑sive‑being theory in two lectures made before the Society of Philosophy in 1894 and 1897. His later extant statements on this subject are from 1900, 1915, and 1932.4 In the second lecture, “Outline of the Phenomena‑sive‑being Theory,” he listed several philosophical positions in order to map the field and contextualize his own standpoint. He mentioned these theories in Japanese translation, together with their German original, but without adding any of their proponents’ names, or any explanations. 223

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Complementing the respective philosophers or schools, the list goes as follows: As variants of realism, Inoue Tetsujirō mentions “Empirischer Realismus” (Kant), “Idealrealismus” (Fichte, Schelling), and “Transzendentaler Realismus” (E. v. Hartmann). As variants of idealism, he cites “Transzendentaler Idealismus” (Kant), “Egoistischer Idealismus” (presumably Fichte), “Objektiver Idealismus” (Schelling), “Absoluter Idealismus” (Schelling, Hegel), and “Kritischer Idealismus” (neo‑Kantianism).5 In his two lectures, Inoue Tetsujirō leaves no doubt that he intended to present a solution to the epistemological and metaphysical problems discussed in nineteenth‑century Germany. He even underlined this claim by adding a German term for his phenomena‑sive‑being theory, the neologism Identitätsrealismus, that is, identity realism. In both lectures, Inoue Tetsujirō distinguishes his identity realism from a philosophical position that assumes a being or reality behind the phenomena. According to such a theory, the phenomena are of “derivative” 派生的 ontological status, whereas “being” 実在 only applies to that which is beyond our perception. In the first lecture, “A Particle of My Worldview,” Inoue Tetsujirō mentions Spencer’s philosophy as a representative exponent of this position.6 Indeed, Spencer is one of the nineteenth‑century philosophers for whom Kant’s distinction of appearance and the thing itself, or phenomenon and noumenon, became a catalyst for further speculation. In Kant’s philosophy, however, the thing itself is only a necessary other for introducing the concept of appearance. The thing itself should be thought of “neither as quantity, nor as reality, nor as substance” (B 344). It limits ex negativo the realm of the conceivable to that which appears to us. Kant’s distinction between phenomena and the thing itself is introduced to inhibit metaphysical speculation beyond our experience. Thus, it stands very much at the core of Kant’s critical or epistemological argument in theoretical philosophy. Epistemologically, Kant’s philosophy focuses on the subjective conditions of cognition, hence “transcendental idealism,” but that was not to prevent, but to give full rights to “empirical realism.” Spencer, though no less an empiricist than Kant, did not refrain from reasoning about what he called the “Unknowable.” The Noumenon, everywhere named as the antithesis of the Phenomenon, is throughout necessarily thought of as an actuality. It is rigorously impossible to conceive that our knowledge is a knowledge

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of Appearances only, without at the same time conceiving a Reality of which they are appearances. (§26)

Spencer further concluded that the empirically unknowable can be specified as being the unconditioned, unlimited, and real Absolute. Besides Spencer, yet another philosopher, though unmentioned, seems present in Inoue Tetsujirō’s discourse. In the first lecture, Inoue Tetsujirō labeled the position from which he wanted to distinguish his identity realism “transcendent realism” 過境的実在論. The term is not part of the list of German concepts at the beginning of the second lecture; instead, the compound “transcendental realism” 先天実在論 appears. Transcendental realism is the term by which Hartmann referred to his own philosophy, which he had developed as a critique of Kant. Much less empirical than Spencer, Hartmann speculated extensively about The Thing Itself and Its Properties (1871).7 Considering his strong metaphysical import, the expression transcendent realism, although rather uncommon and to some extend contradictory, is in fact not inadequate as a characterization of Hartmann’s philosophy. Maybe his experience in Germany was too recent, so that Inoue Tetsujirō refrained from criticizing his teacher and mentor from Berlin directly. It is also conceivable that Hartmann linked his philosophy to the world‑famous Spencer, for whom he could have felt some affinity, because Spencer also was not an academic professor. In later works, particularly in The Relation between Cognition and Being from 1901, which is the most elaborate statement of Inoue Tetsujirō’s identity realism, the name Hartmann always occurs as the foil of Inoue Tetsujirō’s own philosophy. My assumption is that Hartmann’s influence will be traceable, especially in Inoue Tetsujirō’s arguments against Kant.8 Since Hartmann also recommended to Inoue Tetsujirō Raphael Koeber as successor of Ludwig Busse in the Philosophy Department of Tokyo Imperial University (Inoue T. 1973, 24), his influence on modern Japanese philosophy was considerable. Against the philosophies of Spencer and Hartmann, both renowned thinkers of their time, Inoue Tetsujirō rejected the existence of a real being or substantiated thing itself behind and separate from the phenomena; instead, he proposed that the phenomena themselves are the real. The Kantian distinction between appearance and thing‑in‑itself was to be overcome by declaring an identity between the two, hence identity realism or phenomena‑sive‑being theory.

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Without going into more detail regarding Inoue Tetsujirō’s position, I follow Robert J. J. Wargo’s analysis that Inoue Tetsujirō admitted the necessity of distinguishing epistemologically a subjective and an objective, or an idealist and a realist perspective, but held that ontologically no distinction should be made (Wargo 2005, 17–25). Apart from the fact that Kant surely did not intend to establish an ontological gap in any sense, one might want to examine whether Inoue Tetsujirō’s position presents any innovation compared to the “Idealrealismus” of Fichte’s Foundations of the Science of Knowledge (1794–95) or Schelling’s System of Transcendental Idealism (1800), which he also cited. Of more interest here is that both of Inoue Tetsujirō’s early lectures on identity realism provoked comments from Buddhist scholarship. [W]e can not allow that this view is the original one as the Professor speaks, for we can show anybody that this kind of world‑interpretation has been clearly set forth in some sūtras of Mahāyāna Buddhism.9

The idea of awakening means a reservation against the world as it appears to the deluded mind. The experienced reality might not be the real. A concept of appearance is therefore tied up with one of Buddhism’s core premises. Various consequences were drawn from these reservations about the world as appearance in the history of Buddhist thought. These consequences range from affirming the appearances as they are, to the idealist stance that there is mind only. The theory, which will be examined in the following chapters, integrates the plurality of phenomena by an ontological monism.

26 deus sive natur a

Inoue Tetsujirō had presented his theory in the discursive framework of nineteenth‑century German philosophy. The compounds genshō 現象 (phenomenon) and jitsuzai 実在 (being) were introduced as technical terms tied to specific Western philosophical concepts. Nonetheless, Inoue Tetsujirō was certainly aware that his reasoning owed much to Buddhist philosophy. The names he had chosen for his theory were intended to make his borrowing from the Buddhist tradition apparent. The copula soku 即 in genshō soku jit‑ suzai theory, here translated with the Latin sive, is the most important logical conjunction for expressing identity in East Asian Buddhist thought. It needed closer examination if the Latin sive (or) in the sense of “refers to the same as” or “is exchangeable with” is in all scholastic contexts a correct equivalent to soku. Thinking particularly of Spinoza’s prominent deus sive natura formula there is at least a certain functional equivalency that justifies the tentative translation. Inoue Tetsujirō’s Japanese rendering of “identity realism” also heavily connotes Buddhist metaphysics. The compound enyū for identity in enyū jitsuzai ron 円融実在論 means “perfect fusion” and evokes the Huáyán Buddhist universe wherein everything perfectly morphs through everything else. Although Inoue Tetsujirō first coined the expression phenomena‑sive‑being theory and proposed the theory in 1894, Enryō is regarded as the first philosopher of the Meiji period to propose such a position by introducing the Buddhist thought patterns of nonduality into the modern academic discourse (Funayama 1959, 108). The respective passage in An Evening of Philosophical Conversation has been introduced in Part II (chapter 13), but the same idea is also expressed in the Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism. In 227

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order to illustrate the ontological monism that Enryō considered the quintessence of Buddhist philosophy, he used the Simile of Water and Waves as an ongoing motif throughout his writings.10 This simile has its most prominent occurrence in the Treatise on the Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith, which Enryō was studying during his student years. The Awakening of Faith, a text of immense influence in the history of East Asian Buddhism, remained one of Enryō’s most important guarantors for the existence of a genuine Buddhist philosophy until his late period. In the Prolegomena, Enryō outlined a Buddhist view of mind‑matter dualism based on an orthodox, albeit today contentious, interpretation of the Awakening of Faith. As Enryō suggests, the dualism of mind and matter (or, subject and object, consciousness and outer world) is a philosophical question that arises wherever mankind begins to think conceptually. Enryō explained that, in Buddhist philosophy, the seemingly separate realms of mind and matter are only variant appearances of the all‑bearing Absolute, in Buddhist terms suchness 真如. The ontological relationship between the Absolute and the various mental and material “phenomena” or “entities” 法 (hō) can be explained in the terminology of “substance” 体 (tai), “property” 相 (sō), and “function” 用 (yū).11 The relationship between the substance and its properties is illustrated by the analogy of water and waves; although there are waves of various shapes on the surface of the sea, these shapes are ontologically not separate from the substance bearing them. The substance itself (i.e., water) is permanent and uniform, whereas its properties (i.e., waves) are impermanent and variously shaped. The dynamic between the two is further explicated by the concept of function; the generation or emanation of phenomena is the functioning of the Absolute. The idea that the Absolute is the causal origin of the phenomenal world is called “dependent arising from suchness” 真如縁起 (3: 368–71). Enryō’s problematic metaphysics, which state Japan’s undefiled emergence from the sacred ether (observed in chapter 18), is also a modified version of this theory. In the final part of Living Discourse on Buddhism from 1912, Enryō attempted to demonstrate that in fact all Buddhist doctrine could be explained and summed up in the three principles that he had exposed twenty five years earlier in the Prolegomena, namely, “suchness” 真如, “phenomena” 万法, and “causality” 因果, as corresponding to the “three great” 三大 principles substance, property, and function from the Awakening of Faith (4:391f, 410, 448f). The

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logic of substance, property, and function is at the heart of the philological debate about the origin of the Awakening of Faith (Grosnick 1989). Considering the fact that the Sanskrit terms “wisdom” (bodhi), “property” (gu a), and “activity” (karman) are regarded as possible roots of “substance” 体, “property” 相, and “function” 用 (Takemura 1994, 112; Hirakawa 1990), the ontological interpretation as “suchness” 真如, “phenomena” 万法, and “causality” 因果 by Enryō might be tenable even by philological standards. In the Prolegomena, Enryō then identified suchness with Buddha Nature 仏性 (busshō) (3: 373), thereby citing a topos with deep roots in Japanese Buddhism. According to this doctrine, not only do all living beings possess the potential to become Buddha, but literally everything, including plants, the earth, mountains, and rivers, possess the nature of Buddha. “Everything owns Buddha Nature” 悉有仏性 (shitsuu busshō) is the fundamental statement of this pantheist doctrine, which developed in Japan as an exegesis of the Awakening of Faith (Tamura 1990). After Enryō’s early statements of Buddhist monism in the Prolegomena and An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, his critics pointed to the affinity of his Buddhist philosophy with the pantheism of Spinoza (1632–1677).12 This hint triggered Enryō to pursue a closer examination of the seventeenth‑century Dutch philosopher. Enryō thereby relied on secondary sources, of which the Philosophy of Religion on the Basis of its History (1886) by the German theologian Otto Pfleiderer was probably the most important. The results of his research can be seen in a short article from 1895 titled “A Fragment of a Comparison between Buddhist Philosophy and Spinoza’s Philosophy,” and in his lectures on the Philosophy of Religion from the years 1902–03 (8: 319–573). Enryō affirmed the significance of the comparison and raised several interesting points, on which I will elaborate in this and the following chapters. Considering the difficulties in understanding the Awakening of Faith, I also believe it expedient to begin with Spinoza instead of broaching further complexities on the part of German Idealism. Although the logic of Spinoza’s arguments is difficult to follow, his results are sufficiently clear reference points. For a comparison of East Asian Mahāyāna thought and modern‑era European philosophy, Spinoza seems all the more a good point to start, since he had considerable influence on Schelling’s philosophy of identity from 1801. Enryō agreed with his critics that his philosophy of Mahāyāna Buddhism and Spinoza were in conformity with their monist worldview. He also acceded

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to their point that the concept of pantheism may be appropriately attributed to both philosophies. In Spinoza’s Ethics, we find his pantheism expressed in propositions fourteen and fifteen of Part One: “Besides God there can be no substance” and “Whatever is, is in God” (I: p14–15).13 Spinoza took up the scholastic theology of God as first cause, which originated in Aristotle’s formula of the prime mover, and specified causation from God as “immanent,” in contrast to “transient” causation (I: p16; 18). God, as the constant, immanent cause of the world, is further equated by Spinoza with Nature at large, which he expressed by the prominent formula deus sive natura (IV: d14). Indeed, this notion of an immanent, world “generating nature” (Lat. natura naturans) (I: p29) bears striking similarities with the emanation of all things from suchness, associated with the Awakening of Faith. In fact, Enryō also interpreted suchness from the basis of its activity as a “living thing” 活物 (4: 315). In Spinoza’s critique of anthropomorphic theism, Enryō discovered another aspect in common with Buddhism (8: 348). Spinoza wrote, All prejudices . . . spring from the notion commonly entertained, that all things in nature act as men themselves act, namely, with an end in view; even that God himself directs all things to a definite goal, is accepted as certain. For it is said that God made all things for man, and man that he might worship him. (I: App.)

Spinoza rejected teleological reasoning as producing misleading anthropomorphic conceptions. Any notion of God as the guarantor of justice or the creator of the world is thus abandoned. Enryō, who in his critique of Christianity had strongly emphasized the incredibility of a human‑like Christian God, therefore interpreted Spinoza as founder of the modern Western philosophy of religion, who proposed Buddhist views in an attempt to reform Christianity (8: 352).

27

Historical Critique

“Thus have I heard . . . ” is the formula with which Buddhist sūtras begin. Tradition has it that on the First Council during the rainy season following the Buddha’s demise, his sermons were recited by his disciples for preservation. The opening line recalls this event. This formula, and many other literary devices to warrant scriptural authenticity (cf. Davidson 1990), resulted in the almost unanimous belief in East Asian Buddhism that the Mahāyāna sūtras contain sermons actually spoken by the historical Buddha, a belief that lasted for more than 1,500 years of its history. During the eighteenth century, the exceptional Japanese scholar Tominaga Nakamoto (1715–1746) was the first to assert that the Mahāyāna was not the teaching of the Buddha, but a later development. Committed to a strictly historical approach, Tominaga also criticized the Buddhist scholars for not studying Sanskrit (Nakamura 1969, 2: 61–85). However, the most serious attempt to systematize the fragmentary knowledge about the Indian language available in early modern Japan was in fact made by one of his contemporaries, the priest Jiun (1718–1804).14 Yet, the achievements of both scholars, being examples of eighteenth‑century Japanese rationalism, were not taken up as the groundwork for further development. It was the encounter with Western Indology that first triggered Japanese Buddhists to research their tradition systematically with modern philological methods. During the early Meiji period, Christian missionaries approached their Buddhist counterparts armed with historical knowledge about Indian religions. In 1881, an American missionary published an article in the magazine The Chrysanthemum, printed in Yokohama, titled “The Doctrine of Amida Unauthentic.” The author intended to provide “proof that the doctrine of Amida formed no part of the teaching of Shakya Muni,” and cited 231

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the foremost Sanskritist of the time, the German Max Müller of Oxford University. In 1880, Müller said in front of the Royal Asiatic Society, Is it not high time that the millions who live in Japan and profess a faith in Buddha, should be told that this doctrine of Amitābha and all the Mahāyāna doctrine is a secondary form of Buddhism, a corruption of the pure doctrine of the Royal Prince (Shakya), and that if they really mean to be Buddhist, they should return to the words of Buddha, as they are preserved to us in the old Sūtras. . . . There are Chinese translations of some of the better portions of the sacred writings of Buddhism. . . . But they are evidently far less considered in Japan than the silly and mischievous stories of Amitābha and his paradise. . . . [My Japanese students] will be able to do a really great and good work after their return to Japan, . . . [namely] to purify and reform their religion, that is, to bring it back to its original form.15

After this quotation of Max Müller, the author of the article in the Chrysanthemum closed with the lines, Will they take the advice of their teacher and on their return to Japan proclaim the very foundation doctrine of their sect a “silly and mischievous” fabrication? Or will they continue their support of a doctrine which their teacher’s words and all honest investigation show to be a forgery and a fraud? We shall see.

One of the Japanese students referred to by Max Müller was Nanjō Bun’yū, a True School priest, who after his return from Oxford was the first to lecture on Sanskrit at Tokyo University in 1885 (Nanjō 1924, 51). The extent to which Indian philology at Tokyo Imperial University was taught during the following years is unknown. It was Anesaki Masaharu, an 1896 graduate of Tokyo Imperial University, who published in 1899 Japan’s first modern text critical study, A Historiography of the Sacred Texts of Buddhism. While admitting that his scholarship of the necessary languages Sanskrit, Pali, Tibetan, and Chinese was still insufficient (Anesaki 1899, 15–16), Anesaki was the first modern Japanese scholar who argued, on a philological basis, against the authenticity of the Mahāyāna scriptures (Serikawa 2008, 26–36). Anesaki also commemorated Tominaga’s early historical insights and appealed to the model of the critical biblical philologist Ferdinand C. Baur (1792–1860).

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For more than 1,500 years, Mahāyāna Buddhism existed in East Asia with the almost unassailed belief that its teachings were spoken verbatim by the Indian saint Gautama Buddha. Around the turn of the century, modern Indology proved unmistakably that its most revered scriptures were written at least five hundred years after the historical Buddha had died. It is not difficult to imagine that such a discovery must shake a religion to the core. Modern East Asian Buddhism cannot be understood without reflecting on this watershed. During the twentieth century it became increasingly apparent that very basic Mahāyāna doctrines were not in harmony with earlier teachings. More, some of the most influential scriptures in the history of East Asian Buddhism turned out to be Chinese apocrypha (Buswell 1990; Muller 1998). During the 1980s, a group of ordained scholars from Komazawa University were willing to draw doctrinal consequences from modern historical research. Under the banner Critical Buddhism, they instigated highly controversial debates in Japanese Buddhist Studies. The teachings of no‑self and depended arising were singled out as the core doctrines that an authentic version of Buddhism must not contradict (Matsumoto 1997a, 165). Both doctrines conform in their rejection of any underlying substance or essence in persons or other elements of reality. Nothing comes into being, exists, or passes away independently; hence, self‑contained entities do not exist in this world. Reality consists in nothing more than ever‑changing causal relations. This doctrinal account of Buddhism rules out many later developments after the time of the historical Buddha as heterodox, including some fundamental tenets of Buddhist schools in the East Asian tradition. The historical criticism hits Enryō’s account of Buddhism in several ways: First, although the first generation of Sanskrit scholars were about to establish themselves and revolutionize Buddhist learning, Enryō argued, relying only on Chinese sources, on behalf of the orthodox view that the Mahāyāna was taught by the historical Buddha (5: 296–363). Second, the Chinese tradition had attributed the Awakening of Faith to the Indian Buddhist poet Aśvagho a, who lived around the turn of the second century CE. The Awakening of Faith was seen as an early systematic treatise of Indian Mahāyāna doctrine. Although the origin of the scripture is still notoriously uncertain, during the course of the twentieth century the majority of philologists agreed that the Awakening of Faith is not a translation, but was written in Chinese around the sixth century. Third, the exponents of Critical Buddhism particularly

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attacked the type of “generative monism” 発生論的一元論 to which Enryō professed (Matsumoto 1997a, 171). This idea of a metaphysical substance underlying the world was identified with the pre‑Buddhist Indian philosophy that the Buddha attempted to overcome. The earliest Western commentator on Enryō’s writings, the German philosopher Ludwig Busse, who taught at Tokyo Imperial University between 1887 and 1893, expressed a similar concern as early as in 1892: This metaphysics, which accords with the teachings of the Eleatics, Neo‑Platonic speculations, Spinozism and other pantheistic systems, is not that of primitive Buddhism. . . . But in the course of time Buddhism has again and again acquired a pantheistic coloring. Reared on the soil of Brahmanism, it in various ways has ultimately approximated to the latter’s range of ideas. (PA 13)

It is commonly acknowledged that Enryō played a vital role in calling for the modernization of Buddhism. In particular, his Prolegomena are renowned for having had a deep impact on the Buddhist reform movement. However, for the reasons given above, and particularly because Enryō’s scholarship did not rely on Sanskrit studies, his writings were hardly read or affirmatively received by twentieth‑century academic Buddhist studies. At this point, it is necessary to recall a statement that has already been quoted in chapter 12 of this book. In the preface to the Prolegomena, Enryō reacted to the historical criticism that questioned the authenticity of Japanese Buddhism. Although there is amongst Christians garrulous talk, that the basic texts of Buddhism are Indian, that the Mahāyāna is not the Buddha’s teaching, that Shakyamuni did not really exist, etc., that does not concern me in the least. The biography of the man may not be detailed and the origin of the teaching may not be clear. I would never be so blind and ignorant to believe a teaching because of its origin or tradition. I only will believe it, if it is consistent with today’s philosophical reasoning, and I will reject it, if it is not. (3: 327f)

Is Buddhism Really Meaningful? (Takemura 1997). This question cannot be answered by referring to the authority of the historical Buddha. As soon as the significance of Buddhism as such is up for debate, the original tenets

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of Gautama Buddha have to be justified in the same way as any other later doctrines. This is the genuine starting point of a Philosophy of Buddhism. Alternatively, the field pioneered by Enryō can be referred to as Systematic Studies of General Buddhist Doctrine 通仏教の組織教理学. The relevance of Enryō’s writings will depend on the question of whether they contain a convincing idea, not necessarily of what Buddhism was, but of what Buddhism can and should be in the modern world. As the eminent Buddhist scholar Takemura Makio has remarked in the book whose title is quoted at the beginning of this paragraph: “The majority of scholars in Buddhist studies are doing research under the premise that Buddhism is a good thing, but they hardly reflect on this premise” (Takemura 1997, ii). For discussion regarding this premise, a reading of Enryō’s writings on Buddhism may provide valuable suggestions.

28

Living Buddhism

I n the Prolegomena, Enryō proclaimed his vow to reform Buddhism so that it becomes an “enlightened world religion” (3: 354). In condensed form, the work contains the major ideas that the main body of his magnum opus details. Enryō announced three parts: (1) Living Discourse on Buddhism: Refuting the False, (2) Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right, and (3) Living Discourse on Buddhism: Protecting the Dharma. Enryō had finished the first part by the end of 1887. The second part appeared three years later in 1890. The last part, however, was not written until twenty‑two years later in 1912. This long time span was not due to the fact that Enryō did not continue his studies in Buddhism during these years; rather, the contrary was the case. During the years 1893 to 1904, six of Enryō’s lecture series held in the Philosophy Academy on various aspects of Buddhist philosophy were published as separate volumes.16 Further, he wrote three monographs on the philosophy of the True School (1892), the Zen School (1893), and the Nichiren School (1895), and in 1895 he submitted a doctoral thesis to the Imperial University titled the Genealogy of Buddhist Philosophy. The following year, he became the first scholar to be awarded a Doctorate of Letters by the Imperial University on the basis of a dissertation.17 The doctoral thesis itself is lost, but considerable parts were published as The Heterodox Philosophy in 1897 (Mirua 2011). The title literally translates as “philosophy off the Path” and refers to the non‑Buddhist Indian philosophy. By researching this field through Chinese sources, Enryō hoped to illuminate the historical development of Buddhism. The fact that Enryō chose Buddhist philosophy as a topic for his doctoral thesis is significant in terms of his ambition and competence as a scholar. After his awakening to the philosophical contents of Buddhism during his 237

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university years, he focused his studies on Buddhism and less so on Western philosophy. Considering also that his reading capability in Chinese far surpassed his proficiency in English, we must conclude that Enryō’s scholarship was most profound in the area of East Asian Buddhist thought. Although, after his resignation from the Academy, Enryō moved away from Buddhist scholarship, this did not prevent him from writing the last part of his tripartite Living Discourse on Buddhism in 1912. Yet, instead of Protecting the Dharma as announced in the Prolegomena, he published the third part of his magnum opus under the title Living Buddhism. With the new title, he indicated that his opinions had developed and that he was “now writing down . . . insights accumulated and fostered over several decades” (4: 484, cf. also 389). The work can be read as a resumption of Enryō’s lifelong attempt to give Buddhism a systematic foundation for the modern world. The tripartite structure of Enryō’s main work, as outlined in the Prolegomena, is based on Buddhist terminology. The two concepts, “refuting the false” 破邪 (haja) and “disclosing the right” 顕正 (kenshō), have existed in East Asian Buddhism as a compound since at least as early as the sixth century.18 The phrase, which generally indicates the necessity to delineate and assert the right teaching, was also employed early in apologetic writings of Japanese True School Buddhism.19 The early reform movement of the True School associated “refuting the false and disclosing the right” with the slogan “protecting the Dharma” 護法. The school where Enryō studied in Kyoto for a few months in 1877–78, had been established in 1868 under the name Precinct for the Protection of Dharma 護法場. The apologetic goal of “refuting the false and disclosing the right” doctrine was pursued by including non‑Buddhist subjects in the curriculum, especially Christian studies, in order to refute the foreign religion and to distinguish the sect’s doctrine more efficiently.20 The anti‑Christian use of the phrase haja kenshō has a special semantic background. During the seventeenth‑century Jesuit mission in China, the phonetic transcription of the name Jesus yaso 耶蘇 (Ch. yésū) was coined. The first character of this Chinese rendering of Jesus is a variant of 邪 in haja and can have the same meaning. The character 邪 can be translated as “false,” and also as “evil.” Therefore, for both compounds, yaso 耶蘇 and haja 破邪, a second interpretation was also possible: the Chinese transcription of Jesus can be read as “evil resurrecting,” and haja, which had originally meant “refuting false [views]” or “destroying evil,” subsequently acquired

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“destroying Christianity” as a secondary meaning. It is conceivable that the selection of ya 耶 as a phonetic for Jesus was a real impediment to the Christian mission in East Asia. The first part of Enryō’s Living Discourse on Buddhism has been translated above as Living Discourse on Buddhism: Refuting the False. Although Enryō denied this interpretation (4: 23), the title might well be translated as Living Discourse on Buddhism: Destroying Christianity, since the book is a comprehensive exposition of Enryō’s scientific, ethical and religious arguments against the European religion. For the educated reader, this connotation was certainly present. The second part, Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right, systematically covers the teachings of the various schools of East Asian Buddhism. The third part, Protecting the Dharma, which was eventually published as Living Buddhism, was meant to contain concrete reform proposals. The fact that Enryō structured his main work according to terminology adopted from the reform movement of the True School indicates that he intended this work to fulfill the mission for which he was originally sent to Tokyo. His sect had dispatched him to the new capital to study the Western sciences for the purpose of defending his religion in the new discursive environment. However, his encounter with Western philosophy at Tokyo University led Enryō to abandon his sectarian apologetic standpoint. He thereupon aimed at justifying Buddhism as such under the premise of philosophical validity. Although the tripartite composition of the work is based on Buddhist terminology, the internal structure of each volume, that is, its logical argument, is fully informed by the new philosophical metalanguage. Buddhism is discussed systematically under the paradigmatic distinctions between theory and practice, subject and object, principle and development, and so forth. For his employment of nonorthodox terminology in his discussion of Buddhism, Enryō was sharply criticized by priests from his own sect (Satō 2015). One conspicuous feature, not only of Enryō’s Buddhist writings, but of his thought in general, comprises the many concepts that are built incorporating the character katsu 活 (alive, living, vitalizing). It appears in keywords such as “living learning” 活学, “vivid eyes” 活眼, “activism” 活動主義 and “Living Buddhism” 活仏教.21 The attributive use of “alive” in positive value against “dead” 死 was, of course, not peculiar to Enryō’s language. However, in Enryō’s philosophy of Buddhism the affirmative notion of life also plays a

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key theoretical role. Arguably, katsu is, with Protection of Country and Love of Truth, the third cornerstone of Enryō’s philosophy. In Refuting the False, Enryō confronted Christianity with the modern scientific worldview and particularly with evolutionary theory as popularized by Herbert Spencer and the other members of the X‑Club, which Enryō had studied with his teachers Toyama and Fenollosa at Tokyo University. It was Enryō’s argumentative goal to prove “objectively” that Buddhism was in harmony with modern physical and biological science and Christianity was not. However, in Disclosing the Right, Enryō wanted to discuss Buddhism “subjectively,” that is, according to its inherent character (4: 262–63). In this context, the theory of social organism plays the decisive role, rather than evolutionary theory. Enryō explained that “living discourse” 活論 in the title of his main work indicates that his theory looks at Buddhism as a “living thing” 活物 (4: 213). Before this explanation, the reader had to interpret “living discourse” in the sense of a discussion that wants to avoid being “deadly” boring and wants to “vitalize” or “bring to life” the content of the discourse. In the light of the former statement, the title of Enryō’s magnum opus can also be translated as Theory of the Vitality of Buddhism. To prove that Buddhism has the character of a living organism, Enryō wanted to disclose the “organic system” 有機組織 (4: 222) inherent in Buddhism. The philosophical system of the various schools of Buddhism was to prove Buddhism’s nature as an organic whole. Recalling the paradigmatic function of biology for twentieth‑century systems theory, the idea does not seem too far off. The terms organization and corporation themselves suggest that the biological organism serves as prototype for the idea of the institution. If the various schools of Buddhism are put in a systematic order, this order can be interpreted as the organizational structure of Buddhism as an institution. The unity of Buddhism as an organization then gives evidence that Buddhism can be understood as a living thing. Buddhism was founded as a monastic order. Rather than religious experts like priests and shamans, Buddhism, in the first place, existed as the community of the monks. The Buddhist sa gha is arguably the oldest existing, or living, organization in the world, older than the Vatican and older than the Japanese Imperial Household. In diachronic or historical perspective, Buddhism appears to be a life‑form founded by the historical Buddha, which developed, over the centuries, various forms in various places. To reveal the

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inner logic of this developing organization, Enryō examined the “genealogy” 系統 (4: 222) of Buddhism. Biology offers two models of development: procreation and growth. Procreation implies variation between parent and offspring. Growth of an individual organism means change while maintaining unity. Although the plurality of Buddhist schools suggest the model of procreation, Enryō chose the model of growth, which conveys an unfolding movement rather than splitting. The analogue to organic growth that Enryō discovered in the history of Buddhism were located in the dialectical patterns of Buddhist philosophy. Enryō believed that the different schools had emerged out of each other following an inherent dialectic. This dialectic is not projected backward into history, but is inherent in the sense that it was made explicit during the process by the tradition itself. Buddhism is therefore a self‑reflexive philosophical organism that grows according to the basic pattern of “existence, emptiness, and mean” 有空中 (cf. chapter 13). In Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right Enryō summons up a huge array of distinctions and concepts of East Asian Buddhist scholasticism. The Tiāntāi 天台 (Heaven’s Stage) teaching of “emptiness, provisional [existence], and mean” 空仮中 (4: 286f), which is easily confused with the aforementioned Yogācāra pattern of “existence, emptiness, and mean” 有空中, is just one example of the many doctrines Enryō recapitulates in his attempt to make a system of the confusing plurality of Buddhist schools and teachings. According to his basic idea that Buddhism is a philosophical religion, or, in other words, that Buddhism applies philosophical theory in religious practice, the book has a section about the Gate of Theory 理論門 and a section about the Gate of Application 応用門. In the latter part, the ascetic practices of the philosophical schools Enryō had brought in order in the theory section are discussed. In practical respect, they are all characterized by being gradual, exceedingly difficult, and relying on self‑effort. This is the reason why “with the change of society naturally another method was discovered from within Mahāyāna theory” (4: 343). This new method, which was better adjusted to the course of history, was the path of “popular” 通俗 practice. Instead of a long ascetic path with many stages, these teachings offered a short way to salvation for everybody, and hence could be called “popular schools” 通宗.22 In the section titled the Gate of the Popular Schools 通宗門, Enryō introduces the Zen School, the Nichiren School, and the True School. These three Buddhist

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sects, which in Enryō’s view epitomize a specifically Japanese Buddhism, are further systematically arranged. Although they all discarded the long, gradual path of the older Mahāyāna sects, the meditation practice of the Zen School is still difficult and relies on strenuous self‑effort. This is in contradistinction to the chanting of the Nichiren School, which, albeit equally relying on self‑effort, is characterized by an easy method. The faith of the True School finally does not depend on self‑effort. It is easy and popular because it fully submits to the salvation by Amida Buddha (3: 363). It is not necessary to go into all details of Enryō’s system, which is characterized by a skillful interweaving of orthodox Buddhist and new philosophical terminology. What is important is that he meant to prove that Buddhism was a social organism based on its own logic and consequences. This Enryō demonstrated by laying out the inherent philosophical system of East Asian Buddhism. Enryō explained the organic differentiation of Buddhism into various forms by selecting plants or trees as representative organisms of comparison (4: 219f, 296–98). In order to do so, Enryō could have easily referred to the basic Buddhist terminology of cause, condition, and effect to bolster his argument. Buddhist theory of causality is often explained using the example of a plant to illustrate the difference between cause and condition. The cause for a plant to grow lies in its seed, but without external conditions such as water and sun, it will not bear fruit (Mori 2005, 35–42). The fact that the Sanskrit term for “effect” 果 (Skt. phala), as well as its Chinese translation, means “fruit” suggests that organic growth was indeed a model for the Indian notion of causality. Metaphors of plants or animals are generally not foreign to Buddhism, but that should not belie the fact that biological life is not an orthodox Buddhist topic. Three of Enryō’s most central arguments of his Buddhist philosophy depend on the claim that Buddhism has the character of an organism. First, an organism that does not develop is dead (4: 433). As a living thing, Buddhism has to adjust itself to its environment, or it will not survive. Continuous reform, not stagnation, is the imperative. Enryō was to “nourish” Buddhism with Western philosophy so that Buddhism could prosper in the modern world (4: 215–21). Second, it is not the seed but the fruits that are the finest part of the tree. The Mahāyāna was, therefore, not only a legitimate, but even a superior form of Buddhism (4: 438f). Third, a living thing is active. Vitality guarantees that Buddhism is able to contribute to the maintenance of society and the Protection of Country.

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Enryō’s new perspective on Buddhism as an organization was, first of all, an external one. He departed from apologetic scholarship in order to reflect on Buddhism in the new academic perspective. Observed from the sociological standpoint located in the distanced institution of the university, Buddhism appeared as a social organism that was an integral part of society but with a structure and dynamic of its own. Based on this new understanding of Buddhism as religious organization, Enryō was to make his concrete reform proposals (chapter 33).

29

Peace of Mind

Today, there is no practical need to define Confucianism. Chinese learning has merged with modern academia. A scholar in Chinese philosophy may wish to use elements of European stoic thought, just as a Western philosopher might be interested in Buddhist epistemology. There is neither a governmental examination system based on the Chinese classics nor are there, at least in Japan, Confucian shrines to administer. Confucianism does not exist as a separate institution, and so there is no practical necessity to define its character or determine an orthodoxy. Chinese learning is a type of scholarship in the same way that Western philosophy is. For the organizational structure of the university, language and geography are sufficient grounds for delineating the academic field. No common philosophical ground has to be established a priori. The question as to what the significance of Chinese thought is in the modern world can be left to the outcome of philosophical research a posteriori. Buddhism has a different institutional reality. Modern Buddhism is marked by its twofold institutional structure. There are the traditional temples, monasteries, administrative units, and so forth, and there are institutions for academic research. This reality has to be kept in mind when examining Enryō’s seemingly simple argument that Buddhism is philosophy and religion, academic theory and institutional practice. These conceptual pairs are the cornerstones of Enryō’s academic reflection on the social reality of Buddhism. What we are dealing with in the following is not philosophy inspired by Buddhism, as, for example, the Buddhist philosophy of Schopenhauer or the Kyoto School, but the philosophy of Buddhism as the theoretical foundation of the Buddhist religious institution. 245

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The significance of Buddhism in modern society can only be discussed if there is an answer to the question of what Buddhism is and wants to be. This self‑conception of Buddhism must be a result of internal debate. It is only on the basis of this self‑conception that a discussion about the value of Buddhism for society or for humanity at large first becomes possible. This further question of Buddhism’s significance for its social environment requires external criteria. Enryō summarized the external criteria for Buddhism’s public justification in the Prolegomena as follows: “All in all, the reason, why I advocate the reform of Buddhism, is not because I love Buddhism, but because it conforms well with the truth, it suits enlightenment [開明], and it benefits the country.”23 Accordingly, it is not enough to show the philosophical consistency of Buddhist teachings; it is also necessary to specify Buddhism’s function in society. In other words, as a religious institution Buddhism cannot primarily be defended by its theoretical tenets but must be justified by its practical aims in terms of how it supports the welfare of society. The Love of Truth relates to the validity of the Buddhist doctrines, but Buddhism’s value for society is a question of the Protection of Country. Despite all the disparate doctrinal texts in Buddhism, there exists consensus about the ultimate end of Buddhism. The fundamental teaching (Dharma) of the founder (Buddha), which motivates the religious community (Sa gha) (i.e., the Three Jewels 三宝), is expressed in the Four Noble Truths 四諦: (1) Suffering is real; (2) It has an origin; and (3) It has an end; and finally, (4) There is a Path leading to this end. Everything that is said or done in Buddhism relates, in one way or another, to the goal of Buddhism to end suffering. Accordingly, theory for its own sake is not Buddhist. Pure theory can have Buddhist origins or can be proposed by Buddhists, but theory itself is only Buddhist qua its relation to the reduction of suffering.24 The first three Noble Truths are theoretical statements about the nature of the problem, the Fourth Noble Truth states the existence of a solution. Although regarding the solution there is no overall consensus, most Buddhists will agree that wisdom, morality, and meditation are the essential practices for the perfection of the Path. The relationship of theory and practice in Buddhism was expressed by Enryō in the following way: Buddhism applies philosophy in religious practice to bring about peace of mind (3: 378). Therefore, Buddhism is a philosophical religion (4: 250f). This definition can be interpreted as a result of Buddhism’s outsourcing of its doctrinal discourse into the university. In

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other words, it is the result of the True School order sending Enryō to study at Tokyo University. In the academic framework, Buddhism encountered pure theory represented by Western philosophy. Through this encounter, those aspects of Buddhism that did conform with philosophy and those aspects that pointed beyond the academic framework were set apart. Enryō referred to the latter aspects as the religious side of Buddhism. There has been concern that the Western concept of religion shaped Buddhism in a way that led to an estrangement from itself, particularly in the way belief was emphasized over practice (Isomae 2003). In fact, the opposite is the case in Enryō’s assimilation of the new terminology. The religious character of Buddhism points to its institutional practice beyond pure theory and without being predetermined by notions of God or faith. His specification of Buddhism in terms of theory and practice provides solid conceptual grounds for a philosophy of religion from a Buddhist perspective. Buddhist philosophy is characterized by its constant negotiation between affirmation and negation, reification and emptiness, subject and object. In the course of its history, Buddhism thus accumulated numerous psychological and epistemological insights. In the aid of distinguishing the awakened consciousness, Buddhism specifies mental hindrances, the constitution of the phenomenal world, and levels of awareness. Awakening is a metaphor of cognition that is even more optimistic than enlightenment. During sleep, not only is the visual sense inactive, but all senses are in a state of closure. The awakened mind relates to the nonawakened like consciousness to unconsciousness. The revelation and transparency awakening promises is different from theoria as pure contemplation, for Buddhist awakening implies the overcoming of suffering. Truth in Buddhism verifies itself by relief from mental suffering. This soteriological dimension need not, however, be explicit in every case. A Buddhist scholar might analyze the ontology of the world because he is convinced that the correct view will bring him closer to his awakening. Such analysis might look like a philosophical examination out of a purely theoretical interest and can even have validity as such. Yet, what makes the discourse Buddhist is the minimum of underlying hope that insight effects salvation. This characteristic of Buddhist thought can in fact also be sensed in Inoue Tetsujirō’s philosophy. When Inoue Tetsujirō first proposed his theory of identity realism in 1894, he introduced philosophy as a form of scholarship that differs from mere science because it is necessary for the individual’s “peace

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of mind and steadiness in fortune” 安心立命 (anjin ryūmyō). He recommended his identity realism as the only “sound” or “wholesome” 健康な worldview (1884, 489, 512). In what was probably the last major statement of this theory in 1932, Inoue Tetsujirō concluded by saying that the realization, which transcends the discriminating view of phenomena and being, is the realm of awakening (1933, 77). The same motif runs through Enryō’s writings. Enryō was convinced that Buddhism is a philosophical religion because Buddhism’s theoretical insights have religious, that is, soteriological effects (3: 378). Realizing suchness effects peace of mind. Whereas philosophy is a purely academic enterprise, Buddhism provides religious spaces such as monasteries, meditation halls, or temple gardens where metaphysical speculation can unfold a beneficial impact on the individual. It is not my intention to deny Buddhism’s philosophical character for not knowing pure theory. Instead, I believe that philosophy can learn from Buddhism’s pragmatic framing of metaphysics and epistemology. Philosophy should recall its existential impulse even in metaphysics and reflect on the anthropological import this awareness entails. On the other hand, I also believe that Kant’s philosophy, especially his concept of the postulate, has valuable clues to offer Buddhist philosophy. In any case, if the essential feature of Buddhist thought, namely, being directed to spiritual relief, is not kept in mind or made explicit, any comparison with Kant’s critical epistemology or post‑Kantian theoretical philosophy will prove to be more confusing than insightful. Kant’s epistemological turn served the purpose of providing realism with more solid grounds. Buddhism, instead, is intended to be a form of truth that releases from suffering. Buddhism’s ultimate cognitive interest, therefore, lies in the state of the subject, not in the objective world. Rather than post‑Kantian epistemology, Spinoza again proves to be the more enlightening point of comparison. The title of Spinoza’s main work already indicates the pragmatic turn of his pantheism. In the last part of his Ethics, which at first sight appears to be sterile in its determinism and mathematical stringency, Spinoza elaborates on a motif that could be equally called Socratic or Buddhist. Spinoza puts forth the postulate that the right insight is a sufficient cause to free the person from its affects (V: p3). The mind overcomes the affects by recognizing them as causally determined (V: p6), and, in the end, as necessary in God. Spinoza further equates the freedom and bliss, which is reached by intuitively grasping everything as eternally determined,

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with the love of God (V: p32). The individual who loves God in contemplation finally realizes himself as part of God’s own self‑love (V: p36). Spinoza did not limit his discourse to the construction of a metaphysical theology; he ultimately wanted to provide an answer to what the realization of God means for the individual person. His spiritual, rather than purely theoretical intention parallels the ultimate concern of Buddhist philosophy with the subject rather than with the empirical world. This focus on the subjective mind is also discernible in Enryō’s most important exemplar of Buddhist philosophy, the Awakening of Faith. This treatise is regarded as the foremost example of “consciousness‑only” 唯識 theory, what in Western terms would be called idealism.25 The significance of Mahāyāna doctrine is described in terms of the mind, about which it is asserted: “The mind absorbs everything worldly and transcendent” (T 32, 1666: 576). All further tenets are deduced from this initial monism. The first distinction that is made is between the “two gates” through which mind can be explicated, namely, the Gate of Suchness 真如門 and the Gate of Birth and Death 生滅門. The Gate of Birth and Death refers to the defiled impermanent phenomena that make their marks on the originally pure mind. It is impossible to do justice here to the complexity of the text. I limit myself to examining the Simile of Water and Waves in its original context. The Simile of Water and Waves occurs twice in the Awakening of Faith. The two occurrences in the text are very much consistent, but differ from Enryō’s simplified account in the Prolegomena, introduced above.26 In the Awakening of Faith, the Simile of Water and Waves is actually a simile of water, waves, and wind. The comparison is used as an illustration to solve the following concern: since the mind is ultimately one, it might be assumed that the mind itself vanishes when all defiled states are overcome. The mind as suchness is equated with the water and the defiled appearances are represented by the waves. However, in the Awakening of Faith, it is not the water itself, not the dependent arising from suchness which introduces movement into the picture. The movement of the waves is caused by the wind, which stands for ignorance. Consequently, it is true that all defiled appearances vanish when ignorance ceases, but the mind itself, that is, the water, does not change its nature or cease to exist. Only the surface of the water (i.e., the mind) calms and becomes peaceful. The element of the wind in the simile points to the illusionary (“airy”) character of ignorance, in contrast to the substantial nature of the water.27

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The term suchness 真如 does not originate from the treatise on the Awakening of Faith, but was therein given its most complex and, at least for East Asia, most influential interpretation. This concept certainly needs explanation. The Sanskrit term, of which shinnyo is the Chinese translation, reads tathatā, and is the nominalization of the adverb tathā, “such.” Hence, tathatā has been translated adequately into English as “such‑ness” or “thus‑ness.” Sanskrit expressions, similar to the English phrases “[something] as such” or “[something] itself,” led to the further meaning of tathatā as the “essence [of something].” From this, the idea of tathatā, as “essence” or “itself‑ness” developed and referred to what all individual entities have in common, that is, the universal ground of reality (Akanuma 1981). The nominalization of such to such‑ness becomes lost when tathatā is translated into Chinese because it has no lexical word classes. The Chinese translation as shinnyo literally means, “true such.” The notion that “true” can be attributed to “such” points to the nominalization or reification of the Sanskrit word, which had otherwise been lost in the translation. The difficulties in interpreting the term tathatā were probably greater in East Asia than they are now in the West, since European languages can build analogous terms. Regarding the Western reader, it is expedient to contrast “such‑ness” (Skt. tathatā) with two concepts from the European tradition: “this‑ness” (Lat. haecceity) and “what‑ness” (Lat. quidditas). Both Latin words are artificial terms coined by scholastics in the Middle Ages.28 What‑ness refers to those characteristics of an entity that should be elements of its definition. Whereas what is an interrogative pronoun, this (like such) is a deictic expression. The meaning of this‑ness as identifiability of an entity is derived from the idea that pointing at something is the original form of identification. In contrast to this‑ness, which merely implies being as an entity, such‑ness inherits the full semantic import of the deictic use of such. The potential semantic volume of such‑ness qua indexicality (or deixis) can be understood as complementary to what‑ness. We might imagine an Aristotelian scholastic addressing a Mahāyāna Buddhist asking, “How do you specify the what‑ness of this pudding?” whereupon the Buddhist monk replies, “The what‑ness of this pudding is its such‑ness. Have a taste!” It is important for the understanding of the concept of suchness that, even as a term for the Absolute, it retains the deictic dimension it inherited from such. Deixis or indexicality means that a term only gains meaning through its pragmatic context. This circumstance alone invites ample speculation, because

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from that follows that suchness intrinsically means nothing, but also potentially everything. The grammar of the concept can further be explicated as a relation between the part that is doing the pointing and the part that is being pointed at. To have meaning at all, a deictic expression thus demands a subject and an object. The nominalization of such, therefore, undercuts a division between subject and object by binding them together in one concept, indeed comparably to the phenomenological idea of intentionality. Suchness is the world intended by us, it is “the mind absorbing all things.” The Awakening of Faith therefore calls suchness “the ultimate verbalization, a word to discard words” (T 32, 1666: 576). The cessation of the wind of ignorance in the Simile of Water and Waves evokes the picture of the flat ocean stretching out under the clear sky. We cannot imagine the ocean without the sky, or the sky without the ocean. They are as inseparable as subject and object in suchness. In between lies a film of consciousness: the ocean reflecting the sky, light diffusing its transparent surface. The Awakening of Faith, in its largest part, consists of a systematic demonstration of Mahāyāna doctrine. The second longest part is the “Chapter on Practice of the Faithful Mind” 修行信心分, which teaches refuge in the Three Jewels 三宝 (Buddha, Dharma, Sa gha) and “blissful devotion in suchness” 楽念真如. The Gate of Suchness and the Gate of Birth and Death reappear in this chapter in the form of the two traditional meditation techniques, “composure” 止 (Skt. samādhi) and “insight” 観 (Skt. vipaśyanā). Assuring that both are inseparable (583), the text advises composure in suchness and insight into the reality of birth and death, that is, the impermanence of the world. The former without the latter is insufficient because only insight into the sorrowful reality of birth and death awakens the mind to compassion (582). This structure of the Awakening of Faith, namely, in having a theoretical and a practical part, corroborates Enryō’s explication that in Buddhism, philosophical theory is applied in religious practice to bring about peace of mind.

30

Religious Pr agmatism

E nryō’s effort to systematize the various Buddhist schools draws on the long

tradition of “teaching classifications” 教判 in East Asian Buddhism. Such classifications attempted to bring logical or chronological order into the confusing range of texts and sects existing in China, Korea, and Japan. The orthodox Buddhist concept of soteriological “means” 方便 (Jp. hōben; Skt. upāya), which Enryō applies in this context (3: 386f), allows an inclusive attitude despite such high doctrinal disparity. The idea of soteriological means is a key concept in Mahāyāna Buddhism (Pye 2003), and is, in fact, already implied in its name, Great Vehicle 大乗 (Skt. mahā‑yāna). The vehicle is a metaphor for the Buddhist teaching. Insofar as the Buddhist teaching helps sentient beings to awaken, it is a means of conveyance to salvation. The most prominent instance of the transport metaphor in the older Buddhist canon is the Simile of the Raft.29 As a mere means of transport, the raft can be left behind once the other shore is reached. The attribute “great” in Great Vehicle moreover suggests the existence of other vehicles having a similar function. Although the promoters of Mahāyāna disparagingly called the older Buddhism, Inferior Vehicle 小乗 (Skt. hīna‑yāna), the self‑image of the vehicle still implies that there are different approaches all reaching the same end. Despite the “truly prodigious degree of polemical ‘overkill’ ” in the early Mahāyāna sūtras, their authors and adherents “were not prepared to write off the rest of the Buddhist sa gha” (Harrison 1987). The early Mahāyāna movement did not intend a schism in terms of orthodoxy and heresy. Rather than alluding to the metaphor of transport to illustrate the concept of soteriological means, Enryō favored the analogy with medicine (3: 389). The comparison of teaching with a remedy has an equally long history 253

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in Buddhism. The Simile of the Poisoned Arrow clarifies in the most striking way that the ultimate object of Buddhism is not theory, but the end of suffering: a man is wounded by a poisoned arrow, and although ailing from the injury, refuses help from family and friends until he is informed about the archer’s name and origin, the material and size of the bow, the quality of the string, and so forth.30 The absurdity of the man’s questioning makes it intelligible that no answers are to be expected from Buddhism that do not, at least indirectly, relate to the cure of human suffering. The medical metaphor further implies that there are various kinds of ailments to be cured, not just those from poisoned arrows. If Buddhism wants to be a universal remedy for human suffering, it has to accommodate itself to the diverse mental hindrances to salvation. The Buddha, therefore, as is transmitted, had attuned his sermons to the character and capacity of his audience. Such “preaching correspondent to the disposition” 対機説法 of the audience is thought of as an analogy to “giving medicine appropriate to the illness” 応病与薬.31 The multiplicity of means has the consequence that the Buddhist teaching cannot be determined by its contents. Instead, its verification depends on efficiency. Teachings proficient in reducing suffering are potentially Buddhist. This pragmatic criterion of efficiency, or as Nietzsche called it, the Beweis der Kraft,32 applies not only to the listener, but also equally to the teacher. At this point, however, the analogy with medicine fails, since a doctor who suffers from a deadly disease might still be able to cure another person. But mental suffering on the part of the Buddhist teacher disqualifies him. Only if the means has proven efficient for himself, is the teacher’s instruction considered authentic. If the insight of the teacher is credible, then this gives him sufficient authority to render his own interpretation of the Dharma. This is only possible in a tradition that gives primacy to the spirit over the letter (Lamotte 2005b). That personal credibility is a criterion for the authenticity of teaching sheds light on the structure of Japanese Buddhism. Traditionally, Buddhism in Japan is much more fragmented into schools than Buddhism in Korea or China. This circumstance is largely due to the indisputable genius of its founding figures such as Kūkai (774–835), Shinran (1173–1273), or Dōgen (1200–1253). Their genius guarantees the authenticity of their respective branches of Buddhism. In modernity, the sectarian fragmentation of Buddhism in Japan has reproduced itself in the academic landscape, as each sect has founded its own university. At each of these about ten universities with different denominational

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backgrounds, highly specialized philological research is pursued. Because each Buddhist organization additionally maintains a separate research unit for sectarian doctrine, Buddhist studies at the universities largely confine themselves to historical perspectives. Philosophical questions of general Buddhist doctrine are rarely broached, because they are regarded as futile in the face of the irreconcilable plurality of the schools. However, this very fragmentation of Japanese Buddhism also affords a chance for doctrinal specification. If the idea of tolerance, which underlies this plurality, can be explicated, it might be applicable also to non‑Japanese or even non‑Buddhist contexts. It is not a coincidence that we can find a clue to this attitude in the writings of that modern author, who pioneered the philosophical discourse on general Buddhist doctrine. In a paragraph titled “Confession of My Faith,” Enryō wrote: Buddhism is split up in many branches, sects, and schools, which all have different standpoints. If I were asked, on what my faith relies, I answer it relies on the True School. Buddhism is known as a teaching that provides remedy appropriate to the disease [応病与薬]. It allows the freedom to choose the school according to one’s disposition [機 根]. Because I was born into the tradition of the True School, and first received my education inside its gates, I realize that the teaching of the True School fits as religious faith best to my spiritual temper [信性]. It is a valuable medicine appropriate to my malady. Yet, in my True School faith I am not narrow minded and prejudiced as other believers. On the one hand, I profess a progressive policy that allows for free philosophical investigation not only of Buddhist doctrine [in general] but also of True School beliefs. On the other hand, having faith in the True School, I do not reject others believing in other schools. It is enough if everybody receives the teaching suitable to his disposition of suffering. (4: 387f)

From this perspective, Japanese Buddhism appears to be a manifold offer for spiritual healing. This picture is well applicable to the state of Buddhism in the West. In metropolises such as Sydney, Berlin, and San Francisco, the variety of Buddhism even surpasses the situation in Japan. Thai and Sinhalese Buddhism can be found in the same way as Taiwanese, Korean, and various Japanese traditions. The practice follows the way Enryō suggested: everybody chooses the type of Buddhism according to individual need and character.

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This peaceful coexistence of Buddhisms moreover suggests that other religions can be equally tolerated or esteemed, insofar as they contribute to the spiritual well‑being of their followers. This is not to say that this practice of tolerance has been a continuous feature during the history of Mahāyāna Buddhism. The historical claim is not of Enryō’s concern. The claim is only that such an idea of tolerance can be extrapolated from the Buddhist tradition, and that it is appropriate for how Modern Buddhism conceives of itself. This self‑concept not only provides orientation to followers and representatives of Buddhism, but also enables communication to people unfamiliar with Buddhism about what they can expect, regardless of the sectarian or national provenance of the individual strands. In the history of East Asian Buddhism, the concept of soteriological means has been widely employed, not only for inclusion, but also for downgrading other Buddhist schools. From a sectarian standpoint, the other schools’ teachings were doubted yet tolerated as admissible crutches to salvation. Enryō’s dialectical classifications of the various Buddhist sects also establishes hierarchies between advanced and less advanced doctrines. However, it is wise to keep the discussion about the validity of individual doctrines separate from the general attitude of tolerance. In the Golden Compass of Truth, Enryō distinguished several levels of discourse. On the first level, which might be called the general public or the general philosophical level, religion as such is up for debate, and has to be defended as a social reality sui generis against science, economy, and politics. Buddhists may here assert that religion contributes to the spiritual well‑being of society. On the second level, which is the interre‑ ligious level, the various religions discuss advantages and disadvantages, differences and commonalities, among each other. Here, the Buddhist concept of religion as being primarily about the reduction of suffering opposes the moral relation of man to God in monotheism. The third level is the intra‑re‑ ligious level, which gives the platform for arguments between sectarian standpoints (3: 18). Interestingly, Enryō (1895) discovered that Spinoza, too, allowed for more than one type of religion. Spinoza did not believe his own philosophical theology to be appropriate for everybody, and regarded the Christianity of the church to be legitimate as a religion for the common people. Enryō paralleled this with the distinction between the Buddhist sects relying on self‑power and the Buddhist sects relying on other‑power. The schools teaching ascetic

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self‑discipline are considered the difficult Gate of the Path of Holiness 聖道門 (shōdō mon), whereas the devotional schools teaching faith in Amida Buddha are called the easier Gate to the Pure Land 浄土門 (jōdo mon). Insofar as both approaches are gates to the same end, they recognize each other as alternative approaches to salvation. Spinoza’s argument indeed shows a similar pragmatic character; in his Tractatus Theologico‑Politicus (1670), he admits popular Christianity as a legitimate religion due to its efficiency. Although this faith is not true, he states, it is tolerable, because it works for the common people. Truth, according to Spinoza, lay only in the philosophical approach to God, which he at that time had already developed in his Ethics (Nadler 2006, 15f). Spinoza’s argument indeed resembles a sectarian stance in Japanese Buddhism: the other schools do not teach the full truth, yet they are acceptable as soteriological means. However, there is an important difference between Spinoza and religious pragmatism as seen in East Asian Buddhism. According to Spinoza’s Tractatus, the end to which the religion of the Bible is conducive is not happiness, but morality. The Bible “demands only obedience, and condemns disobedience, but not ignorance” (154). “Faith does not demand truth, but piety. . . . And therefore one is faithful not to reason but in obedience” (165). Spinoza considers the Christianity of the Bible, for theological‑political reasons, to be “necessary and utile” (174), because it guides the common people by “salutary opinions” to morality (65). And yet, true happiness can only be found in the rational conception of God as revealed by philosophy. Spinoza legitimized popular religion on the ground of its efficiency in making people good, whereas Mahāyāna Buddhism allows for variant teachings, insofar they make people happy. This point clarifies a fundamental difference between monotheism and Buddhism. In Buddhism, faith is not verified or justified by its efficiency in making people moral, but by its therapeutic purpose. The Buddhist analogy between physical and mental health makes this strikingly apparent. The most famous example in Mahāyāna Buddhism for the patronizing lie with a therapeutic purpose is the seventh simile of the Lotus Sūtra. In this simile, the sons of a physician have poisoned themselves by drinking bad medicine in the absence of their father. Due to their derangement, some of them would not drink the antidote the father prepared for them after coming home. In order to bring back their sanity, the physician makes his sons believe that he died.

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Overwhelmed by grief, they come to their senses and drink the antidote. In the end, the father reveals that he is still alive (T 264, 9: 177). The father’s existence was the last connection his deranged children had with reality. The shock occasioned by the message about his death brought them back to sanity and finally they drank the antidote he had prepared. With this simile, the transcendent Buddha of the Lotus Sūtra explains why it was expedient to make the world believe that his existence ceased as he entered nirvana (Pye 2003, 53). The argument for a pragmatic criterion of truth in Buddhism does not commit to the claim that it is the only criterion (cf. Jayatilleke 1963, 351– 59). The analogy between Buddhism and medicine can give further clues here, because medicine contains a similar pragmatic criterion of validity as Buddhism. If a person is cured by a certain medicine or therapy, the method is legitimate even if its mechanism cannot, or cannot yet, be empirically explained. Buddhism can provisionally admit its working as placebo. Faith that pacifies the mind is good and insight that liberates is true. But Buddhism will not want to be reduced to a self‑fulfilling prophecy through autosuggestion. It is still preferable when the efficacy of its teaching can be empirically verified or argumentatively made plausible. It is advisable for Buddhism to consider all medical, psychological, and philosophical insights in order to render its doctrine beneficial. Proving meditation techniques efficient, elucidating the soteriological dimension of Buddhist metaphysics, and explaining the healing effects of faith are possible only in dialogue with the other sciences. More than any other modern Buddhist scholar, Enryō saw the potential of such dialogue for Buddhism. Especially his 1904 book Psychotherapy proved to be seminal for the further development of Buddhist psychology in Japan (Onda 2002).

31

The Mahāyāna

The notion of Living Buddhism 活仏教 allowed Enryō to understand Buddhism as an organization that evolves interdependently with society. Besides this new theoretical perspective afforded by the analogy between organism and social system, Enryō’s keyword katsu 活 (living, alive) also represents core practical values. Vitality implies activity, initiative, and optimism, which is the precondition of national prosperity and progress of human civilization. But Buddhism, according to Enryō, had been otherworldly, passive, and pessimistic (4: 389). The aim of Buddhism is the overcoming of suffering by rigid moral conduct, learning, and meditation. This effort means essentially the transcendence of the human condition, and Enryō even conceded that “all religions, insofar as they do not take the human standpoint, cannot escape the critique of world‑aversion [厭世]” (4: 421). This was the challenge Enryō struggled with in his Buddhist philosophy. His ambition was to reform the old Dead Buddhism to become Living Buddhism (4: 444). “Living,” in the title of the final volume of Living Discourse on Buddhism, can hence also be translated as a transitive verb in sense of Vitalizing Buddhism. What was Enryō’s argument that Buddhism turned into its opposite was still Buddhism? In the Prolegomena, he argued that the hitherto otherworldly tendency of Buddhism must be offset by a this‑worldly teaching in order to bring Buddhism back on the Middle Path. Even if one wants to recommend [only] the one single truth, but the people have already left the right path, what can be done? This compares with a steam ship, that wants to go straight east, but has lost its course and drives mistakenly in a north‑eastern direction. The technique 259

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to correct this fault must be to abstain from teaching the Middle Path straight east and instead recommend the deviating course south‑east.

According to this logic, the Middle Path can never be taught directly but only asymptotically converged on from both sides. Yet, this mathematical problem seems less serious than the one that becomes apparent when Enryō’s simile is compared to Fukuzawa’s nautical metaphor, quoted at the beginning of Part II (chapter 6). Fukuzawa compared the dialectical reasoning through the numerous human opinions with cruising against the wind. Whereas in Fukuzawa’s metaphor the individual helmsman is in command of finding the right course, the Buddhist seeker of the Middle Path in Enryō’s simile must rely on whatever direction he is given. Such guidance to the Middle Path presupposes that only one version of Buddhism is taught at any given point in time. For if both sides are always used, how is one to decide what the necessary corrective is at that very moment? According to this logic, Enryō must have wanted to discard, at least for some time in modernity, the Buddhist schools that teach world renunciation. But that is not what Enryō intended, which becomes clear upon reading the next paragraph. On the front side Shakyamuni taught to leave the [secular] world; on the back side he taught [to stay in] the world. The teaching of the front or the back side depends on nothing but the circumstances of time and people. If his intention had been the single Path of leaving the world, why would [Shakyamuni] have bothered to teach the Middle Path? Further, although the abstinence from women and the prohibition on meat‑eating exists in Buddhism, this again was born from the relationship of front and backside. The prohibition of meat‑eating and marriage is what Buddhism teaches on the front side, but looking at the back side, it becomes self‑evident that prohibiting meat‑eating and marriage was not necessarily Shakyamuni’s intention. In the case of True School Buddhism meat‑eating and marriage is, therefore, openly tolerated. To allow it, is Buddhism, to prohibit it, is also Buddhism. That is because the system of Buddhism is first completed, when front and back side are combined. (3: 387f)

The originally practical teaching of the Middle Path meant to balance the extremes of yogic abstinence and worldly indulgence. It makes a good

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argument that this balance has to be found in each generation and for each individual anew. Modernity demands a new tradeoff between activity and passivity, between participation and renunciation. But with Enryō’s East Asian notion of the Middle Path the argument unfortunately does not work. According to Enryō’s idea of the Mean, Buddhism must not avoid the extremes, but subsume them. Buddhism always has to span over both maximums in order to level out the Middle. Only as the integral of a complete system does Buddhism transcend all biases and thereby conform to the Middle Path. Enryō believed that Buddhism is to be perfected by including all possible doctrinal positions. The shortcoming of such a dialectic is apparent, because all doctrines can equally claim to be Buddhist and the Middle Path itself is not specified at all. In Enryō’s view, Buddhism is a comprehensive ladder to the speculative end of grasping the Absolute. As spiritual path, this kind of dialectic that transcends dualism is innocuous, but fails to provide a sound ethical orientation. Ethics is about making distinctions to determine the better over the worse. Enryō’s criterion of doctrinal completeness cannot serve this aim. Following Enryō’s logic in the Prolegomena, no less than everything would be Buddhist: abstinence from alcohol on the one hand, and indulgence in alcohol on the other hand. Truthfulness taught on the front side is offset by falseness on the back side. Peace on the front, war on the back. This blending of ethics and speculative dialectics was another concern of the scholars of Critical Buddhism, for which Enryō’s reasoning gives a good example (Hakayama 1997). However, twenty‑five years later Enryō presented in Living Buddhism a more convincing answer as to why Buddhism was not bound to be a world‑negating religion. He now interpreted the Mahāyāna itself has the optimistic, secular, and social Buddhism he called for. The distinction that Enryō emphasized for this purpose was the temporal difference between before and after awakening (4: 422). Being oriented toward the end of individual salvation means moving in the direction of world transcendence. But after relief from suffering is achieved, the person is awakened to optimism and turns back to the world. Having found peace of mind, the individual begins to serve others. This parallels the biography of the Buddha, who, after his awakening, out of compassion for his fellow beings began his career as teacher. It is noteworthy that Enryō did not base his discussion of Mahāyāna Buddhism on the ideal of the Bodhisattva. The Bodhisattva Path lies at the

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very heart of Mahāyāna Buddhist doctrine. The bodhi‑sattva is an “awakened being,” whose state of liberation does not result in leaving the world, but instead in unremitting work for the salvation of all beings (Williams 2009, 59). In the course of Mahāyāna history, which gave way to the full deification of the Buddha, the role of the Bodhisattva acquired a role similar to the angels in the catholic pantheon. The Bodhisattvas are mediators between the human world and the withdrawn highest being. The figure that epitomizes the core Mahāyāna virtue of compassion (Skt. karu ā) is the Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara, whose name had been translated into Chinese as “[the one] sensing the sounds of the world” 観世音 (Jp. kanzeon).33 This being, often depicted as a female, is imagined as a helping angel answering the prayers of those in pain or calamity. Avalokiteśvara is the single most depicted figure of the Buddhist pantheon in Tibet, China, Korea, and Japan, and the Sūtra of Avalokiteśvara is common to the liturgy of virtually all schools of East Asian Buddhism. The True School was again exceptional in this respect. Its rejection of prayers for worldly benefits had resulted in the exclusion of all deities from the pantheon except Amida. This also applied to the images of the various Bodhisattvas, which served as a devotional focus in popular Buddhism. In harmony with True School doctrine, Enryō criticized such practice as superstitious (2: 386–92), and, presumably for the same reason, made no reference to the Bodhisattva ideal in Living Buddhism. Enryō instead quoted the Sūtra of Contemplation on the Buddha of Immeasurable Life, which is one of the three principle texts of East Asian Pure Land Buddhism (4: 424). In the text, which Enryō had chanted as a child in his parents’ temple, it is said, “The Buddha‑heart is but great compassion.”34 Enryō specified the temporal distinction between before and after awakening also in the spatial metaphors of upward and downward, which we have already encountered in his non‑Buddhist philosophy. He associated the period before finding awakening or realizing suchness with the upward movement, and the period after reaching salvation with the downward movement (4: 423). In Enryō’s view, only the Mahāyāna transposes the realization of the Absolute into religious practice and hence can be called not only a philosophy but also a religion. In a different piece of writing, Enryō also considered the movements of “inward” 向内 and “outward” 向外 to juxtapose the inner spiritual quest with the altruistic devotion to fellow beings (5: 258). Enryō’s illustration of Mahāyāna doctrine as a twofold movement is reminiscent of the

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teaching of Shinran, who had added to the traditional idea of “going” 往相 (ōsō) into the Pure Land the second movement of “turning back” 還相 (gensō) from the Pure Land. Shinran believed that the attainment of the Pure Land is irreversible the very moment faith in Amida arises (Takemura 2012, 246– 54). It is, therefore, not necessary to wait for death and rebirth; instead, the grace of the attainment of the Pure Land can be returned by altruist practice in this world already. The movement of going and turning back from the Pure Land thereby becomes an incessantly spiritual dynamic in the faithful mind. Shinran’s teaching of the simultaneous attainment of salvation with the awakening of faith is a variation of the East Asian teaching of Original Enlightenment 本覚 . Full awakening is already realized on the very first stage of the Bodhisatva Path, not only because the realms of defilement and purification are ontologically not separate, but also because the potential of Buddhahood is present from the beginning in every being. The practitioner merely has to realize his Original Enlightenment and understand that there is nothing further to achieve. This doctrine relativizes the concrete temporal difference of before and after awakening. Without the thorough relativization of the stages of practice in East Asian Buddhism, Enryō’s characterization of the Mahāyāna as world‑affirming and active would not be plausible. In concrete terms, the orthodox Buddhist Path means to enter the order, practice meditation and monastic discipline for many years, working hard and being humble, before awakening possibly occurs to the older monk. This form of life leaves little room for the broad engagement in society that Enryō had envisioned. According to earlier Mahāyāna doctrine, things are even aggravated. Before the Bodhisattva can begin his Herculean task of rescuing all beings, the aspirant undergoes an immeasurable quantity of rebirths as hungry ghost, fox, human being, or deity through all the six worlds. When he finally finds enlightenment he is not only in charge of helping human beings in this world, but also puts effort into copying and reciting an endless amount of sūtras in order to “transfer” 回向 the thus earned “merit” 功徳 to the suffering beings in all six realms. The teaching of Original Enlightenment did not put an end to the orthodox doctrines, but allowed for a more existential interpretation. The difference of before and after awakening may culminate in one instance. The resolution to become a nun or monk in order to do charity work means the attainment of the Path in the same way as sitting in meditation for ten minutes in order to cultivate patience for one’s family.

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We have seen that the realization of truth in Buddhism verifies itself by the overcoming of suffering. In Mahāyāna Buddhism a further element is added to this pragmatic verification by efficacy: “wisdom” 智慧 (Skt. prajñā) becomes palpable through “compassion” 慈悲 (Skt. karu ā) (cf. Williams 2009, 94–51; 194–200). If no compassion arises from awakening, the insight is not authentic. This doctrine parallels well with the Christian theology according to which there is no Love of God apart from the Love of One’s Neighbor. The intimate relationship between liberating wisdom and compassion is based on the psychology that suffering makes humans egocentric, whereas peace of mind instead allows humans to be sympathetic with the suffering of fellow beings. The cultivation of loving kindness was also a means on the Path to awakening in the older Buddhism (Gombrich 2005). Compared with Pali Buddhism, however, the Mahāyāna looks at the Path from its end rather than from its inception. Instead of stressing the strenuous effort according to well‑defined precepts the aspirant has to follow, East Asian Mahāyāna Buddhism takes the standpoint of Original Enlightenment and from there allows for different approaches as long as suffering is reduced and compassion is the outcome. Historical research does not yet have any conclusive picture about the Indian origins of Mahāyāna Buddhism.35 But Enryō’s claim that the Mahāyāna is fundamentally this‑worldly and altruistic in character is, arguably, justified insofar as it is central to the idea of Mahāyāna Buddhism to promise the deliverance of all sentient beings. Whether lay followers are merely the passengers or the driver of the Great Vehicle is matter of debate (Harrison 2005). However, Mahāyāna Buddhism certainly widened the perspective beyond the confines of the monastic community. Applying Enryō’s spatial scheme to this basic historical narrative, we can say that the older monastic order appears to be turned inward or self‑centered, whereas Mahāyāna monasticism turned from this center back outward. It is obvious that the specification of Mahāyāna doctrine as altruistic goes against, or at least is costly to, Buddhism in the South Asian countries Sri Lanka, Burma, and Thailand. The Buddhism in these countries is based on the older canon in the Pali language, and is referred to as the “Teaching of the Elders” (Skt. therā‑vada) since around the turn of the twentieth century.36 The phenomenon, that the superseding religious movement portrays itself positively against the older tradition can equally be observed in the monotheist world: Christianity has othered Judaism as the religion of the law, in

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order to expose Christianity as the religion of the spirit. Christianity, in turn, is othered by Islam as polytheistic because of its trinity doctrine, in order to distinguish Islam as the authentic Abrahamic religion. Invoking the same origin, and simultaneously delineating the new doctrine from an earlier one, entails an inevitable tension. Enryō did not feel the need for diplomacy when he called the Hīnayāna a “shallow” form of Buddhism (3: 339), teaching “eternal death” (4: 423). Such polemics are certainly inappropriate in contemporary scholarship. However, Enryō’s judgment about East Asian Buddhism was not favorable either. Regarding his criterion of engagement with society, East Asian Buddhism hitherto has been Mahāyāna only by name but not in practice (4: 463). Now is the time to make the promise of compassionate deeds and altruist practice real and reveal the world‑affirming and secular character of the Mahāyāna, Enryō believed.

32

Causality

N o account of Buddhist doctrine is complete without mention of causality. At its very heart, Buddhism encompasses a worldview based on the law of cause and effect. The general agreement about the causal heart of Buddhism in all traditions and schools has led to a huge variety of models and distinctions. This opens up a discursive space in which free argument is possible. This is because, on the one hand, the commonsense idea of causality is sufficiently stable, and, on the other hand, because a precedent can be found for nearly every standpoint. If a theory involves an account of causality, it is potentially Buddhist. In East Asian Buddhism, the doctrine of causality is formulated as the law of “cause and effect” 因果 (inga), or alternatively as the doctrine of “dependent arising” 縁起 (engi). The latter doctrine states that nothing comes into being without having “conditions” 縁 on which its “arising” or “originating” 起 depends. Dependent arising can thus be understood as a consequence of the worldview of universal causality. The unrestricted validity that Spinoza admitted to the law of causality was another aspect of his philosophy that convinced Enryō of his affinity with Buddhism (8: 349). A survey of everything that Enryō wrote about causality would fill a book. So far, we have encountered the model of “dependent arising from suchness” 真如縁起 as an orthodox account of the Awakening of Faith. As has already been explained, the idea of all phenomena arising from suchness without separating from it, was influential in the emergence of the specific type of Japanese Buddhist pantheism. The Critical Buddhism scholars have not only attacked this doctrine as monist, and therefore not authentically Buddhist, but also brought forward serious ethical concerns in regard to such theory: if all things are equally endowed with Buddha‑Nature, reality as it is appears sanctified. 267

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Such religiosity therefore lacks critical impetus, and serves as an ideology of the political status quo, prolongs discrimination, is potentially totalitarian, and so forth. Only an adequate concept of causality would allow analysis of reality in a way that makes critique possible (Matsumoto 1997b, 356–64). Here again, Enryō’s Buddhist writings give a good example for the kind of reasoning the scholars of Critical Buddhism objected to. Enryō’s application of Buddhist logic to political topics is certainly problematic when he says, In Buddhism [the relation to] lord and father is not regarded as coincidental appendix. Seen from the logic of the identity of phenomena and suchness, everything is equally and uniformly Buddha. Therefore, also the service to lord and father is certainly not a provisional, but the true Path. (11: 350)

With Wittgenstein (Philosophische Untersuchungen §58), we can put up a signpost here: discourses ending in nonduality are one‑way streets. There are no byroads leading back to ethical or political topics. In Buddhist doctrinal terms, the expression here runs: the “absolute truth” 真諦 (shintai) cannot be transposed into the language of “conventional truth” 俗諦 (zokutai). However, I do not agree with the advocates of Critical Buddhism that the monist notion of suchness is generally ethically dubious. Nakamura Hajime (1954, 350–61) has linked the identification of the phenomenal world with the Absolute to the traditional Japanese love of nature. If contemplation on the mystical idea of suchness stimulates the sense of beauty, or pacifies the mind in mediation, there is no need for reservation from monism. Moreover, I cannot see why the idea of “dependent arising from suchness” precludes a commonsense account of causality. A highly obscure metaphysical theory hardly conflicts with the notion that my parents created me or that the ball rolls when I kick it. Applying Enryō’s method of spatial metaphors, two types of causality can be distinguished along the vertical and the horizontal axes. Speaking in the Simile of Water and Waves, arising from suchness means the vertical relation between water and waves, which is incomprehensible because both are from the onset inseparable. The causality along the horizontal axes instead is immediately intelligible as the ever‑changing wave patterns on the surface of the ocean. Spinoza also allowed for two types of causality, which he did not consider contradictory. Spinoza’s immanent causality of God and the natural law of transitive

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causality have in fact been explained by the very same metaphor of vertical and horizontal axes (Yovel 1992, 157–59). In Enryō’s writing, both types of causality appear, and are not always clearly set apart. The commonsense notion of causality serves as the prime example for the modern Buddhist claim that the Buddhist worldview is in harmony with empirical science. Enryō believed that the Buddhist doctrine of infinite causal chains “without beginning and without end” 無始無終 coincides with the physical Law of the Conservation of Energy (4: 53–56), which had been formulated during the 1840s by the German physicists Julius R. von Mayer and Hermann L. F. von Helmholtz. But in Enryō’s philosophy of Buddhism, the doctrine of causality plays another pivotal role, namely as corroboration of his claim that Buddhism is applied philosophy (4: 318f). Buddhism is in harmony with science, and applies its theory in religious practice. The practical side of causality in Buddhism revolves around the concept of karma 業 (gō), which is defined as the moral value of conduct as seen in its consequences. It might well be seen as a symptom of modernity that Buddhism will have to admit a clear distinction between theory and practice, that is, between causality as scientific theory and causality as relevant to moral judgment. The basic semantic paradigm that expresses the moral impact of causality in East Asian Buddhism reads, “good cause → joyous result, bad cause → sorrowful result” 善因楽果 悪因苦果. In the following, three different interpretations shall be extrapolated from Enryō’s writings: the law of karma will be interpreted as, firstly, consequentialism; secondly as the principle of retribution; and, thirdly, as a postulate of conscience. Consequentialism. The devaluation of the orthodox monastic rules in modern Japanese Buddhism meant that Buddhism lacked an ethical grounding. Given the fact that Enryō called for a worldly Buddhism that was broadly engaged in society, it is surprising that he almost nowhere elaborates on Buddhist virtues or precepts. The only thing we know thus far is that Enryō considered Mahāyāna Buddhism to be a teaching of compassion. The following reconstruction uses some scattered remarks in Enryō’s writings that point to a more substantial account of Buddhist ethics. The negative formulation of the end of Buddhism as the absence of suffering corresponds to Buddhism’s original character as path of renunciation.

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Abstinence from the will to happiness in the secular world, allows a life of neither pleasure nor suffering. It testifies to the profound conceptual consistency of the founder, that he did not promise endless bliss as an alternative to worldly happiness, but confined the ends of his teaching to contentment. Buddhism does not promise existential goods such as health or friendship, but rather teaches forbearance and modesty. The Mahāyāna complemented the individual path to awakening by pairing it with the virtue of compassion as the natural expression of wisdom. Compassion means caring positively about other people’s sufferings. As a path of renunciation, Buddhism is only spiritual, that is, the individual becomes independent of material circumstances in mental well‑being. Such contentment in renunciation can be characterized negatively as an absence of suffering. But in widening its perspective to sentient beings beyond the monastic community, Buddhism turned to altruism. Helping others is the commitment to the positive goal of contributing to the spiritual and physical well‑being of fellow humans. Welfare activity is therefore the logical consequence of Mahāyāna Buddhism’s teaching of compassion. For this reason, Enryō defined the aim of Mahāyāna Buddhism to be “happiness” 幸福 (3: 378). The term kōfuku 幸福 came into use during the Meiji period for translating the Western concept of happiness. When Enryō applied it to Buddhism, he did so to underline Buddhism’s potential modernity. In the Prolegomena, he suggested: “Because the Mahāyāna commits to the combined end of benefiting self and others, it advocates the happiness of the people. This comes down to nothing else than what is pronounced by today’s Western scholars as the Theory of Greatest Happiness [最大幸福説]” (3: 379). The Principle of Greatest Happiness became known in Japan through the works of John Stuart Mill, who was, together with Spencer, the most influential Western philosopher during the early Meiji years. His Utilitarianism from 1861 had already been translated twice by 1880.37 At first sight, the association of Buddhism and utilitarianism is surprising. The link may have been facilitated by the Mahāyāna key phrase of “benefiting self and others” 自利利他 . The character ri 利 has very concrete connotations and gives a good example of pictographic content being inextricably present in the meaning of the character. It is composed of the elements of “grain” 禾 and “knife” 刀, thus pointing to harvest. The rice harvest is naturally a paradigmatic example of material value, where quantity matters. In its meaning of “profit,” “advantage,” or “utility,” the character is

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perfectly adequate for the translation of utilitarianism as rigaku 利学 by Nishi Amane or as kōri shugi 功利主義 in contemporary language. In the Mahāyāna expression “benefiting self and others,” ri seems to be misleading, because the benefits, which are the main object of Buddhism, are not quantifiable material goods, but are rather of a spiritual nature. Moreover, the expression suggests symmetry between the ends of serving oneself and serving others. As I just argued, this invites misinterpretation, insofar as Buddhism teaches the negative end of individual renunciation, and the positive end of contributing to the well‑being of others. Even if we take Buddhism to be an ethics not only for monastics but also for laypeople, its teaching is to be content with less in order to be able to give more. This asymmetry is concealed by Enryō’s claim that Buddhism “takes as its object the combined and complete physical and mental happiness of self and others in the present and future” (3: 380). For the Japanese reader, a certain affinity of Buddhism with utilitarianism might be indicated by the character ri. For the Western reader, on the other hand, the quantifiability of utility, which makes utilitarianism applicable to politics and economics, seems outright opposed to the Buddhist spirit. Even if we recognize that utility is defined in utilitarianism as that which is conducive to happiness, the term still suggests quantifiable, transmittable, and generally applicable value. Therefore, utilitarianism is predisposed by its name to a certain concept of happiness, with which Buddhism cannot comply. The English school of moral philosophy that is associated with the name utilitar‑ ianism did, however, develop a theoretical specification of its basic premise, which abstracts from any preselection for a specific kind of good. The general premise of utilitarianism is the idea that the ethical value of an act depends on its consequences. This definition does not commit to the further claim that the act must be instrumental in bringing about a maximum of happiness. After the reformulation of utilitarianism as consequentialism, the coincidence with Mahāyāna Buddhism that Enryō pointed to is more promising, because the necessary discrepancy between the concept of happiness in English moral philosophy and human fulfillment in Buddhism can be provisionally suspended. In the paragraph “Definition of Good and Bad,” in Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right, Enryō writes, “Action, which bears joy and eliminates suffering, is good, the opposite is bad” (4: 323). And, even more explicitly, Enryō states in a different place that the “criterion of good and bad” is the “result of the action” (6: 103). This points to the reading of the paradigm

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“good cause → joyous result, bad cause → sorrowful result,” in the sense that “Good cause [aims at] joyous result, bad cause [aims at] sorrowful result.” In this interpretation, the law of karma indeed appears to be equivalent to the Principle of Greatest Happiness: Buddhists commit to actions that bring about joy and reduce suffering. What kind of joy, of course, has to be further specified on the basis of the Buddhist tradition. The normative reading of the law of karma says that beneficial consequences shall be the criterion for choosing the better over the worse. This interpretation, although not the orthodox view, appears to be no less Buddhist in character, since Buddhism encourages reflection on the interdependence of phenomena. Awareness of the manifold causal relations we find ourselves in, increases responsibility and caution. Buddhist ethics thus advocate having foresight and being aware so as to not cause suffering in this world. In order to reconstruct Buddhist ethics as an ethics of responsibility we can adopt a further specification from English consequentialism: if unexpected circumstances inhibit the anticipated consequences, it does not turn a moral act into an immoral one. The evaluation of a completed act only turns on the conscientiously calculated consequences. Unforeseeable conditions causing a negative outcome are irrelevant in terms of the question of guilt. Consequentialism accommodates an important aspect of our moral behavior, but it is also an ethical system with well‑known deficiencies. Buddhism in particular will have to face the fact that the calculation of consequences has very different results according to whether rebirth is taken into consideration or not. To kill somebody out of compassion in order to prevent an action that would cause the person’s suffering in hell will not make a good argument in the eyes of many. However, for the refinement of Buddhist ethics, comparison with consequentialism offers valuable clues (Goodman 2008). To my knowledge, Enryō is the first thinker who has pointed to this promising link between Buddhist and Western ethics. The Principle of Retribution. The consequentialist or normative reading of the law of karma gives a criterion of choosing the better action over the worse. It does not state that good action will always be successful. Suffering can be the result of action despite good intentions, because the empirical world does not always conform to our calculations. The karma principle as a descriptive law claims the world to be such that moral acts necessarily result in the reduction

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of suffering, and that immoral acts necessarily result in the increase of suffering. “Good cause [has] joyous result, bad cause [has] sorrowful result.” The law of karma thus counters human experience to prevent desperation in the face of unpredictability. It promises that morality affords positive results in the cosmos, even if the immediate consequences might have been negative. The Buddhist cosmos of total interdependence, moreover, allows the claim that the result of an act retroacts to the agent. “You receive [the consequences of] your own karma” 自業自得. In popular Buddhism this constitutes the belief that rebirth is determined according to individual karma. Enryō firmly supported this view (4: 328–31). To avoid sorrowful results, not only for others but also for ourselves, we are motivated to behave morally. The line between the reward of good action as motivation and the retaliation of bad actions as deterrence is of course impossible to draw. The biblical Book of Job testifies how the unpredictability of empirical reality forced monotheist theology to withdraw God’s justice from human insight. God and the world he created are not unjust; the heavenly plan is merely inscrutable to us. The inscrutability of the law of karma in Buddhism results from the distinction of so many types of retributive effects that it becomes impossible to give definite answers for single cases (cf. 4: 329–31). Faith in karmic retribution as inscrutable cosmic law is innocuous. It is merely a religious postulate that expresses the hope for overall justice in the world. Yet, as soon as people believe that singular retributive effects can be identified, the notorious problems again arise. Natural catastrophes are seen as caused by the alleged immorality of scapegoats, or individual suffering is interpreted as self‑inflected by earlier karma. Postulate of Conscience. The third interpretation of the law of karma Enryō did not express in his writings about Buddhism. The final form of this argument is a result of his late thinking. The argument discussed in this section is nevertheless Buddhist in character and one of the most profound ideas I found in Enryō. The early form of the argument is expressed in A Popular Lecture about the Immortality of the Soul, from 1899. Enryō argues in various scientific and philosophical ways about the possibility of the afterlife of the human soul. He finishes his discussion by testing “pragmatic” 実際上 (19: 370) arguments of three types. (1) First, one line of reasoning for the expediency of accepting the idea

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of the immortality of the soul is that it helps people to deal with their suffering and allows for “peace of mind” (19: 363f). (2) The second type of argument is that it strengthens people’s spirit. This is important because in order to build a “rich country with a strong army” 富国強兵 the people must embody endurance and courage. The idea of an afterlife supports an education that aims at fostering the “resolution to sacrifice oneself for the country,” because it takes away the fear of death (19: 366–68). (3) Enryō’s third pragmatic argument is that the belief in “retribution in the afterlife . . . satisfies the conscience.” Human law punishes bad conduct, but it does not reward good conduct. Neither does the empirical world always provide beneficial circumstances for the moral person. Retribution in the afterlife accommodates our moral intuition that good conduct should be rewarded and bad conduct should be punished (19: 368–70). The first argument can be seen to be in harmony with Pure Land Buddhism. Faith in being reborn in paradise pacifies the mind in such a way that the present world is as equally experienced as the Pure Land. Afterlife is interpreted as a soteriological means to effect the spiritual well‑being of the believer. The second argument is certainly problematic because of its political purpose. To make people believe in an afterlife to create more fearless warriors for the country is not an acceptable strategy. It recalls Plato’s discussion of the guardians in the Republic. There, Socrates reasons that it would be permissible for the politician to invent beneficial myths that advantage the state (Rep. 389). Plato even argues that all stories and poems containing negative depictions of the afterworld have to be purged from education, because such images lessen the courage and fearlessness of the guardians (Rep. 386). In Plato’s Phaedo, instead, the mythical images of the afterlife are not presented for political reasons (Phaedo 77), rather Socrates suggests that his arguments for the immortality of the soul serve to compose the inner child who is scared of death. In this dialogue, Socrates’s serene attitude in the face of death itself is the final evidence for the beneficial effect of the belief in an afterlife. If Enryō had not specified the purpose of his second argument as national strength, but instead as a therapy for the general human fear of death, it would have been acceptable. The comparison with Plato is enlightening also regarding Enryō’s third argument. Rather than only taking away the fear of death, the most important aspect of Plato’s myths about the afterlife is the judgment of the soul. In the Phaedo (107–08), all logical evidence for the immortality of the soul is tested before the myth about retribution in the afterlife is proposed as a practical

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guarantee for the meaningfulness of moral conduct. The same applies to the Republic (621), where the final myth is also told, not as a fact or as a patronizing lie, but rather as a recommendation. Socrates merely suggests that there will be beneficial effects if one lives in accordance with the myth.38 This is a good parallel to Enryō’s third pragmatic argument, which postulates justice in the afterlife in order to prevent despair in this life in the face of injustice. In his early work A Survey of Ethics (1887), Enryō criticized theories of conscience of Chinese, Christian, and English provenance using empirical and evolutionary arguments (11: 62–87). The later Enryō grew more interested in the phenomenon of “conscience” 良心 (lit. good heart) and himself then developed an affirmative concept of it. His newly acquired understanding of conscience allowed Enryō to refine the third pragmatic argument for the immortality of the soul. According to Enryō’s late theory of conscience, the Good Heart functions before the act as a faculty of discernment as well as a motivation. The conscience distinguishes between good and bad and motivates the individual to pursue the good (2: 398f). After the act, conscience is an emotional faculty of judgment. “The conscience accuses, if bad action escapes calamity. It comforts, if good action results in harm” (2: 394). This is only seemingly a trivial description of the universal phenomenon of the bad conscience. According to Enryō’s account, the emotional effect of conscience depends upon the outcome of the act. If punishment for a lie is swift because the lie’s proverbial legs were too short to escape, the pricks of conscience will be correspondingly milder. The crisis of conscience is then particularly serious in a person if he is not held to account for doing something illicit. On the other hand, if our good conduct is rewarded by corresponding benefits, our conscience will be silent. It is only when a moral act has negative consequences for us that we are comforted, at least to some degree, by our good conscience. Enryō’s phenomenology of the Good Heart demonstrates that the emotional logic of conscience works to compensate for empirical injustice. The conscience can thus be explained as functioning for the realization of the law of karma. If immoral conduct has empirically no negative consequences, the conscience jumps in to make sure that “bad cause has sorrowful result.” In the case of moral conduct that produces harm for the agent, the conscience comforts the agent so that “good cause has joyous result.” Enryō’s discovery of the law of karma in the emotional logic of our moral intuition has precedents in the Buddhist scriptures. Below are the verses seventeen and eighteen

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of the Dhammapada in Max Müller’s translation. The verses state conscience and retribution as inseparable conditions of human conduct. The evil‑doer suffers in this world, and he suffers in the next; he suffers in both. He suffers when he thinks of the evil he has done; he suffers more when going on the evil path. The virtuous man is happy in this world, and he is happy in the next; he is happy in both. He is happy when he thinks of the good he has done; he is still more happy when going on the good path.

The final form of Enryō’s argument for karmic retribution as a postulate of conscience is expressed in his late work Superstition and Religion from 1916. In the human world, there are many good people, who encounter misfortune, and many bad people, who attain happiness. This circumstance demands [要求] that there is an imperishable realm apart from the impermanent and perishable human realm. . . . From this originates our belief that there must be a future world which fulfills the causal law of good and evil. Even if the present world does not accord to this law, our moral sense teaches us that it will be met in the next world. The belief in the immortality of the soul arises simultaneously with the reality of suffering and joy. Without being proved by today’s science, religion therefore cannot be disqualified as superstition. (20: 265f)

Enryō’s argument here presents an obvious parallel with Kant’s postulate of practical reason. The law of karma has no foundational role for ethics. The promise of reward and the deterrence by punishment are not the motivation of moral conduct. Instead, morality springs forth from the working of the human conscience, which everybody has to become aware of for oneself. Only the person who listens to his moral sense will develop the hope that justice will prevail in the long run. The law of karma is a postulate that only comes to the moral mind. If there is no acknowledgment of moral duty, no true faith in cosmic justice will arise. Instead of teaching obscure retributive effects driving the circle of rebirths, Buddhism would be well advised to reflect on the existential intuition behind its karma doctrine. The law of karmic retribution as a theoretical doctrine is as incredible as it is problematic. It can only be defended as a postulate that derives from the standpoint of human morality.

33

Institutional Reform

In his main work, Living Discourse on Buddhism, Enryō attempted to give Buddhism a systematic foundation for the modern world. In the new age, Buddhism’s doctrine, its institutional practice, and its relation to the nation‑state had to be reflected in a trans‑sectarian perspective. Enryō interpreted his role as the political representation of the interests of Buddhism in Tokyo. In order to get permission from his order to establish a school in Tokyo, he compared the intended function of his Academy with a ministry of external affairs for Buddhism (Miura 2010, 16). The fact that his request in the year 1884 was not approved did not shake Enryō in his missionary resolution. In his letter from 1889, in which Enryō informed his father that he would not follow in the ministry of his family temple, he justified his decision with the existential crisis of Buddhism.39 The indispensable research, campaigning, and lobbying for the modern reform of Buddhism had to be pursued in the rapidly developing new capital. The foundation of the Philosophy Academy in 1887 was Enryō’s foremost project in his contribution to the reform of Buddhism. His basic idea was to raise the educational level of the clergy through academic studies. At his school, young priests deepened their understanding of Buddhism by reflecting it in modern terminology. They were taught by the pioneers of modern Buddhist studies, who explored in their lectures the relation of Buddhism to philosophy, psychology, and science. The Philosophy Academy Lecture Records are also testimony of the first reflections on Buddhism using the new methods of history, sociology, and religious studies. In 1900, a group of young Buddhists associated with each other and disseminated their ideas through the journal named New Buddhism 新仏教. The two leading figures of the New Buddhists 277

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Association, Sakaino Kōyō and Takashima Beihō, were not only graduates of the Philosophy Academy and close students of Enryō, both also became teachers and, later, presidents of Toyo University. Based on Buddhist beliefs, the journal for New Buddhism advocated social reform, freedom of research in religion, the overcoming of superstition, and the abandonment of outdated rituals and institutions (Suganuma 2000). At Toyo University, academic Buddhist studies have been vigorously pursued since its foundation. Although Enryō’s ecumenical initiative did not change the sectarian landscape of Japanese Buddhism, all Buddhist schools took up Enryō’s call for the academic certification of the clergy and established their own universities. Modern education became the standard of the Buddhist clergy in Japan. Today, the great majority of young priests enter the university of their respective denomination. Yet, there are also always some who choose Toyo University because it is the only university in Japan with a strong emphasis on Buddhist studies without sectarian affiliation. Enryō’s first world tour in 1888–89 appears to have been modeled after the Iwakura Embassy. In a private initiative, Enryō traveled almost the same route as the embassy and inspected the religious institutions of the Western world, which had been outside the focus of the Iwakura Mission (cf. chapter 16). In his Journal on Religion and State in Western Countries (1889), he recorded his observations of wedding ceremonies, state religion, theological universities, and charity organizations. Enryō’s personal investigations into the Mormons in Salt Lake City, the Vatican, and the Anglican Church fostered his conviction that religious organizations had to modernize themselves in accordance with other social systems. In the framework of modern law, Buddhism’s institutional standing had to be redefined as the original religion of the Japanese people. After 1890, when freedom of religion was granted by Article 28 of the Meiji Constitution, Enryō began to lobby for a privileged status of Buddhism as compared to Christianity. The principle of religious freedom precluded Buddhism’s status as state religion. Enryō did not question this basic separation of state and religion as set out in the Constitution (8: 62–66). What he had in mind was nothing like the merging of Buddhism with the government as radical State Shintoism would have it. Neither the unity of reign, rite, and teaching, as promoted by State Shintoists, nor the noninterference of the state in matters of religion describes Enryō’s position. In his Treatise on Religion and State in Japan from 1890, Enryō argued for a

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privileged legal status for Buddhism as “officially acknowledged religion” 公認教 (8: 49–69). His general argument was to stress that Buddhism, as opposed to Christianity, was a vital part of the Japanese nation and was indeed loyal to the Imperial Household (8: 55–62). Enryō repeated, starting with his Prolegomena, that Japanese civilization is unthinkable without Buddhism (3: 338–40). The government patronage Enryō had in mind for Buddhism was the exemption of the priesthood from military service, the assignment to Buddhism of primary education and mission in military prisons, the issuing of penal laws for the clergy, and governmental certification for parish priests (8: 66, PA 16). Further, Enryō argued that legal limits to the Christian missions should be implemented (PA 27). Missionary activity should be inhibited until Christianity has fully naturalized in Japan and Christian communities have become independent from their home countries (8: 63f). With his Treatise on Religion and State in Japan from 1889, Enryō took the political lead in the Movement for the Official Acknowledgment of Buddhism, which advocated for the legal privileges of Japanese Buddhism until 1900 (Kashiwara 1956). The incentive for this movement was the threat posed by the missionary activities of Christianity, which were constitutionally backed by the principle of religious freedom and further facilitated by the legalization of mixed residence between foreigners and Japanese in 1899. During this period, newly founded Buddhist leagues presented more than 150 memorandums and petitions of varying contents to the government. When, in 1900, the long debated Religion Bill was finally turned down by the House of Peers, the movement died away without having achieved its political goals (Maxey 2014, 209–32). Enryō’s campaigning, however, continued after 1900. In his Proposal for Religious Reform from 1902, he called for the establishment of an Office for Religious Affairs in the Ministry of Culture, the establishment of a Faculty of Religion in the Imperial University, and the governmental certification of parish priests (34). The latter ties in with Enryō’s earlier call for a trans‑sectarian Buddhist university under governmental supervision in 1894 (PA 16). Enryō hoped for government patronage and support to develop his Philosophy Academy into an institution of the latter type. This ambition was once and for all shattered by the Philosophy Academy Incident of 1903–04. Raising the educational standard of the ministerial priesthood was not the only proposal Enryō made to reform the parishioner system. Parishioners

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should be free to choose their Buddhist affiliation (Jun 1902, 35). Donations by parishioners should be earmarked in order to commit parish priests to certain purposes and to increase responsibility on the part of the parishioners. Parishioners should also have a voice in the selection of parish priests. The sects that allow marriage should reconsider the hereditary system of temple ministries based on primogeniture. For economic reasons, the number of temples should be reduced by merging smaller temples into greater consortia (PA 22, 30). Enryō further attempted to reform Buddhist liturgy and rituals. He created a plan for a Buddhist wedding ceremony that was to complement the otherworldly funeral Buddhism through a ritual of Living Buddhism (2: 365–69). “Teaching services” 教会 should be held in temples every Sunday (Jun 1902, 35). His Morality Church initiative proposed to include music and the secular ethics of the Education Rescript in the Sunday liturgy. Enryō’s idea of modern Buddhism was however not only a state‑protected but essentially a state‑protecting Buddhism. His most systematic statement of how Buddhism was to contribute to society and the Empire is his 1898 treatise On the Reform of the Cleric Deficiencies (1898) in which he called for social activity to be built on the three pillars of education, mission, and welfare. All three pillars were to be pursued in an altruistic spirit. Education in altruistic spirit means to engage in the education of the common people and not just the sectarian clergy. Mission in altruistic spirit means to bring religion to poor people or into areas where there is no religion. This is in contradistinction to egoistic mission, which aims instead at winning followers for the sake of receiving donations. Finally, welfare, or in Buddhist terms, “compassionate welfare” 慈善 (jizen), is necessarily altruistic. Enryō accordingly spoke of altruistic education and mission also as education and mission that is based on the “compassionate welfare principle” 慈善主義. Buddhism, Enryō states, as a teaching essentially about compassion, has compassionate welfare as its fundamental mission. For this reason, Enryō called for broad engagement in poorhouses, nurseries, reformatories, hospitals, and emergency aid (58–61). The establishment of new organizations for Buddhist welfare developed very rapidly during the Meiji period (Shimizu 1997). That Buddhism recognized its primary social function as the giving of charity might be interpreted by the Western observer as a defensive reaction against Christianity. Enryō’s complaints about Buddhism’s hitherto otherworldly and egoistic character adds to this picture. It is also undisputed that Christianity worked as a catalyst for

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Buddhist modernization in Japan. However, before Buddhist welfare activity is reduced to a political maneuver, it should be examined whether the social activities that Buddhism unfolded in modernity are due to an immanent rationale. Discussing Enryō’s writings on Buddhism, we have noted that positive social action can be recognized as a direct consequence of Mahāyāna doctrine. Moreover, Enryō exaggerated the passivity and degeneration of early modern Buddhism (Klautau 2008). The history of Buddhism in East Asia provides ample instances of Buddhist poorhouses, sanatoriums, and so forth.40 In Japan, charity in the Buddhist spirit began with the inception of the religion in the sixth century by “the founder of Japanese civilization,” Shōtoku Taishi (Anesaki 1930, 57). Whether in premodern times Christianity was more faithfully living up to caritas, or whether Mahāyāna Buddhism excelled in compassionate welfare according to its karu ā ideal, is not up for judgment here. However, it is also true that the foundation of Christian charity organizations is largely a product of the nineteenth century, too.41 The outsourcing of social functions that were previously fulfilled by temples, monasteries, or churches into separate institutions appears to have been the pattern of religious modernization in Japan as it was in Europe. That Buddhism is a tradition of learning does not need to be argued. However, it is not as well known that Buddhism also developed educational activities directed at lay people. One reason for this might be that the distinction between the education of the common people and missionary activities is necessarily blurred. Regardless of the kind of education undertaken by Buddhist priests, it would also have a propaedeutic function to the higher learning of Buddhism. This is also not different from Christianity. Beginnings of commoner education by Buddhist monks in Japan go back to antiquity, when the esoteric True Word School 真言宗, in particular, developed activities to educate the lower classes (Hisaki 2010, 115). Its founder Kūkai is credited for having founded in 828 in Kyoto the first Japanese school with egalitarian access. The Middle Ages then saw the appearance of itinerant monks of various sects who preached Buddhist lore and taught heterogeneous forms of knowledge to the uneducated classes (Ōto 2010). The important role of Buddhism in early modern elementary education is generally acknowledged. It is this historical fact in particular that sheds light on Enryō’s emphasis on education as the original task of Buddhism. The “encouragement of learning” 勧学 that Buddhist priests should engage in, according to Enryō, was to be

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pursued in, for example, normal schools, girls schools, or kindergartens (Nov 1898, 59). Enryō’s distinction between mission for the sake of donations and mission in order to reduce spiritual suffering is also convincing. As examples for inner mission in an altruistic spirit, he proposed delivering sermons in poorhouses and hospitals (Nov 1898, 54). Enryō was one of the leading Buddhist thinkers who desired that Buddhism conform to the modern Japanese empire. The general attitude of Japanese Buddhist sects to align themselves with the state has been criticized in terms of Buddhist nationalism (Ives 2001; Victoria 2006). Although the institutional patterns of Buddhism’s push to align with the rising Japanese empire were new, the overall scheme of “nation‑protecting” Buddhism had deep roots in East Asian Buddhism. The precedents for Korean and Japanese Buddhism to marry with the Empire were set in China during the Northern Wèi (386–535), the Suí (581–618), and the Táng (618–906) dynasties (Ch’en 1973, 65–124). The Táng imperial government first decreed legal codes for regulating Buddhist monasticism. Until then, ordination and the conduct of monks had been a matter of monastic rule only. Now, religious law was superseded by secular law, and the Buddhist sa gha was thereby brought under supervision of the imperial administration (Gernet 1995, 37–48). The legal incorporation of Buddhism into the Chinese empire in turn made Buddhism eligible for access to the court. In exchange for state patronage, Buddhist priests performed rituals at court for the benefit of the Empire. This pattern of state‑protecting and state‑protected Buddhism reproduced itself in Korea and Japan (Volkov 2007). The Golden Light Sūtra and the Sūtra for Humane Kings Protecting the Country were the two texts that provided the grounds for the alliance between Buddhism and the Empire in East Asia.42 Both scriptures recommend themselves for recitation in court rituals for the benefit of the country. The twelfth chapter of the Golden Light Sūtra, which is titled “The Four Heavenly Kings Protecting the Country” 四天王護国, might be the most influential occurrence of the phrase that Enryō had chosen for his lifelong slogan. It is noteworthy that postwar philological research proved that the Sūtra for Humane Kings is a Chinese apocrypha particularly created to win over amenable rulers for the Buddhist cause (Orzech 1998, 116–21, 288–91). It was to this sūtra that Enryō naturally referred when citing evidence of the political character of Mahāyāna Buddhism (4: 431).

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Mahāyāna Buddhism distinguishes between (at least) two “fields of blessing” 福田 (fukuden) which allow the accumulation of merit for the sake of other sentient beings. One was to pursue compassionate deeds, the other was reverence of the Three Jewels Buddha, Dharma, Sa gha. If benign rulers provided for the performance of rituals, the recitation of sūtras, and the copying of Buddhist text, it would be for the benefit of their country. Nation‑protecting Buddhism in premodern times therefore meant both concrete welfare activity in Buddhist monasteries as well as the accumulation of merit through the veneration of the Three Jewels at court. The dubious doctrine of the “transference of merit” 功徳回向 (kudoku ekō) according to which Buddhist rituals and sūtra recitations could help to reduce the suffering in the world is completely absent in Enryō’s Buddhist philosophy. Seen in this light, Enryō’s political activism to regain governmental patronage and his call for concrete welfare activity appears to be a rather innocuous rational and secularized version of the age‑old notion of country‑protecting Buddhism. Before modernity, Protection of the Nation simply meant that Buddhism recommended itself as beneficial to those countries where it was allowed to build its monasteries. Contribution to social welfare is a positive effort, even when the operating range of this effort does not transcend national boundaries. If Buddhist nationalism means to take responsibility for the social welfare of one’s country, Enryō’s Buddhism was certainly nationalist. But Enryō’s ideas for modern Buddhism did transcend national boundaries. It is here that Enryō’s Buddhism is tainted by patriotic chauvinism. Rather than nationalist, the more precise term here is imperialist. Enryō repeatedly called for missionary activities in Japan’s acquired and desired colonies.43 The fact that he even argued for the legitimacy of Buddhists to take part in wars was the sad climax of his argument for a life‑affirming Buddhism (see chapter 21). It is telling that mission in aid of colonial policy falls into neither of the categories Enryō had distinguished in On the Reform of the Cleric Deficiencies (1898). Colonial mission is not the same as mission for donations or of mission for the sake of lost souls. The instrumentation of Buddhist mission for Japanese imperialism cannot be derived from Buddhist doctrine. The idea of Buddhist mission abroad for the sake of the Empire was a result of suspicion toward the Christian missionaries, who, since the Edo period, were accused of being the vanguard of Western aggression. Enryō

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explicitly cited Occidental models as he called for Buddhist activity abroad in support of Japanese expansion (Dec. 1917). Indeed, as early as the 1880s, several Japanese Buddhist sects have begun proselytizing in Korea. It is therefore not surprising that today in Korea, modern Japanese Buddhism is viewed in a similar vein to the way the Japanese viewed the Christian missionaries. “The Japanese then [after 1876] sought to invade Korea with Japanese Buddhism in order to psychologically subordinate the Korean people to Japan through Buddhism.”44 This perspective is unfortunately not far off the mark when we read the respective statements by Enryō. During Enryō’s lifetime, Japan changed in dramatic and unprecedented ways. Japan was catching up with the modernization processes that had begun in England and France in the late eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century. Japanese society struggled to adjust to the fast pace of further industrialization and institutional rationalization in Europe around the turn of the twentieth century. From Enryō’s arrival in Tokyo in 1878 until World War I, a new institutional structure of steel and stone had overgrown the pastel‑colored old Japan of natural wood and paper. The institutional modernization was paralleled by the modernization of the Japanese language. New semantic structures and technical terminologies corresponded to the continuously developing social formations. The establishment of academic science, the spread of Social Darwinism, the decrease of superstition, the implementation of modern law, the industrialization of war, and so forth, were simultaneous and intertwined dynamics. In the political system created during the Meiji period, as well as according to Enryō’s personal political convictions, the nation‑state principle meant support of the national polity and loyalty to the Imperial Household. A system whose sovereign is not the people, but a divine emperor, implies that everything that is done is ultimately done for the Leviathan. In order to assess the historical heritage of this period, we have to make distinctions, even if they were not clearly drawn at that time. If we do not do this, we are in danger of dismissing everything, because everything was framed by a political system, which turned out to be the nucleus of later totalitarianism. We need to evaluate according to our own criteria, not for the sake of the period, but so that we know what is worth continuing and what has to be stopped. The influence that Enryō exhibited in his attempt to reform Buddhism is difficult to assess. Apart from Toyo University, Enryō’s trans‑sectarian

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initiatives left no institutional traces. The extent to which Enryō’s tireless call for reform and activism was influential, if only by his informing the intellectual climate of the period, is hard to measure. However, as a leader of public opinion, his influence is likely to have been considerable, particularly before 1906. His writings anticipate many characteristics of twentieth‑century Buddhism in East Asia. Academic Buddhist studies, new Buddhist lay movements, and Buddhist welfare activities can be observed in Korea and Taiwan, just as in Japan. Despite Enryō’s intended instrumentation of Buddhism for Japanese imperialism, his Living Discourse on Buddhism, which in a very pronounced manner called for a secular, rational, and active Buddhism, can be read as a classic of Buddhist modernity.

Epilogue

In the Temple Garden of Philosophy

I n 1886, after recovering from his first illness, Enryō started his career as a philosopher with a furious outburst of intellectual creativity. This was the same year that Friedrich Nietzsche wrote, in Beyond Good and Evil: There are so many dangers involved in the development of a philosopher these days that it can be doubted whether this fruit is still capable of ripening at all. The height and width of the tower of science have grown to be so monstrously vast that the philosopher is that much more likely to become exhausted before he has finished learning, or to let himself grab hold of something and “specialize.” And so he is never at his best, never reaches his high point from which he would be able to look over, look around, and look down.1

Enryō did reach his individual height and purview. He gave Japan her first full example of the new type of scholar called philosopher. The freedom that is entailed in the self‑concept of the philosopher allowed him to develop an extraordinarily multifaceted individuality. To be a philosopher means to be committed only to truthfulness in one’s own thinking. The outcome of individual thought is not determined a priori; thereby, philosophy gives the freedom to develop individuality in the confines of reason. It was in the generation of scholars following Enryō that modern Japanese humanities reached maturity. Enryō’s scholarship lacks the ethical seriousness of Ōnishi Hajime (1864–1900), the philological method of Takakusu Junjirō (1866–1945), the philosophical complexity of Nishida Kitarō (1870–1945), the spiritual depth of Suzuki T. Daisetsu (1870–1966), and the consistent historical approach of Anesaki Masaharu (1873–1949). Yet, the character of his 287

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thinking also distinguishes him from these younger scholars. Enryō’s purview was global, and at the same time decisively ahistorical and practical. By being part of and witness to the particular turning point in Japanese history, his view was naturally directed toward the future. Unprecedented situations demand comprehensive survey under practical premises. In times like these, the past only has value insofar as it has value for the future. We find a great symbol of the gap between Enryō’s future‑oriented thinking and the spirit of contemporary Japanese humanities in Enryō’s proposition to destroy the original Sanskrit texts once they have been translated. Enryō feared they would only lead to more “dead learning” 死学 (2: 428). Enryō shared an aversion to historicism and scholasticism with Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), who was his contemporary albeit fourteen years older. In many respects, a comparison between Inoue Enryō and Friedrich Nietzsche is fallacious, but certain parallels are insightful because they shed light on the zeitgeist. The fact that we can identify the same zeitgeist in two thinkers, whose cultural spheres fifty years earlier were all but separate worlds, is itself remarkable. In Enryō’s writings, we can sense the same overwhelming intuition to witness a turning point in world history that we also see in Nietzsche. Evolution, in the act of becoming transparent to itself, appeared to unleash an unknown exponential dynamic. Imagining themselves as mediums and instruments of the awakened self‑affirmation of life, both thinkers developed an unshakable missionary impulse. Raised to follow their fathers into priesthood, they realized their lot in opposing more than two thousand years of religious history. In the name of life, nihilistic Christianity had to be all but overcome, and otherworldly Dead Buddhism was to be turned upside down to become Living Buddhism. Believing themselves to be in the center of an epochal “transvaluation of values,” both struck an exalted, often overmodulated, tone. Nietzsche drove his delirious mind into the most extreme individualization, while Enryō was carried away by jingoism. Friedrich Schleiermacher had a dictum that religion is not held by those who believe in a holy scripture, but by those who can write the scripture themselves (1799, 68). Applying this dictum to Enryō and Nietzsche, we can witness the religious sentiment that each writer was endowed with. The later Enryō’s gospel was the religion of Living Philosophy with its sanctuary, the Temple Garden of Philosophy. The affinity to Auguste Comte’s new Religion of Humanity has already been mentioned. The late nineteenth

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century seems to have been pregnant with comparable modern prophets. Besides Comte, Nietzsche, Enryō, there were also Paul Carus (1852–1919), Rudolf Steiner (1861–1925), or Ernst Haeckle (1834–1919); the latter was even proclaimed an antipope in 1904 by the society that later named itself the German Monist Union. Inoue Gen’ichi, Enryō’s son, compared his father to the mystical philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882). Gen’ichi became the manager of the Temple Garden of Philosophy after the park had been transformed into a public trust in accordance with Enryō’s testament. In the preface to his English guide to the Temple Garden of Philosophy, Gen’ichi wrote, The Temple Garden of Philosophy was established by my father, the late Doctor Enryō Inoue, as a work of his later years, subsequent to his retirement from the Philosophy Academy (the Oriental College). The plan and design of this temple was quite original, and it is for this reason that I can, even to this day, divine his mood and mind as living spirit, which steps forth from this creation of his, to meet and greet me. . . . It is intended, not for scholars who live their lives in books, but for the common people, to enable them to understand and realize in their lives principles of philosophy. There are those who criticize my father’s philosophy, maintaining that in the efforts of his last years, he seemed to stray from the paths of philosophical science into those of dogmatism, and that his Temple Garden of Philosophy appeals merely to the curious, as a novelty. These critics have failed to see the true aspects of his idealistic strivings. His philosophy may not be a philosophy in the technical sense of the word, and, as far as I know, is different from modern philosophy. But we must remember that he was inspired by the noblest of ideals and strove to express the lofty promptings of his spirit. Even though he may be criticized as a philosopher, he must be highly esteemed as a world educator. We have in Oriental philosophy the terms tetsugaku‑sha [哲学者], with its usual meaning of philosophic scholar, and the word, tetsu‑jin [哲人] which means World Educator, or Practitioner of Philosophy, to use my father’s words. In order to express this latter meaning, I have used throughout this translation such words as, Sage, Wise Man, Philosopher‑Saint, and World Educator. It is only

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when this second meaning is taken into consideration that the Temple Garden of Philosophy can be rightly valued. Therefore I particularly emphasize the mission of the Garden to help in the creation of world educators. When the genius among them appears, he will found a real philosophical religion. My father had hoped to found it, but he was only a pioneer. For the accomplishment of his purpose, I think that an exhaustive comparative study of eastern and western philosophies is of utmost importance. I had been told that the atmosphere of this temple was, to a great extent, reminiscent of the spiritual and intellectual environment of Concord, Massachusetts, and I was therefore keenly desirous of visiting this place. It was on a serene autumn day in the year 1922 that I first visited the home of the great American thinker, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Through the good will and courtesy of Edward L. Emerson, the philosopher’s son, I was given an opportunity to spend an entire day in tranquil meditation among the scenes pervaded by the spirit of the Sage of Concord. The School of Philosophy, with which Emerson’s name and fame are associated, now stands solitary and deserted, among the fallen leaves, an almost forgotten dream, and without a master. The pine trees and crystal‑clear brook nearby give an air of spiritual serenity, reminding me of my father’s Temple Garden of Philosophy. But is not this sacred spot of bygone philosophers losing its true spirit and influence? Most of the sight‑seers, bred in the materialistic environment of the day, bestow but hasty and superficial glances upon this fragment of a sanctuary which should be an inspiration to Americans from generation to generation. Why is it, I mused, that the spiritual influence of the Concord philosopher is not stronger among his own countrymen of today?2

Strolling through the Temple Garden of Philosophy today, it is just as Gen’ichi observed in Concord. The park is like “an almost forgotten dream,” and one wonders why Enryō’s “spiritual influence is not stronger among his own countrymen of today.” There is a strange silence over Inoue Enryō in Japanese academia. There are academic philosophers who have not even heard of the Temple Garden of Philosophy in Tokyo. Except at Toyo University,

Epilogue  291

which keeps his memory alive, Enryō has not been read or positively received since his death. It is almost as if modern Japanese academia is ashamed of its fledgling incarnation, which Enryō represents. Enryō’s bold universal claims stand in stark contrast to today’s finely subdivided and detailed historical investigations. The embracing scope and panoramic outlook of his scholarship is seen critically as eclectic or syncretistic ever since Enryō’s lifetime. The earliest criticism of this kind was expressed by Ōnishi Hajime in 1887, who characterized Enryō’s metaphysics as “amalgamated theory” 混合説. This was taken up by Ōnishi’s philosophy teacher Ludwig Busse (PA 9) who used the English term eclecticism to characterize Enryō’s thinking almost at the same time as Lafcadio Hearn did in the Japan Weekly Mail from 1891. In his influential study Japanese Thought in the Meiji Era from 1955, Kōsaka Masaaki applied the Japanese expression “principle of compromise” 折衷主義, which is generally taken as the standard translation of the Western word eclecticism. However, rather than eclecticism, the Japanese term is semantically strikingly equivalent to the concept of syncretism, which originally referred to the pragmatic alliance or compromise between two parties. In the philosophical context, the critique of syncretism conveys that elements are combined at the cost of their full form, a synthesis that compromises its components. This exactly is how Enryō’s philosophy is seen today, and the criticism is certainly at least partly correct. Synthesis and comprehensiveness were important philosophical criteria for Enryō. His combination of Buddha, Confucius, Socrates, and Kant as the Four Sages of world philosophy, whose philosophical strivings supposedly all converge in the realization of the Absolute, is too loose a constellation, shows too little inner logic to be appreciated as a philosophical system. On the other hand, as I attempted to show particularly in Part II, Enryō saw his role as first unfolding philosophy to Japan. It was not the case that he amalgamated existing Japanese strands of thought into one system. He laid out a structure of maximal comprehensiveness in order to correspond to the new global outlook of modern Japan. Enryō thought of himself in the position of the founder who wanted to open up the horizon as widely as possible for the following generation. Neither syncretism nor eclecticism are appropriate characterizations of this groundwork project. Remembering the positive enlightenment idea of philosophy as eclecticism (Holhzey 1983), one might rather criticize Enryō for not being eclectic enough. The mission of

292 Epilogue

philosophers should be to provide a comprehensive survey with the intention to “select” (Gr. eklegô) valid ideas irrespective of their origin. In the Temple Garden of Philosophy we can recognize only one significant selection and this is the exclusion of monotheist religion. The installation of the Four Sages in the Temple Garden of Philosophy is not eclectic itself, but can be interpreted as an encouragement to be so. Rather than following one holy figure, the Four Sages summon the visitor to select the Truth, the Good, and the Beautiful from the varied heritage of world philosophy. Kathleen Staggs (1983) has described Enryō as “a complex man, fiercely independent and confident of his mission.” While this is a most fitting characterization, I want to remind the reader of Enryō’s humorous side which was also reported by his son Gen’ichi (1925, 3). Enryō was fond of his image as Doctor Specter. He knew that he was increasingly seen as a weird older scholar, interested in spooky stories. He played with this image as he built his garden outside of town, where he dwelt in the Skull Hermitage, and welcomed visitors in the Hollow of Gods and Demons. Some irony was necessary to permit and foster this public image of himself. There was a twinkling in the eye of Doctor Specter.

Abbreviations

AA

Immanuel Kant. Kant’s gesammelte Schriften, 29 vols. Berlin: Königlich Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1900 ongoing. Digital ed. Kant im Kontext II. InfoSoftWare 2003.

HWPh

Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie. 13 vols., ed. Joachim Ritter et al. Basel: Schwabe, 1971–2007. Digital ed. ibid. 2007.

IS

『井上円了選集 』 [Inoue

Enryō selected writings]. 25 vols. Tokyo: Tōyō Daigaku, 1987–2004.

KSA Friedrich Nietzsche. Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe. Edited by Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari. 15 vols. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1980. Digital ed. ibid. 1994. PA

“ ‘Philosopher’s Ashes Return to Tokyo’: Inoue Enryō as Seen in Historical Roman Alphabet Sources.” Compiled by Rainer Schulzer, Annual Report of the Inoue Enryo Center 20 (2011).

SBCK

『四部叢刊 』

[Collection of the four (literary) divisions]. Edited by Zhāng Yúanjì 張元濟. Shanghai: 1919–1936. Enlarged digital ed. Unihan 2009.

SKQS

『 四庫全書』

[Collected writings of the four repositories]. Edited by and Lù Xīxióng 陸錫熊. Beijing: 1773–1782. Digital ed. Diāolóng 雕龍. JǏ Yún 紀昀

T

『大正新脩大蔵経 』

[New tripi aka edition of the Taishō (era)]. 85 vols. Tokyo: 1924–1934. Digital ed. SAT Daizōkyō Text Database. 293

Chronological Table of Inoue Enryō’s Life

Learning Years (Age 0–22) 2 Feb. 1858

Born near Nagaoka in Light of Compassion Temple 慈光寺

1868–1876

Chinese and Western learning in Nagaoka

April 1871

Ordination as True School 真宗 priest of the Eastern Original Vow Temple 東本願寺 (Ōtani Branch 大谷派)

1876

Teaching assistant at Nagaoka School

Oct. 1876

Founding of Harmony and Equality Circle 和同会

July 1877

Departure to Kyoto

Sept. 1877–1878

English Teacher School of Ōtani Branch in Kyoto

April 1878

Departure to Tokyo

Oct. 1878–1881

Preparatory School of Tokyo University

Establishment (Age 23–30) Oct. 1881–July 1885

Philosophy Course of Tokyo University

since Oct. 1883

Recording of philosophical research in English Notebook

295

296  Chronological Table of Inoue Enryō’s Life

Jan. 1884

Founding of Philosophy Society 哲学会

ca. 1884

Negotiations with Ōtani Branch about establishment of Buddhist academy in Tokyo

Oct. 1885

First Philosophy Ceremony 哲学際

Jan. 1886

Founding of Enigma Research Society 不思議研究会

April 1886

First outbreak of nervous disease

July 1886–April 1887

An Evening of Philosophical Conversation in 3 vols.

Nov. 1886

Marriage with Yoshida Kei 吉田敬

Nov. 1886–Jan. 1887

The Golden Compass of Truth in 3 vols.

Jan. 1887

Founding of Philosophy Press 哲学書院

Feb. 1887

First issue of Journal of the Philosophical Society 哲学会雑誌

Feb. 1887

Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism

Sept. 1887

Founding of Philosophy Academy 哲学館

Dec. 1887

Living Discourse on Buddhism: Refuting the False

Jan. 1888

Establishment of distance education, first issue of Philosophy Academy Lecture Records

April 1888

Co‑founding of Politics and Teaching Society 政教社

June 1888–June 1889

First world tour

Leadership (Age 31–44) Aug. 1889

Letter to his father abandoning the ministry of family temple

Sept. 1889

Destruction of school building by typhoon

Sept. 1889

Treatise on Religion and State in Japan

Chronological Table of Inoue Enryō’s Life  297

Sept. 1890

Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right

Nov. 1890–Feb. 1893

First period of lecture tours through the Empire

4 July 1891

Article by Lafcadio Hearn in Japan Weekly Mail

Jan. 1893

Proposal of Japanese Ethics

July 1893

Living Discourse on Loyalty and Filial Piety

Nov. 1893

Founding of Mystery Research Society 妖怪研究会

March 1894

Founding of Oriental Philosophy Society 東洋哲学会

Oct. 1994

A Fragment of a Philosophy of War

Mar. 1896–Sept. 1902 Second period of lecture tours through the Empire June 1896

Doctor of Letters awarded by (Tokyo) Imperial University

June 1896

Publication of collected Lectures on Mystery Studies

Dec. 1896

Destruction of school building by fire

June 1898

The Pedagogical View of Life and the World

Feb. 1899

Founding of Capital North Middle School

July 1899

Philosophy Academy receives permission to grant teacher certificates from Ministry of Culture

April 1900

Appointment by Ministry of Culture to the Examination Board for Moral Education Textbooks

Oct. 1901

Appointment by Cabinet to the High School Education Committee

Crisis (Age 45–47) Oct. 1902–1903

Philosophy Academy Incident 哲学館事件

Nov. 1902–July 1903

Second world travel

京北中学校

298  Chronological Table of Inoue Enryō’s Life

Aug. 1903

Founding of Morality Church 修身教会

Jan. 1904

“My Thoughts on Facing Russia”

April 1904

Opening ceremony of Philosophy Academy University 哲学館大学 and Philosophy Shrine 哲学堂

July 1904–1905

Suffering from nervous disease

Oct.–Dec. 1904

Internal conflict about the reform of the Philosophy Academy

May 1905

Opening of Capital North Kindergarten 京北幼稚園

Jan. 1906

Retirement from the Philosophy Academy

Independence (Age 48–61) Oct. 1906–June 1919

Third period of lecture tours through the Empire (incl. Korea, Manchuria, Sakhalin, Okinawa, Taiwan, China)

Nov. 1909–Dec. 1915

Successive building of Temple Garden of Philosophy 哲学堂公園

Dec. 1909

New Proposal in Philosophy

April 1911–Jan. 1912

Third world tour (incl. southern hemisphere)

Aug. 1912

Morality Church renamed Society for the Spread of Civic Morality 国民道徳普及会

Sept. 1912

Living Buddhism

Feb. 1914

Life is a Battlefield

May 1917

Philosophy of Struggle

Dec. 1917

“Japanese Religion Overseas”

Feb. 1919

“My Mission in Philosophy”

5 June 1919

Death by stroke in Dàlián 大連 (China)

Cited Works by Inoue Enryō

Comprehensive bibliographies of primary and secondary sources in Japanese and Western languages about Inoue Enryō can be found in the Inoue Enryo Research Database on the homepage of the International Association for Inoue Enryo Research. Almost all of Enryō’s main works are accessible online via the database. The database, moreover, contains a bibliography of all available English translations.

First Ed.

Translated Title

Reference

Aug. 1884

“Reading Xúnz ”

｢読荀子｣

Doku junshi. In IS 25: 727–44.

July 1886– April 1887

An Evening of Philosophical Conversation

『哲学一夕話』

Tetsugaku ichi yūwa, 3 vols. In IS 1: 31–84.

Sept. 1886– April 1887

Epitome of Philosophy

『哲学要領』

Nov. 1886– Jan. 1887

The Golden Compass of Truth

『真理金針』

Feb. 1887– April 1887

A Survey of Ethics

『倫理通論』

Rinri tsūron, 2 vols. In IS 11: 15–137.

Feb. 1887

Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism

『仏教活論序論』

Tetsugaku yōryō, 2 vols. In IS 1: 85–215.

299

Shinri kinshin, 3 vols. In IS 3: 7–323.

Bukkyō katsuron joron. In IS 3: 325–93.

300  Cited Works by Inoue Enryō ｢哲学館開設の旨趣｣

June 1887

“Founding Ideas of the Philosophy Academy”

Tetsugakkan kaisetsu no shishu. In IS 25: 750–51.

June 1887

Notes on the Philosophy Path

『哲学道中記』

Sept. 1887

Fundamentals of Psychology

『心理摘要』

Tetsugaku dō chūki. Tokyo: Tetsugaku Shoin 哲学書院 Shinri tekiyō. In IS

9: 13–88. Dec. 1887

Jan. 1888

Living Discourse on Buddhism: Refuting the False

『仏教活論本論：破邪活論』

“The Academy’s Founding Ideas“

｢開館旨趣｣ Kaikan

Bukkyō katsuron honron: Haja katsuron. In IS 4: 21–185. shishu. In 『東洋大学百年史』, pub. by Tōyō Daigaku, 1988–1995, Shiryō 1: 83–93. 『宗教新論』

March 1888 A New Theory of Religion

Shūkyō shinron. In IS 8: 11–48.

Aug.–Dec. 1889

Journal on Religion and State in Western Countries

『欧米各国政教日記』

Sept. 1889

Treatise on Politics and Religion 『日本政教論』 Nihon seikyō ron. In IS 8: 49–69. in Japan

Jan. 1890

Rules of Philosophy Checkers

Feb. 1890

Record of an Imaginary Tour of 『星界想遊記』 Seikai sōyūki. In Other Planets IS 24: 23–63.

Sept. 1890

Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right

Ōbei kakkoku seikyō nikki, 2 vols. In IS 23: 17–153.

『哲学飛将碁指南』

Tetsugaku tobi shōgo shi’nan. Tokyo: Tetsugaku Shoin 哲学書院

『仏教活論本論：顕正活論』

Bukkyō katsuron honron: Kenshō katsuron. In IS 4: 187–371.

Cited Works by Inoue Enryō  301 『館主巡回日記』

Dec. 1890– July 1906

The Dean’s Lecture Tour Diary

Kanshu junkai nikki. In IS 12: 9–185.

May 1891

Fundamentals of Ethics

『倫理摘要』

Rinri tekiyō. In IS 11: 139–210.

May 1892

Prolegomena to a Philosophy of the True School

『真宗哲学序論』 Shinshū tetsugaku joron. In IS 6: 179–246.

Nov. 1892– Oct. 1893

Philosophy of Religion

『宗教哲学』

Shūkyō tetsugaku. In IS 8: 321–573.

Jan. 1893

Proposal of Japanese Ethics

『日本倫理学案』

Nihon rinri gaku an. In IS 11: 211–84.

Jan. 1893

Brief Explanation of the Rescript

『勅語略解』

May–Oct. 1893

Buddhist Philosophy

『仏教哲学』

June 1893

Prolegomena to a Philosophy of the Zen School

『禅宗哲学序論』

July 1893

Living Discourse on Loyalty and 『忠孝活論』 Chūkō katsuron. In IS 11: 285–350. Filial Piety

Nov. 1893– Oct. 1894

Lectures on Mystery Studies

Nov. 1893– Oct. 1894

Comparative Religious Studies

『比較宗教学』 Hikaku shūkyō gaku. In IS 8: 73–165.

Feb. 1894

Lecture on Memory Techniques

『記憶術講義』

Kioku jutsu kōgi. Tokyo: Tetsugakkan 哲学館.

Oct. 1894

A Fragment of a Philosophy of War

『戦争哲学一斑』

Chokugo ryakkai. In IS 11: 216–21. Bukkyō tetsugaku. In IS 7: 105–82.

Zenshū tetsugaku joron. In IS 6: 247–326.

『妖怪学講義』

Yōkai gaku kōgi.

In IS 16–18.

Sensō tetsugaku ippan. Tokyo: Tetsugaku Shoin 哲学書院.

302  Cited Works by Inoue Enryō

Nov. 1894– Nov. 1895

Oriental Psychology

March 1895 Prolegomena to a Philosophy of the Nichiren School

『東洋心理学』

Tōyō shinri gaku. In IS 9: 293–408.

『日宗哲学序論』 Nichishū

tetsugaku joron. In IS 6: 327–88.

June 1895

“A Fragment of a Comparison ｢仏教哲学とスピノザ哲学との between Buddhist Philosophy 比較一斑｣ Bukkyō tetsugaku to Supinoza tetsugaku to no and Spinoza’s Philosophy” hikaku ippan. 『禅宗』 [Zen school] 8: 16–19.

Aug. 1895

Lecture on the Art of Oblivion: or, New Method to Forget Sorrow, Suffering, and Pain

『失念術講義：一名忘憂忘苦忘病の新

June 1896

Genealogy of Buddhist Philosophy

『仏教哲学系統論』

Bukkyō tetsugaku keitō ron. PhD thesis, lost.

Feb. 1897

The Heterodox Philosophy

『外道哲学』

法』 Shitsunen

jutsu kōgi: ichimei, Bōyū bōku bōbyō no shinpō. Tokyo: Tetsugakkan 哲学館.

Gedō tetsugaku. In

IS 22. April 1897– Buddhist Science March 1898

『仏教理科』

Bukkyō rika. In IS 7:

296–519. 『仏教心理学』

April 1897– Buddhist Psychology March 1898

Bukkyō shinrigaku. In IS 10: 9–166.

Feb. 1898

Refuting Materialism

『破唯物論』

Ha yuibutsu ron. In IS 7: 521–666.

July 1898

Outline of Indian Philosophy

『印度哲学綱要』

Oct. 1898

『教育的世界観及人生観：一名教 The Pedagogical View of Life and the World: or, Theory of the 育家安心論』 Kyōiku teki sekai kan oyobi jinsei kan: ichimei, Educator’s Mental Peace Kyōiku-­ka anshin ron. Tokyo: Kinkōdō 金港堂.

Indo tetsugaku kōyō. In IS 7: 185–295.

Cited Works by Inoue Enryō  303

Nov. 1898

On the Reform of Cleric Deficiencies (Preparing for Mixed Residence)

『（雑居準備）僧弊改良論』

Feb. 1898– April 1900

One Hundred Mysterious Stories

『妖怪百談』

Feb. 1899

Quick Primer in Philosophy: A Popular Lecture in Colloquial Style

『（通俗講談言文一致）哲学早わ

April 1899

April 1899

(Zatsui junbi) Sōhei kairyō ron. Tokyo: Morie Shoten 森江書店. Yōkai hyakudan, 2 vols. In IS 19: 65–306.

かり』

(Tsūzoku kōdan genbun itchi) Tetsugaku haya wakari. In IS 2: 23–61.

Popular Lecture about the Immortality of the Soul

『（通俗講義）霊魂不滅論』

An Epitome of Buddhism

『仏教大意』

(Tsūzoku kōgi) Rekon fumetsu ron. In IS 19: 307–412. Bukkyō taii. In IS 5:

239–81. April 1900

『漢字不可廃論：一名国字改良論駁

About the Impossibility of Abolishing the Chinese Script: or, Refutation of the National Script Reform Ideas

Kanji fuka hairon: ichimei, Kokuji kairyō ­ron bakugeki. Tokyo: Tetsugakkan 哲学館.

June 1902

Proposal for Religious Reform

『宗教改革案』

Shūkyō kaikaku an. Tokyo: Tetsugaku Shoin 哲 学書院 .

Oct. 1902

The Hidden Meaning of the Rescript

『勅語玄義』

Sept. 1903

“Purpose of Establishing the Morality Church”

｢修身教会設立旨趣｣

Shūshin kyōkai setsuritsu shishu. In IS 25: 628–39.

Jan. 1904

“My Thoughts on Facing Russia”

｢対露余論｣

Jan. 1904

Dreams of New Reform Devices

『改良新案の夢』 Kairyō shin’an no

撃』

Chokugo gengi. In IS 11: 351–71.

Tairo yoron. In IS 25: 596–613.

yume. In IS 19: 479–545.

304  Cited Works by Inoue Enryō

June 1904

A Survey of Buddhism

『仏教通観』

June 1904

“Moral Song (Explaining the Meaning of the Education Rescript)”

｢修身歌（教育勅語義解）｣

Shūshin ka (Kyōiku chokugo gikai). 『修 身教会雑誌』 [Morality Church magazine], vol. 5

Nov. 1904

Psychotherapy

『心理療法』

Feb. 1906

“Reasons for my Retirement”

｢退隠の理由｣

Dec. 1908– Nov. 1918

“South‑by‑Boat North‑on‑Horse” 『南船北馬集』 Nansen hokuba shū. In IS 12 to 15. Collection

Oct. 1909

Homemade Proverbs

Jika kakugen shū. Tokyo: Yōkai Kenkyūkai 妖怪 研究会.

Dec. 1909

New Proposal in Philosophy

『哲学新案』

Tetsugaku shin’an. In IS 1: 279–403.

April 1912

“About the National Polity as well as Loyalty and Filial Piety”

｢国体及び忠孝論｣

Kokutai oyobi chūkō ron. In 『尊王愛国 論』 [About reverence of the emperor and love of country], ed. by Akiyama Goan 秋山悟 庵, Tokyo: Benkyōdō 勉強堂, 144–55.

Sept. 1912

Living Buddhism

『活仏教』

Sept. 1912

Japanese Buddhism

『日本仏教』

Bukkyō tsūkan, 2 vols. In IS 5: 15–237.

Shinri ryōhō. In IS 10: 169–255.

Taion no riyū. 『東 洋哲学』 [Oriental philosophy] 13, no. 2: 71–80

『自家格言集』

Katsu bukkyō. In IS 4: 373–536.

Nihon bukkyō. In IS 6: 19–178.

Cited Works by Inoue Enryō  305 『人生是れ戦場』

Feb. 1914

Life Is a Battlefield

Jinsei kore senjō. Tokyo: Kōgakkan 弘学館.

Aug. 1915

“About the Venerable Dr. Katō”

｢加藤老博士に就きて｣

March 1916

Superstition and Religion

『迷信と宗教』 Meishin to shūkyō. In IS 20: 127–343.

May 1917

Philosophy of Struggle

『奮闘哲学』

Oct. 1917

“The Course of Overseas Development”

｢海外発展の途｣

Kaigai hatten no michi. 『雄弁』 [Rhetoric] 10: 13–21.

Dec. 1917

[Orig. in English]

“Japanese Religion Overseas.” The Japan Magazine: A Representative Monthly of Things Japanese 8: 471–73.

Feb. 1919

Small Taishō Analects

『大正小論語』

Katō rō hakase ni tsukite. 『東洋哲学』 [Oriental philosophy] 22, no. 8: 1–2.

Funtō tetsugaku. In IS 2: 207–444.

Taishō shō rongo. Tokyo: Yōkai Kenkyūkai 妖怪 研究会.

Feb. 1919

“My Mission in Philosophy”

｢哲学上に於ける余の使命｣

Tetsugaku jō ni okeru yo no shimei. 『東洋哲学』 [Oriental philosophy] 26, no. 2: 83–93.

Chinese Tr anslations of Inoue Enryō’s Works

The list of translations below is largely based on Tán (1980), Wáng (2013), and L (2018). The authors of the latter works, Prof. Wáng Qīng 王青 and L Lìyè 李立業 of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing, kindly assisted me in completing the bibliography. L ’s article provides additional information about accessibility and accurateness of the translations.

Year

Chinese Edition

Japanese Source

1889

『欧美各国政教日記』,

trans. by Lín Yányù 林 延玉. Shàngh i: 新民訳印書局. Reprint? 『欧 美政教紀原』. Shàngh i: 新民訳印書局, 1903.

Journal on Religion and State in the Western Countries (1889)

1889

｢夢説｣

[Explaining dreams]. 『訳書公会報』 [Bulletin of the translation society], vol. 5.

(unknown)

1901

｢哲学総論｣

Chap. 2 of Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right (1890)

[Outline of philosophy], trans. by Cài Yuánpéi 蔡元培. 『普通学 報』 [General academic bulletin], vol. 1–2. Reprint in vol. 1 of 『蔡元培全集』. Hángzhōu: 浙江教育出版社, 1997.

307

308  Chinese Translations of Inoue Enryō’s Works 『哲学要領』,

羅伯雅,

1902

trans. by Luó Bóy vols. Shàngh i: 広智書局.

2

1902

『妖怪百談』,

trans. by Hé Qí 何琪. Shàngh i: 新中国図書社.

One Hundred Mysterious Stories, 2 vols. (1898/1900)

1903

『心理摘要』,

trans. by Shěn Sòngqīng 沈誦 清. Shàngh i: 広智書局.

Fundamentals of Psychology (1887)

1903

『星球旅行記』,

Record of an Imaginary Tour of Other Planets (1890)

trans. by Dài Zàn 戴賛.

Unknown: 彪蒙訳書局

Epitome of Philosophy, 2 vols. (1886/87)

1903

『印度哲学鋼要』,

trans. by Wāng Qīn 汪嶔. Shàngh i / Nánchāng: 普益書局.

Outline of Indian Philosophy (1898)

1903

『哲学妖怪百談』 [One hundred philosophical stories about mysteries], trans. by Xú Wèichén 徐渭臣, 2 vols. Shàngh i: 文明書局.

One Hundred Mysterious Stories, 2 vols. (1898/1900)

1903

『哲学微言』 [Subtle words of philosophy], coauthored by Kawajiri Hōshin 川尻宝岑. Tōkyō: 游学社.

(unknown)

1903

『哲学原理』

[Principles of philosophy], trans. by Wáng Xuélái 王学来. Tōkyō: 閩 学会.

(unknown)

1904

『妖怪学講義』, 培.

trans. by Cài Yuánpéi 蔡元 Shàoxìng: 紹興印書局. Eight editions. Shàngh i: 商務印書館, 1906–1922. Reprint in vol. 9 of 『蔡元培全集』. Hángzhōu: 浙江 教育出版社, 1997.

｢総論｣ [Outline] of Lectures on Mystery Studies (1893–1894)

『倫理学』 [Ethics],

(unknown)

1905

lecture recorded by Chén Róngchāng 陳栄昌. Unknown: 楊覲東.

Chinese Translations of Inoue Enryō’s Works  309

1911

『記憶術』,

trans. by Liáng Wéngēng 梁文庚.

1911

『心理療法』,

trans. by Lú Qiān 盧謙. Shàngh i: 医学書局.

Psychotherapy (1904)

1923

｢失念術｣,

Lecture on the Art of Oblivion (1895)

trans. by D ng Zhùbiē In 『催眠術与心霊現象』 [Hypnosis techniques and spiritual phenomena]. Shàngh i: 商務印書館.

董祝鼈 .

Lecture on Memory Techniques (1894)

Notes

Prologue 1. English Translation of the ｢日の丸演説｣ [Sun disc speech] in Lanman, The Japanese in America (1872), 15–16. 2. Kume (in Jp.), Record of the Inspection Journey (1977–82). Trans. The Iwakura Embassy 1871–73 (2002). Trans. Japan Rising (2009). Kido, Diary of Kido Takayoshi (1983–86). The chopstick discussion on the Pacific Ocean and the reflection on the East Asian heritage in the French Bibliothèque Nationale are based on Iwakura Mission Society (in Jp.), The Iwakura Embassy, DVD (2006).

Part I. Toward the Eastern Capital 1. Here and in the following, Aizawa’s New Theses (in Jp.) will be cited according to the Iwanami Bunko edition from 1941. Differing from the Nihon shisō taikei 53 edition, the expression “union of politics and teaching” does not appear in the Iwanami edition (cf. 228). The same idea is, however, expressed on p. 22. Cf. Germ. trans. by Stanzel, Japan: Haupt der Erde (1982), 330. 2. See entry Kōgi‑yoron in vol. 5 of Great Dictionary of Japanese History (in Jp.), pub. Yoshikawa Kōbunkan (1985), 312–13. 3. Vol. 2, pt. 2, 9 in de Bary et al., Sources of Japanese Tradition (2006). 4. Enryō’s reading lists during his Nagaoka learning years are reprinted in Tōyō Daigaku, pub. (1988–95), Shiryō 1, 3–8. 5. About the establishment of the Nagaoka School for Western Studies and its multiple renamings see Tsuchida (in Jp.), “Inoue Enryō’s Western Studies at the ‘Niigata First Branch School’ ” (2013). 311

312  Notes to Pages 11–19

6. Mainichi Shinbun Niigata Shikyoku (in Jp.), The Nagaoka High School (1980), 5–7. 7. Nitta et al. (in Jp.), Collections of Hosui Inoue Enryō’s Chinese Poems (2008), 100. For help with the English adaption of this and the following poem, I am thankful to Prof. Timothy Newfields (Toyo University). 8. Craig argues in Civilization and Enlightenment (2009, 33–57 and 174, n. 21) that kaika 開化 is a translation of “enlightenment.” He does not discuss the possibilities that bunmei 文明 is attributable to kaika (“beginning of civilization”) or subject of kaika (“civilization begins”). In the Meiroku Journal, Nishimura Shigeki (in Jp.), “Twelve Explanations of Western Terms” (1875, vol. 36, 6–9) clearly discusses bunmei kaika as one concept rather than two. Cf. also Howland, Translating the West (2002), 38–45. Nishikawa (in Jp.), Ways of Transcending National Boundaries (1992), 172–93. 9. I am aware that such interpretation of Chinese graphs will be criticized by some scholars as “character fetishization” (McDonald 2009). Although I agree with the general argument that a purely ideographic writing is rather inconceivable (Unger 2004), I take sides with Kwan (2011) in that this should not prevent us from analyzing individual Chinese graphs. Other than the analysis of 明 (chap. 2), 理 (chap. 7), and 利 (chap. 22), my interpretation of 俗 is however etymologically more contentious. Without going into detail, there are grounds for arguing that 俗 is an original case of “combined meaning with phonetic indication” 会意兼形声. Cf. the entry in 『漢字 源』 [Source of Chinese characters], ed. Tōdō Akiyasu 藤堂明保 et al. (Tokyo: Gakken, 2001). It is also safe to say that the character, after the Chín script reform, was at times interpreted as a case of combined pictographs. Cf. for example pt. 50 (谿父) of the Hàn period Taoist work 『列仙伝』 [Collected legends of immortals], 28f in SKQS. 10. Mencius 『孟子』 (chap. 滕文公上), fasc. 5: 25–26 in SBCK. 11. 『原道』 [Inquiry of the way] contained in 『唐文粹』 [Essentials of Táng literature], fasc. 43: 4 in SBCK. Cf. trans. by Chan 1963, 455. 12. Zhuāngzǐ 『荘子』 or 『南華真経』 [True scripture of southern florescence] (chap. 天地), fasc. 5: 15 in SBCK. 13. For pointing me to the case of Nepal Buddhism, I am thankful to Prof. Yamaguchi Shinobu 山口しのぶ (Toyo University). 14. Regarding Alessandro Valignano see Amstutz, Interpreting Amida (1997), 45f. Regarding Franciscus Cabralis see Haas, “Amida Buddha unsere

Notes to Pages 20–25  313

Zuflucht” (1910), 5f. Barth (1935, 373–77), who cited Haas (1910), mistakenly referred to Franciscus Xavier. Xavier’s understanding of Japanese Buddhism was, however, very limited. See Vitzthum, Die Briefe des Francisco de Xavier (1950). 15. H.-­M. Barth et al., Buddhismus und Christentum (2000). Also Pye, Listening to Shin Buddhism (2012). 16. Gutoku hitan jukkai ｢愚禿悲歎述懐｣ [Lament and confession by the unlearned bald head], in vol. 2 of Shinran (2008), 207–13. 17. Particularly the eighteenth of the forty‑eight vows of Amida in the 『観無量寿仏経』 [Sūtra of contemplation on the Buddha of immeasurable life] (T 360) was the seminal passage for East Asian Pure Land Buddhism. “All the beings of the ten directions with sincere profound faith who seek to be born in my land and call upon my name ten times [or fully], except those who have committed the five cardinal crimes [i.e., killing your father, your mother or a saint, wounding a Buddha, harming the sa gha] or injured the true Dharma, shall be born in my land” (T 12, 360: 268). Translation cited from Matsunaga, Foundation of Japanese Buddhism (1993), vol. 2: 30. 18. The secular names adopted by True School priests were determined according to their abbot. See Jaffe, Neither Monk nor Layman (2009), 74. The abbot of Enryō’s family temple was situated in a village named Inoue 井上 (lit. over the well). See vol. 1 of Koshiji Machi, pub. (in Jp.), The History of Koshiji Town (2001), 555. 19. Inoue Gen’ichi 井上玄一 (1887–1972), Inoue Shigeno 井上滋野 (1890– 1954), Inoue Sumie 井上澄江 (1899–1979). 20. In Shinran, the phrase hisō hizoku 非僧非俗 appears at the end of Kyōgyōshinshō 『教行信證』 [Teaching, practice, faith, and realization], in vol. 1 of Shinran (2008), 381. For a list of Enryō’s other pen names see Tōyō Daigaku, pub. (in Jp.), Bibliography of Inoue Enryō Related Literature (1987), vii. 21. About the clashes between Christians and Buddhists see Yoshida (in Jp.), Research on the History of Modern Japanese Buddhism (1959), 153–201. Cf. also Thelle, Buddhism and Christianity in Japan (1987). About the modern institutional development of the True School see Amstutz, Interpreting Amida (1997), 55–82. 22. Horiguchi argues in “Léon de Rosny et les premières mission bouddhiques japonaises en Occident” (1995) that Shimaji led the conversation with de Rosny. Cf. also Krämer, Shimaji Mokurai (2015), chap. 4. Unfortunately,

314  Notes to Pages 25–38

the book came out too late during my research to incorporate it fully. However, it provides important context particularly for this chapter and the following. 23. Shimaji, ｢教法の原｣ [Inquiry into religion], in vol. 1 of Shimaji (1973– 1978), 186–97. 24. Akamatsu, “A Brief Account of ‘Shinshiu’ ” (1879), in vol. 3 of Akamatsu (1982–1984), 577–79. 25. Cf. Reed, Japan (1880), vol. 1: 82–87. Gordon, “The Shinshiu Buddhist Doctrine of Amita Buddha and the Theism of the Old Testament” (1881). 26. Based on Higashi (in Jp.), Abbreviated Records of an Interview (1877). Reprint in vol. 5 of Shimaji (1973–78) and in vol. 3 of Akamatsu (1982–84). A French version appeared as “Conférence entre la mission scientifique française et les prêtres de la secte Sïn‑siou” (Annales du Musée Guimet 1 [1880]: 335–73). A partial English translation was published by Lloyd, “Developments of Japanese Buddhism” (1894). Cf. also Guimet, Dialogues avec les religieux japonais, ed. and trans. Girard (2012), 59–92. The texts are not identical and their relation is not clear. The last sentence from Higashi (1877) as quoted in the text cannot be found in Guimet (2012). 27. For a survey of research on modern Japanese Buddhism see Klautau 2014. 28. Three examples spanning over a period of thirty years are (in Jp.) Pro‑ legomena (1887, 3: 352f); (in Jp.) Proposal for Religious Reform (1902: 32f); (in Eng.) “Japanese Religion Overseas” (1917).

Interlude on Occidentalism 1. “Man traue keinem erhabenen Motiv für eine Handlung, wenn sich auch ein niedriges finden lässt.” Although the aphorism is relatively well known in German, there seems to be no English version of it. Editor of Gibbon’s works Prof. David Womersley (University of Oxford) answered me in an email (November 26, 2010): “I’m not aware that Gibbon ever said this. Nor is his view of human nature as cynical as the aphorism. However, it is the kind of opinion which is often (in my view, mistakenly and reductively) ascribed to Gibbon.” 2. Leiter (“The Hermeneutics of Suspicion,” 2004) paraphrasing Paul Ricoeur. For pointing me to this reference, I am thankful to Prof. Charles Muller (Tokyo University).

Notes to Pages 39–47  315

3. I am not aware of a European source. The origin could be Analects 15.14: “The one who burdens himself heavily, and others lightly, will keep away from grudge.” 4. The fact that Foucault did not engage in analysis of texts based on author intentions, propositional contents, or truth claims almost needs no citation. See, for example, the chapters “The Unities of Discourse,” “Archeology and the History of Ideas,” and “Conclusion,” in Foucault, The Arche‑ ology of Knowledge, trans. Sheridan (1972). Or, L’ordre du discours (1972), trans. Seitter as “Die Ordnung des Diskurses” (1991). Cf. also Rouse, “Power/ Knowledge” (1994).

Part II. The Love of Truth 1. During the Iwakura Embassy, Itō proposed the baptism of the emperor because it would facilitate the negotiations about the revision of the unequal treaties. See Aoki (in Jp.), Autobiography (1970), 38–44. I am thankful to Prof. Klaus Kracht (Humboldt Universität zu Berlin) for pointing me to this source. The adoption of English as national language was argued by Mori Arinori in Education in Japan (1873), 186. 2. The ten founding members of the Society Meiroku were: Nishimura Shigeki 西村茂樹 (1828–1902), Fukuzawa Yukichi 福沢諭吉 (1835–1901), Mori Arinori 森有礼 (1847–1889), Nishi Amane 西周 (1829–1897), Tsuda Mamichi 津田真道 (1829–1903), Nakamura Masanao 中村正直 (1832–1891), Katō Hiroyuki 加藤弘之 (1836–1916), Mitsukuri Shūhei 箕作秋坪 (1825–1886), Sugi Kōji 杉亨二 (1828–1917), Mitsukuri Rinshō 箕作麟祥 (1846–1897). Seven among them worked as Western scholars in the precursor institutions of Tokyo University (i.e., Nishi, Tsuda, Nakamura, Katō, Mitsukuri R., Sugi, Mitsukuri S.). Among the seven initiators of the Tokyo Academy six were also founding members of Meiroku Society (i.e., Fukuzawa, Nishi, Tsuda, Nakamura, Katō, Mitsukuri S.). Among the initial twenty‑one members of the Tokyo Academy, eight were founders of Meiroku Society (i.e., Nishimura, Fukuzawa, Nishi, Tsuda, Nakamura, Katō, Mitsukuri S., Sugi). See Nihon Gakushiin, pub. (1979), 65–77; Akiyama (in Jp.), “The Tokyo Academy and the Tokyo Academy Journal” (2003), 99–116; Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Tsūshi 1: 614–22. 3. Trans. Dilworth, slightly modified, taken from Fukuzawa, An Encouragement of Learning (2013).

316  Notes to Pages 47–58

4. Westney, Imitation and Innovation (1987), 166–68. Nagamine (in Jp.), Modernity of the Journal and the Reader (1997), 2–6. 5. “A New Religion in Japan,” The Literary Digest 24, no. 15 (1902): 505f. 6. The translated titles in chronological order are Refuting Materialism (1898), Quick Primer in Philosophy (1899), Popular Lecture about the Immortality of the Soul (1899), and A Survey of Buddhism (1904). 7. For Korean see Gang (in Jp.), Establishment and Development of Modern Korean Philosophy (2005), 160–214. For Chinese see Zhū (in Jp.), New Vocab‑ ulary in Chinese and Japanese Modernity (2003). Chén (in Jp.), “Scheme for a ‘Dictionary of Chinese Words of Japanese Origin’ ” (2006). Helpful glossary in Liu, Translingual Practice (1995), 259–378. Also Lippert, “Language in the Modernization Process” (2001), and the Database “WSC Wissenschaftssprache Chinesisch” based at the University of Heidelberg. 8. Alleton, “Chinese Terminologies: On Preconceptions” (2001); Fogel, “Introduction: Seven Japanese Studies on the Modern Sino‑Japanese Lexicon” (2015). 9. Recent contributions to the conceptual history of shūkyō in Japan (in postcolonial and non‑postcolonial spirit) are Josephson, The Invention of Religion in Japan (2012); Maxey, The “Greatest Problem” (2014); Krämer, Shimaji Mokurai (2015). 10. Sugi (in Jp.), “About Human Communality,” pt. 3 in Meiroku Zasshi 19 (1874). Another occurrence of meishin, which is more likely to have influenced Enryō, can be found in a translated lecture that was given by Ernest F. Fenollosa soon after he arrived in Tokyo. Fenollosa (in Jp.), “About Causes and Developments of Religion” (1878). 11. I have changed the readings from Chinese to Japanese. De Bary, “Confucian Liberalism and Western Parochialism” (1985), 405. Both terms are in fact not neologisms. For jiyū 自由 see Suzuki, “Religion (shūkyō) and Freedom (jiyū)” (2015a); for kojin 個人 see Liu, Transligual Practice (1995), 321. 12. Enryō draws on the Chinese Buddhist sources 『大乗法苑義林章』 [Treatises on the grove of meanings in the Mahāyāna Dharma garden] by Kuījī 窺基 (632–682) (T 45, 1861: 260) and 『妙法蓮華経玄義』 [The hermetic meaning of the Lotus Sūtra of the wonderful Dharma] by Zhìy 智顗 (538–597) (T 33, 1716: 782).

Notes to Pages 58–60  317

13. This opinion is also expressed by Suzuki in “Dreams of ‘Science’ and ‘Truth’ ” (2015b). Unfortunately, I became aware of this article (which was published in Japanese already in 1981) very late during my research. However, the article vindicates what I present in the following and makes good complementary reading. 14. Endō (in Jp.), “Coincidence between the ‘English‑Japanese Pocket Dictionary,’ the ‘Encyclopedia of the Sciences,’ and the ‘Philosophical Vocabulary’ ” (1995). Hasunuma (in Jp.), Nishi Amane and the Establishment of Phi‑ losophy (1987). Comprehensive glossary of Nishi’s translation words in Sanada (in Jp.), Formation and Solidification of Academic Terminology in Modern Jap‑ anese (2002), 196–332. 15. The 『日本古典文学大系』 [Great collection of classical Japanese literature], 100 vols. (Tokyo: Iwanami) (1957–68) can be searched digitally via the National Institute for Japanese Literature (www.nijl.ac.jp). Cf. the examples given by 『日本国語大辞典』 [Great dictionary of the Japanese language] (Shōgakukan), 20 vols. (1972–76), which are examined by Suzuki in “Dreams of ‘Science’ and ‘Truth’ ” (2015b). 16. Japan Knowledge (www.japanknowledge.com) provides cross‑references to fourteen historical dictionaries in addition to the print version of 『日本国語大辞典』 [Great dictionary of the Japanese language] (Shōgakukan), 20 vols. (1972–76). 17. The genre includes Chén Běixī 陳北渓 (1159–1223), 『性理字義』 [Terminology of nature and principle]; Yamagata Sokō 山鹿素行 (1622–85), 『聖教要録』 [Compendium of the sages’ teachings]; Itō Jinsai 伊藤仁斎 (1627– 1705), 『語孟字義』 [Confucian terminology]; Ogyū Sorai 荻生徂徠 (1666–1728), 『弁名』 [Distinguishing the names]. See Tucker, “Beixi’s ‘Ziyi’ and Ancient Learning Philosophical Lexicography” (1994). 18. Fāng Y zhì 方以智, 『物理小識』 [Detailed physical knowledge], fasc. 1, p. 2 in SKQS. 19. Nihon shisō taikei 64, 254–55. The mentioned works of ancient Chinese medicine are 『素問』 [Basic questions] and 『難経』 [Difficult guidelines]. Here and in the following, I translate jikken 実験 as experience. The fixation of jikken in the narrower sense of experiment must have happened around or after the turn of the twentieth century. Cf. Suzuki, “Dreams of ‘Science’ and ‘Truth’ ” (2015b).

318  Notes to Pages 60–74

20. Sugita, Dawn of Western Science in Japan, trans. Ryōzō Matsumoto and Eiichi Kiyooka (1969), 31–32. 21. 『波留麻和解』 [Halma Dutch manual] (1796); 『和蘭字彙』 [Dutch dictionary] (1855); A Pocket Dictionary of the English and Japanese Language 『英和対訳袖珍辞書』 (1862); Japanese‑English and English‑Japanese Dictionary 『和英語林集成』 (1st ed. 1867, 2nd ed. 1872). 22. Walter H. Medhurst, English and Chinese Dictionary (1847–48); Wilhelm Lobscheid, An English and Chinese Dictionary (1866–69). 23. “Systême Figuré des Connaissances Humaines,” vol. 1: liii. Only “history” and “art,” corresponding to “memory” and “imagination” respectively, are not presided over by philosophy. See “Explication détaillée du système des connaissances humaines” (vol. 1: xlvii–li). L’encyclopédie, ou dic‑ tionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers de Diderot et d’Alembert par une société de gens de lettres, 28 vols. (Paris, 1751–72). 24. Rangaku Shiryō Kenkyūkai, pub. (1957). 25. A helpful chart of the complicated institutional development can be found in Daiichi Kōtō Gakkō, pub. (1939), 599–602. 26. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Tsūshi 1: 348–52, 411–17. 27. Nishi translated a Dutch University Law from 1870 (Nishi 1960–81, vol. 2: 532), which does not provide for a Faculty of Theology. I could not confirm the existence of this law. Nor did the universities of Leiden, Utrecht, and Groningen discard their theology faculties during the nineteenth century. 28. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Tsūshi 1: 452. 29. Katō (in Jp.), “What Does Science Mean?” (1885), 488–89. The lecture is undated. 30. Katō (in Jp.), “Congratulatory Note on the Occasion of the Publication of the Society’s Journal” (1887), 1–3. 31. Nakayama, Academic and Scientific Traditions (1984), 143; Idem, “A History of Universities” (1974), 78. 32. Aristotle, Met. 982a, “cognizing for its own sake” (Gr. epis‑ tasthai di eauto). Katō, “researching the truth itself for its own sake” 真理其物の為めに真理其物を研究する in “The End of Science” (1990), 409–10. Also important, Katō (Jp.), “What Makes the University a University” (1899), 246–53. 33. Fenollosa, Lectures on Sociology (1982), 74. 34. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1977).

Notes to Pages 75–76  319

35. Evident from comparing the Tokyo University Yearbook of 1880–81 with the Yearbook 1881–82 reprinted in vol. 2 of Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1993– 94), 82–86 and 180–84. See also Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Tsūshi 1: 452f. For an overview of Enryō’s courses at Tokyo University see Miura (in Jp.), “Inoue Enryō’s Early Thought (Pt. 2)” (2007). About Toyama’s influence on Enryō, see Schulzer (in Jp.), “Research on Inoue Enryō’s ‘Notebook’ ” (2010b), 295–98. 36. Nagai, “Herbert Spencer in Early Meiji Japan” (1954); Yamashita, “Herbert Spencer and Meiji Japan” (1984); Howland, “Society Reified” (2000); with a bibliography of translations, Godart, “Herbert Spencer in Japan” (2015). 37. Here and in the following I quote from the 2nd edition (London: Williams and Norgate, 1867). 38. E.g., Henry T. Buckle, History of Civilization in England, 2 vols. (1857–61); Henry Calderwood, The Relations of Science and Religion (1881); George Combe, On the Relation between Science and Religion (1857); John W. Draper, History of the Intellectual Development of Europe (1863); John W. Draper, History of Conflict between Religion and Science (1874); Joseph LeConte, Religion and Science (1874); John Lubbock, Origin of Civili‑ zation and the Primitive Condition of Man (1870); John Mill, Three Essays on Religion, (1874); Thomas Paine, The Age of Reason, 3 vols. (1794–1807); Herbert Spencer, First Principles (1860). For modern research on the topic, see Bowler, Reconciling Science and Religion (2001); Lightman, The Origins of Agnosticism (1987). 39. The English language publications of the Department of Literature of Tokio Daigaku listed in Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Tsūshi 1: 497–98 and Shiryō 2: 1125–31 are not complete. More can be found by conventional OPAC searches. Relevant here are the reprints of Spencer’s Over Legislation (Tokyo, 1878), Philosophy of Style (Tokyo, 1877), and Representative Gov‑ ernment (Tokyo, 1878), as well as Tyndall’s Belfast Address (Tokyo, 1878) and The Constitution of Nature: Scientific Materialism (Tokyo, 1878). Noteworthy are moreover the reprints of several works by Ralph Waldo Emerson. A complete list of English language reprints at early Tokyo University can be expected when the results announced in Tsukimura (in Jp.), Comprehensive Research on Western Textbooks at Early Tokyo University (2004) are made public.

320  Notes to Pages 76–82

40. Livingstone, “Science, Region, and Religion” (1999): 7–38. See also the chapter on “The ‘Rights of Matter,’ ” in Booth, William Robertson Smith (1999). 41. Vol. 1 of Bluntschli, Allgemeines Staatsrecht (1868), 367. Katō’s translation in vol. 9, pt. 2, p. 40 (1871–74). See Schulzer, “Philosophischer Geist an der frühen Tokyo Universität” (2010a). 42. Takano, ed. (in Jp.), Library Catalogs of Early Tokyo University, 8 vols. (2003). In the first catalog from 1877 no Buddhist texts are listed. In the 1878 catalog only the Lotus Sūtra can be found (vol. 1: 6). In the 1880 catalog several Buddhist works such as the 『大乗起信論』 [Treatise on the awakening of Mahāyāna faith] (T 1666) and the 『大智度論』 [Treatise on the great transcendent wisdom] (T 1509) are listed (vol. 1: 256). This coincides with the establishment of the Department for Seminars on the Classics 古典講習科 in 1880. 43. Hara Tanzan had been teaching an elective course at Tokyo University already since 1878. See Kimura (in Jp.), “Hara Tanzan and the Birth of ‘Indian Philosophy’ ” (2001). 44. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1882–83), 113–14. 45. Miura (in Jp.), “Inoue Enryō’s Early Thought (Pt. 2)” (2007), 90. The Buddhist scriptures that were part of Enryō’s curriculum were Gyōnen 凝然 (1240–1321), 『八宗綱要』 [Essentials of the eight sects]; Chegwan 諦観 (tenth century), 『天台四教儀』 [Outline of the Tiāntāi fourfold teachings] (T 1931); 『大乗起信論』 [Treatise on the awakening of Mahāyāna faith] (T 1666); 『圓覚経』 [Sūtra of perfect enlightenment] (T 842). 46. Slightly modified translation taken from Yusa, “Inoue Enryō’s 1887 Position Statement on Philosophical Studies in Japan” (2014). 47. The caption is reprinted together with Japanese translation in IS 24: 24. For help with the analysis of the poem I am indebted to Tsuji Yoshiteru 辻井義輝. Prof. Timothy Newfields (Toyo University) generously helped me with the English adaption. 48. Yamaguchi (in Jp.), “Fenollosa and Inoue Enryō” (1992), 15. It is also known that Fenollosa and Toyama used in their philosophy classes Albert Schwegler, Handbook of the History of Philosophy, trans. James H. Stirling (Germ. 1848; Eng. 1867). Schwegler evaluates Kant as follows: “But now Kant appeared, and again united in a common bed the two branches [idealism and realism] that, isolated from each other, seemed on the point of being lost in the sands. Kant is the great restorer of philosophy, again conjoining into unity

Notes to Pages 83–102  321

and totality the one‑sided philosophical endeavours of those who preceded him” (11th ed., 209). 49. About the ceremony in China, see Lee, Education in Traditional China (2000). 50. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Tsūshi 1: 113f. Marshall, Academic Freedom and the Japanese University (1992), 21–28. 51. Nihon Shoseki Shuppan Kyōkai, pub. (1968), 1064. 52. Diels (1951–52), 80b1: “Of all things the measure is man, of the things that are, that [or “how”] they are, and of things that are not, that [or “how”] they are not.” Regarding the humanistic interpretation see HWPh vol. 3: “Homo‑mensura‑Satz.” 53. In Xúnz 『荀子』 the phrase “separation of heaven and man” 天人之分 appears in chapter 17 (天論), fasc. 11, 33 in SBCK. Trans. in vol. 3 of Knoblock (1988), 3–22. 54. The Aristotle quotation from the Nicomachean Ethics reads in a modern translation by Crisp (2000), 7f: “It will presumably be thought better, indeed one’s duty, to do away with even what is close to one’s heart in order to preserve the truth, especially when one is a philosopher. For one might love both, but it is nevertheless a sacred duty to prefer the truth [Gr. aletheia] to one’s friends” (NE, 1096a). The quotation became influential in Europe in its Latin adaption “Amicus Plato, sed magis amica veritas.” See Guerlac, “Amicus Plato and Other Friends” (1978). 55. Inoue Tetsujirō (in Jp.), “The Benefactor of the Japanese World of Art: Late Sir Fenollosa” (1908), 128. Also, (in Jp.) Recollection of the World of Meiji Philosophy (1933), 70. 56. Cf. Godart, “Tracing the Circle of Truth” (2004). Unfortunately, the article rests on the erroneous premise that the draft “Development of Chinese Philosophy” was composed by Enryō himself. Contrary evidence is presented in Schulzer (in Jp.), “Research on Inoue Enryō’s ‘Notebook’ ” (2010b). 57. Skt. Madhyānta‑vibhāga [Analysis of the middle and the extremes], trans. Paramārtha 真諦 (499–569) 『中辺分別論』 (T 1599), and by Xuánzàng 玄奘 (600–664) 『弁中辺論』 (T 1600). 58. Kuījī 窺基 (632–682), 『成唯識論述記』 [Commentary on the discourse on consciousness‑only], T 43, 1830: 229f. 59. Cf. Maruyama (in Jp.), “Genealogy of the Dialogue Form in Japanese Intellectual History: The Significane of Nakae Chōmin’s ‘A Political

322  Notes to Pages 110–129

Conversation of Three Drunkards’ ” (1977). An Evening of Philosophical Con‑ versation is not mentioned by Maruyama, but a certain originality of Enryō’s work can nevertheless be inferred from the lecture. 60. Due to an editorial inconsistency IS 12–15 should not be cited without crosschecking the original publications. 61. Until 1895, Chinese translations of Japanese books were almost unheard of (Tán 1980, 45–49). During the phase 1896–1911, Enryō and Katō Hiroyuki were the most translated authors in the fields of philosophy and religion (Tán 1980, 11–50). See the bibliography of Chinese translations of Enryō’s works in the appendix.

Interlude on Enlightenment 1. About the Buddha as source of scriptural authority, see Lamotte, “The Assessment of Textual Authenticity in Buddhism” (2005a) and “The Assessment of Textual Interpretation in Buddhism” (2005b). 2. Fukuzawa, Katō, and Toyama have been discussed above. For Nishi, see (in Jp.) “Science Means to Deepen the Ground” (1877). For Nishimura, see (in Jp.) On Japanese Morals (1887), 27. 3. New English Translation (NET Bible, www.netbible.com). 4. Kelley, “ ‘Confucianism’ in Vietnam: A State of the Field Essay” (2006). 5. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Shiryō 1: 22. The text is a revision of 『学校規則』 [School regulations] from 1869. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Shiryō 1: 21. 6. This can be confirmed by comparison with the longer 1869 version, which says ｢西洋の格物究理、開化日新の学｣. For reference see preceding note. 7. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1984–87), Tsūshi 1: 99–105, 112–23. 8. Ibid.: 103. Mencius 『孟子』 about revolt in fasc. 15 in SBCK (chap. 梁惠王下). 9. For China see Franke et al., Das Chinesische Kaiserreich (1968), 320–23. For Korea see Lee, A New History of Korea (1984), 275–99.

Part III. The Protection of Country 1. The Japanese text of the Imperial University Law 帝国大学令 and important contributions to the debate about the freedom of the university are

Notes to Pages 129–175  323

contained in Matsumoto et al., eds. (in Jp.), Science and Intellectuals (1988) (Nihon kindai shisō taikei, 10), 226–59. 2. Tōkyō Daigaku, pub. (1908), The Calendar (1907–1908), 18–21. 3. Cf. the list of supporters in the announcement of the Academy’s foundation. Schulzer, “The Founding Documents of Toyo University,” (2014b), 158f. 4. Yuishin shō mon’ i 『唯信鈔文意』 [Notes on ‘Essentials of faith alone’], in vol. 3 of Shinran (2008), 183. Translation cited from Bloom (2007), 185. 5. Kornicki, The Book in Japan (1998), 272–76. For international comparison, see Osterhammel, Die Verwandlung der Welt (2009), 1124. 6. Cf. Ana. 1.1; 7.7; 15.39. Xúnz 『荀子』, chap. 1 (勧学). 7. Vol. 2, bk. 2, 92, in de Bary et al., Sources of Japanese Tradition (2006). 8. KSA 6: 340. Translation by Thomas Wayne, slightly modified, taken from Nietzsche, Ecce Homo (2004), 71–72. 9. The Japanese text can be found Yamazumi, ed. (in Jp.), The Educational System (1990) (Nihon kindai shisō taikei, 6), 383. English translation by Inoue Tetsujirō (in Jp.), “Extended Meaning of the Rescript,” in vol. 1 of Materials Related to the Imperial Rescript on Education, ed. Yoshida (in Jp.) (1974–91), 457. 10. Chapter 滕文公上, in Mencius 『孟子』, fasc. 4 in SBCK. 11. Furuta, ed. (in Jp.), Materials Related to the Imperial Rescript on Edu‑ cation, 15 vols. (1974–1991). Vol. 11 has a register for the first eleven volumes. In vol. 7, two of Enryō’s works are reprinted. They are (in Jp.) “Brief Explanation of the Rescript” (1893) and (in Jp.) “Moral Song (Explaining the Meaning of the Education Rescript)” (1904). Vol. 9 contains an excerpt from the book (in Jp.) Proposal of Japanese Ethics (1893); and in vol. 11 (in Jp.) Hidden Meaning of the Rescript (1902) is collected. 12. About the increase in militaristic spirit, see Gluck, Japan’s Modern Myths (1985), 150–51. For the Hibiya Riots, see McClain, Japan: A Modern History (2002), 283–85. 13. Figal, Civilization and Monsters (1999); Josephson, Taming Demons (2006); Foster, Pandemonium and Parade (2008); Miura, “Inoue Enryō’s Mystery Studies” (2014). 14. Chapter 解蔽, in Xúnz 『荀子』, fasc. 15, 29ff in SBCK. 15. In his account of the incident, Nakajima (1903, 1–28) cited the relevant passage from Muirhead’s book in the translation by Kuwaki (1897). The student himself did not remember the exact wording of his answer, but

324  Notes to Pages 176–186

reported that, in his own English copy of Muirhead’s book, the same passage was underlined (Miwa 1919, 241). The Japan Weekly Chronicle (May 6, 1903, 392) rendered the student’s answer as follows: “It would not be proper to pass the judgment of right and wrong on an act by looking at that part of the result which did not proceed from the motive of the act, for in that case a person committing regicide for the sake of liberty would be condemnable.” From the page numbers Nakajima gives, it is clear that he referred to the second edition of Muirhead’s book. Although Kuwaki’s Japanese translation was based on the first edition, in this passage the first edition of Muirhead’s Elements of Ethics from 1892 (London: John Murray, 60f) is identical with the revised and enlarged second edition from 1897 (London: John Murray, 62). I also confirmed the adequacy of Kuwaki’s translation. 16. Zhū Xī 朱熹, in 『四書章句集注』 [Collected commentaries on the Four Books by chapter and phrases], 『中庸』 [Mean and balance], chap. 20, 407, in SKQS. 17. Hayashi Razan 林羅山, 『三徳抄』 [Compendium about the three virtues] (between 1624 and 1643). 18. For a comprehensive bibliography see Miura (in Jp.), “Bibliography of the Philosophy Academy Incident” (2008a). Important contributions to the debate are collected in Shimizu (in Jp.), The Philosophy Academy Incident and Its Ethical Problem, 2. vols. (1903). 19. Vol. 1 of Shimizu (in Jp.), The Philosophy Academy Incident and Its Ethical Problem (1903), 10, 39–41, 58. 20. Monbu Shō, pub. (1937), 114. Mencius 『孟子』 about revolt in fasc. 15 in SBCK (chap. 梁惠王下). 21. See p. 204 in “Attitude des bouddhistes vis‑à‑vis de la guerre,” Mélanges 3 (1904): 204–10. Cf. also Cary, A History of Christianity in Japan (1909), 316–19. 22. Inoue E[nryō], “La guerre sainte (Taiyō de janvier),” Mélanges 2 (1904): 117–21; reprinted in Schulzer (2014c). 23. Dainihon Shūkyōka Taikai, pub. (in Jp. and Eng.) (1904). About the congress, see also Schrimpf, Zur Begegnung des japanischen Buddhismus mit dem Christentum (2000), 148–52. 24. Tetsugakkan Daigaku, pub. (1903), 24–26; and (1904), 1–3. 25. Tōyō Daigaku, pub. (1988–95), Tsūshi 1: 597–602; Nenpyō sakuin: 42–47.

Notes to Pages 187–195  325

26. Usuda (in Jp.), “The Philosophy Academy University” (1906), 141–55. 27. Katō further cites Oswald Köhler, Der Egoismus und die Zivili‑ sation: Eine sozial‑philosophische Erörterung (1883); Paul von Lilienfeld, Gedanken über die Socialwissenschaft der Zukunft, 5 vols. (1873–81); Albert E. F. Schäffle, Bau und Leben des sozialen Körpers, 4 vols. (1875–78); Rudolf von Jhering, “Der Kampf ums Recht,” presentation in Vienna (1872); Idem, Der Zweck im Recht, 2 vols. (1877–83). 28. Green et al., “A Draft Sequence of the Neanderthal Genome” (2010); Handwerk, “Sex with Humans Made Neanderthals Extinct?” (2011). 29. Rasmussen et al., “An Aboriginal Australian Genome Reveals Separate Human Dispersals into Asia” (2011), 94–98. 30. McClain, Japan: A Modern History (2002), 304. Also, Inter-State War Data (v4.0) from the Correlates of War Project (University of Michigan), by J. David Singer (www.correlatesofwar.org). 31. KSA 4, 130. Trans. by Del Caro (2006), 78. 32. See following note. 33. In the article “Japanese Colonization” (1918–1920), Nitobe recounts: “Before annexation was formally proclaimed, in August, 1910, Korea had been a protectorate for four years (1906–1910) under the Residency of our foremost statesman, Prince Itō [Hirobumi]. It was in the early years of this régime that I called on him in Seoul. My mission was to induce him to accept a plan of settling Japanese farmers in Korean villages as demonstrators of a better system of cultivation. The old Prince refused to endorse my plan, insisting that Korea was for Koreans” (48). “This country [Korea] prides itself on being one of the oldest nations of the earth. . . . Korea was once a powerful and advanced nation, from whom Japan learned most of her ancient arts and crafts. The Korean Peninsula, jutting out into the Japan Sea, was like a phial, from which was poured milk and honey into the mouth of Japan. . . . [I]n the nineteenth century Russia was bent upon absorbing the kingdom, and was on the fair way to success. . . . We can easily change the geographical metaphor, and liken the Peninsula to a sword‑blade aimed at the heart of Japan” (46). For the metaphor of the “dagger pointed at the heart of Japan,” see following note. 34. The metaphor of the “dagger pointed at the heart of Japan” as illustration of the strategic importance of Korea for Japan possibly originated from the German major Klemens Meckel, who taught military science in the

326  Notes to Pages 199–221

Japanese army from 1885 onward. McClain, Japan: A Modern History (2002), 296. 35. The diaries fill IS 12 to 15. The records before Enryō’s retirement as head of the Philosophy Academy are (in Jp.) The Dean’s Lecture Tour Diary (IS 12). After 1906, the diaries were published as (in Jp.) South‑by‑Boat North‑on‑Horse Collection (IS 12–15). The latter Japanese title 『南船北馬集』 originates from Huáinánz 淮南子. In the respective passage in the chapter 斉俗訓 it is said that the barbarians in the north of China (胡人) go on horseback, because the area is mountainous, whereas the barbarians in the south (越人) travel by boat, because of the many rivers (Huáinánz 『淮南子』, fasc. 11, 23 in SBCK). 36. The partly conservative, partly enlightened absolutism in the different German states at that time is also comparable with the Japanese situation. See Siegert, “Der Höhepunkt der Volksaufklärung 1782–1800” (2001); Wehrmann, “Volksaufklärung” (1981). 37. The translation originates from the years 1631–1640. See Verhaeren, “Aristote en Chine” (1935). 38. I was unable to determine when exactly Enryō added the subtitle. In the 1st and 2nd edition from 1909, it is absent. In the 21st and 22nd edition of 1919, the subtitle is added. 39. Translation from “A New Religion in Japan,” The Literary Digest 24, no. 15 (1902): 505f.

Interlude on Progress 1. Löwith, Weltgeschichte und Heilsgeschehen (1983), 95. Last sentence missing in Meaning in History (1949), 84.

Part IV. The Philosophy of Buddhism 1. See Kanamori, “Portrait d’un penseur Bouddhique à l’age des Lumières de Meiji” (1995); Takemura, “On the Philosophy of Inoue Enryō” (2013); Nitta (in Jp.), “Inoue Enryō’s Phenomena‑sive‑being Theory” (1988); Morikawa (in Jp.), “Enryō’s Explanation from Philosophy to Religion” (2003). 2. Shibata (in Jp.), “Inoue Enryō and Kant Reconsidered” (2011) argues that Enryō’s critical stance toward superstition can be interpreted as a Kantian element. In my opinion, being critical toward superstition is a matter

Notes to Pages 223–228  327

of course in enlightenment philosophy and not peculiar to Kant. The gist of Kant’s critical philosophy is that philosophy is being critical of herself. 3. Inoue Tetsujirō (in Jp.), Memoirs (1943), 296–319, reports that he heard the neo‑Kantian Kuno Fischer in Heidelberg for two semesters, the empiricist Wilhelm Wundt in Leipzig for one semester, and the neo‑Kantian Eduard Zeller in Berlin for at least another two semesters. About Hartmann, see ibid., 318–19, and (in Jp.) Autobiography of Inoue Tetsujirō (1973), 24–25. 4. The translated titles, in chronological order, are “A Particle of My Worldview” (1894); “Outline of the Phenomena‑sive‑being Theory” (1897); The Relationship between Cognition and Being (1900); Religion and Philosophy (1915); Recollection of the Meiji World of Philosophy (1933), 73–77. 5. Inoue Tetsujirō (in Jp.), “Outline of the Phenomena‑sive‑being Theory” (1897), 153–54. Based on HWPh, vol. 4: “Idealismus”; vol. 8: “Realismus.” 6. Inoue Tetsujirō (in Jp.), “A Particle of My Worldview” (1894), 493–94 and (in Jp.) “Outline of the Phenomena‑sive‑being Theory” (1897), 383. Spencer appears also in Inoue Tetsujirō (in Jp.), Religion and Philosophy (1915), 81f. Since Inoue Tetsujirō pointed to Spencer, Watanabe suggests that the Japanese philosophy of identity realism developed against the backdrop of Spencer’s philosophy of the Unknowable (in Jp. “Inoue Tetsujirō’s Philosophical System and Buddhist Philosophical Theory,” 1999). I will argue in the following that Inoue Tetsujirō was more influenced by Hartmann than by Spencer. 7. The second edition of Das Ding an sich und seine Beschaffenheit (1871) was published in 1875 with the new title Kritische Grundlegung des transzenden‑ talen Realismus. About Hartmann’s philosophy, see Vaihinger, Hartmann, Dühring und Lange zur Geschichte der deutschen Philosophie im XIX. Jahrhundert (1876), 30–43. 8. For example, regarding Inoue Tetsujirō’s critique of Kant using the plural “things themselves” (1933, 76), compare Hartmann’s discussion in Das Ding an sich und seine Beschaffenheit (1871), 79–82. 9. “ ‘Identitätsrealismus’ of Prof. Inouye,” The Hansei Zasshi 7, no. 4 (1897): 25–27. 10. See, e.g., IS 4: 327; 4: 334f; 6: 99; 19: 352f; 19: 362. 11. In the Prolegomena, instead of “property” 相, Enryō uses the term “appearance” 象 and, instead of “function” 用, the term “force” 力 (IS 3: 338). In later works he returned to the orthodox wording.

328  Notes to Pages 229–237

12. Ōnishi (in Jp.), “Reading ‘An Evening of Philosophical Conversation’ ” (1887); Busse, PA 9, 13. 13. References to Spinoza’s Ethics by part (I–V), proposition (p), definition (d), scholium (s), and corollary (c). 14. Vol. 2, pt. 1, 454f in de Bary et al., Sources of Japanese Tradition (2006). 15. Gordon, “The Doctrine of Amida Unauthentic” (1882), 104–10. The quotation of Max Müller is accurate. See “On Sanskrit Texts Discovered in Japan” (1880), 174–75. 16. The translated titles, in chronological order, are Buddhist Philosophy (1893); Buddhist Science (1897); Buddhist Psychology (1897), Mahāyāna Phi‑ losophy (1898); An Epitome of Buddhism (1899); A Survey of Buddhism (1904). 17. The type of Enryō’s doctoral degree is not clear. The legal situation at that time allowed for two ways of awarding a doctorate. The “usual” way was the granting of the doctoral degree for finishing the graduate school of the Imperial University (since 1897 “Tokyo Imperial University”). Second, it was possible for an Examination Committee of the Imperial University 帝国大学評議 会 to grant a doctorate “to persons who are considered to have equal or higher scholarship” compared to the first type. A doctoral thesis is not mentioned in the regulations of either type. We know it to be a fact that Enryō was granted his degree without finishing the graduate school. And it is reported that Enryō was the first to have received a doctorate from the Faculty of Letters of the Imperial University on the basis of submitting a doctoral thesis (PA 21). Enryō’s doctoral degree was apparently the only one awarded by the Faculty of Letters between 1892 and 1898 (Tōkyō Daigaku, pub., Shiryō 3 [1984–87]: 583). The distinction between “doctorate by program” 課程博士 and “doctorate by thesis” 論文博士, which seems to apply to Enryō’s case, was only legally established three years later, in 1899. Granting Enryō a doctorate on the basis of a thesis might have been an initiative on the part of the Faculty of Letters pointing to a reform of the system of university degrees. Although doctoral programs today also demand the submission of a dissertation, the distinction between “doctorate by program” and “doctorate by thesis” still exists in Japan. It is roughly equivalent to the “normal” research doctorate and the Higher Doctorate or Doctor of Letters in the English‑speaking world. Enryō’s degree, therefore, might be interpreted as of the second, “higher” type. The notation Doctor of Letters 文学博士, however, was not meant to be identical with the English Doctor of

Notes to Pages 238–246  329

Letters, since the “doctorate by program,” which was awarded by the Graduate School of the Faculty of Letters 文学部大学院 since 1888, was called the same. Today, the Japanese Doctor of Letters 文学博士 is moreover generally translated as PhD, i.e., Doctor of Philosophy. Hence, Enryō was not the first Japanese to be granted the title Doctor of Letters, but the first to be granted this title by way of the more elaborate procedure of handing in a thesis to be judged by a special committee. In that sense, then, his title resembled the Higher Doctorate and was indeed at the time perceived as “a great distinction” (PA 21). About the development of the system of university degrees, cf. Terasaki (in Jp.), The History of Tokyo University (2007), 99–117. My explanation differs from Yamauchi (in Jp.), “About Inoue Enryō’s University Degree” (1987). 18. Nakamura, ed. (in Jp.), Iwanami Dictionary of Buddhism (1989) gives 『三論玄義』 [Hermetic meaning of the three treatises] by Jízàng 吉蔵 (549–623) as a source for haja kenshō 破邪顕正 (T 45, 1852: 1). 19. Zonkaku 存覚 (1290–1373). 『破邪顕正鈔』 [Compendium refuting the false and disclosing the right] (1324). 20. Ōtani Daigaku, pub., Tsūshi (2001): 45. A close relationship between haja kenshō 破邪顕正 and gohō 護法 can be seen in 『義記』 [Commentary] on the Treatise on Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith by F zàng 法蔵 (643–712): “The righteous one helps Buddha and pursues mission. He refutes the false and discloses the right. He protects and maintains the precious Dharma, so that it resides in this world eternally. In this way he returns Buddha’s grace” 義者謂助仏揚化摧邪顕正護持遺法令久住世報仏恩故 (T 44, 1846: 241). 21. Cf. IS 2: 223. Other composites with katsu 活 that can be found in Enryō’s writings are, for example, “employment” 活用, “revitalization” 復活, “living substance” 活動体, “activity” 活躍, “life” 生活, “living book” 活書. 22. The distinction between a difficult and an easy approach to complete the Buddhist Path parallels what is in True School terminology called the Gate to the Path of Holiness 聖道門 and Gate to the Pure Land 浄土門. Cf. chap. 30. 23. IS 3: 391. It is noteworthy that Enryō did not limit his ideas to the Japanese situation, but stated that Buddhism has to adjust itself to the political situation of the respective country (IS 4: 486). 24. Cf. Kapstein, Reason’s Traces (2001), 3–26; Cabezón, “Truth in Buddhist Theology” (2000); Jayatilleke, Early Buddhist Theory of Knowledge (1963), 356–59.

330  Notes to Pages 249–264

25. The following relies on Takemura (in Jp.), Commentary to the Treatise on Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith (1994). Even the interpretation of the title is not clear. Takemura argues that since the title corresponds to the structure of the text, it might be read as “Treatise on the Mahāyāna Awakening Faith,” or even, “Treatise on the Great Conveying [Mind] Awakening Faith” (26–32). 26. In other writings Enryō also speaks of the simile including the wind, e.g., IS 5: 25. 27. The two occurrences of the simile are in T 32, 1666: 576 and 578. In the translation by Hakeda (1967), 41 and 57. 28. HWPh vol. 3: “Haecceitas”; vol. 10: “To ti en einai”; vol. 12: “Washeit.” 29. Majjhima Nikāya MN 22: M.I. 134. 30. Majjhima Nikāya MN 63: M.I. 429. 31. Prominent passage in 『大智度論』 [Treatise on great transcendent wisdom], T 1509, 25: 60. 32. Nietzsche’s expression “Beweis der Kraft” is adopted from Paul (1 Corinthians 2.4). Almost all passages where Nietzsche uses the expressions “evidence of force” or “evidence of pleasure” for observations about the psychology of religion are relevant for what can be called “religious pragmatism.” See, e.g., KSA 2: 120; 6: 230; 13: 452. William James (1842–1910), a contemporary of Enryō (1858–1919) and Nietzsche (1844–1900), is also of interest in this context. James, who is known for first making explicit a pragmatist theory of truth, is also the author of The Varieties of Religious Experience (1901–02). See for example the chapter “Pragmatism and Religion,” in Pragmatism: A New Name for Some Old Ways of Thinking (1907).

33. For the complicated history of the name Avalokiteśvara in Sanskrit, Chinese, and Tibetan see Studholme, The Origins of O Ma ipadme Hū (2002), 52–59. 34. The quoted sentence from the 『観無量寿仏経』 [Sūtra of contemplation on the Buddha of immeasurable life] reads, in the original, “The mind [or heart] of all Buddhas is but great compassion” (T 12, 365: 343). Note that Enryō omitted the plural indicating character sho 諸. 35. See, e.g., Watanabe (in Jp.), “The Riddle of the Mahāyāna Community” (2010), 171–202. With bibliography including English research, Sasaki (in Jp.), “Prospect of the Theories about the Origins of Mahāyāna

Notes to Pages 264–290  331

Buddhism” (2011), 73–112. Further, Williams, Mahāyāna Buddhism (2009), 12–38 and Williams, ed., Origins and Nature of Mahāyāna Buddhism. 36. H‑Buddhism Query > “Modern Use of ‘Theravada’ ” (McRae), December 20, 2006. 37. By Nishi Amane with the title Rigaku 『利学』 (1877), and by Shibuya Keizō as Riyō ron 『利用論』 (1880). 38. Compare also the (contended) Seventh Letter (335a) and Gorgias (523–27). 39. Tōyō Daigaku, pub., Shiryō 1 (1988–1995): 50–52. 40. See, e.g., Michibata (in Jp.), Chinese Buddhism and Social Welfare (1975); Serikawa (in Jp.), “Education, Welfare, and Buddhism” (2011), 110–39; Shimizu (in Jp.), Examining Buddhist Welfare (2003). 41. “Diakonie,” in Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. Kurt Galling et al. (1956–1963). 42. May, “Protection de l’Etat” (1967); 『金光明経』 [Golden light sūtra] (T 663), German trans. by Nobel (1958); 『仁王護国経』 [Sūtra for humane kings protecting the country] (T 246), English trans. by Orzech (1998). 43. IS 24: 600–04; IS 4: 481f; 1917. 44. Korean Buddhist Research Institute, pub., History and Culture of Bud‑ dhism in Korea (1993), 223–25.

Epilogue 1. KSA 5: 132. Trans. by Judith Norman, slightly modified, taken from Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil (2002), 95. 2. Inoue Gen’ichi’s English guide to the Temple Garden of Philosophy never went into print. In 1925, he only published a “Preface” and an “Introduction to the English Edition,” which are cited here. The first paragraph is taken from the “Preface,” the rest from the “Introduction to the English Edition.” I changed the order of paragraphs in the “Introduction” and edited transcription and orthography.

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Glossary of Sino-Japanese Terms

Reading

Script

Meaning

Page

Cross-Index

aikoku

愛国

patriotism

15

See also under nationalism

anjin ryūmyō

安心立命

peace of mind and steadiness in fortune

248

See also peace of mind

anshin, anjin

安心

peace of mind

bigaku

美学

aesthetics

112

bu

武

warrior, knight

123

bubun teki

部分的

analytical, partial

112

bukkyō

仏教

Buddhism (lit. Buddha teaching)

92, 118 See also ibid.

bunmei

文明

civilization

bunmei kaika

文明開化

civilization and enlightenment

14-15, 207

See also civilization; enlightenment

buppō

仏法

Buddha Dharma

118

See also Buddhism

busshō

仏性

Buddha Nature

229

butsudō

仏道

Buddhist Path

118

371

See ibid.

See ibid.

See also Buddhism

372  Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms

Reading

Script

Meaning

Page

Cross-Index

butsugaku

仏学

Buddhist learning

119

See also Buddhism

butsuri-gaku

物理学

physics

112

byōdō

平等

equality, identity

54

See also equality; identity

chie

智慧

wisdom (Skt. prajñā)

264

See also ibid.

chūdō

中道

Middle Path, Path of the Mean

See ibid.

chūgoku tetsugaku

中国哲学

Chinese philosophy

See ibid.

chūkan

中間

interstice, between

104

chūtai seiyō

中体西用

Chinese substance, Western functions

123

daijō

大乗

Great Vehicle (Skt. mahā-yāna)

30

dengaku

田学

country learning

150

dō

道

Path, way

dō

同

equal

13

dokuritsu jikatsu

独立自活

independence and self-initiative

183

dōkyō

道教

Taoism

dōri

道理

reason

166

dōtoku

道徳

morality

150

See also ethics

en

縁

condition

267

See also causality

engi

縁起

dependent arising

See also Mahāyāna

See ibid. See also equality

See ibid.

See under causality

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  373

Reading

Script

Meaning

Page

Cross-Index

enman kanryō

円満完了

round completion and full perfection

108

See also Inoue Enryō: name and pennames

enryō

円了

perfect (lit. round and full)

102, 106107

See also Inoue Enryō: name and pennames

ensei

厭世

world-aversion

19, 259 See also otherworldliness

enyū jitsuzai ron

円融実在論

identity realism (lit. full permeating realism)

fukkatsu

復活

revitalization

329n21

fukoku kyōhei

富国強兵

rich country and strong army

16, 190, 274

fukuden

福田

fields of merit

283

funtō

奮闘

struggle

197, 215

futsū-bun

普通文

general style

50

gaimu

外務

external affairs

79, 277

gakkai

学界

academia

112

gaku

学

learning, -ologies, -studies

51, 119

gakushū

学習

learning

150

gengaku

玄学

occult learning

64

genri

原理

principle

55

genshō

現象

phenomena

See ibid.

genshō soku jitsuzai ron

現象即実在論

phenomena-sive-being theory

See identity realism

giron

議論

discussion

47

gohō

護法

protecting the Dharma

95, 238

See ibid.

See also ibid.

374  Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms

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gohō aikoku

護法愛国

protection of Dharma and love of country

95

gokoku

護国

protection of country

See ibid.

gokoku airi

護国愛理

protection of country and love of truth

See ibid.

gokoku bukkyō

護国仏教

nation-protecting Buddhism

See under Buddhism

gyō shin

行信

practice / works and faith

20

haibutsu kishaku

廃仏毀釈

destroying Buddhism and smashing its idols

8

haja kenshō

破邪顕正

refuting the false and disclosing the right

238-39

hasei teki

派生的

derivative

224

hassei-ron teki ichigen-ron

発生論的一

generative monism

234

hatto

法度

commandments, precepts

28

hihyō

批評

critique

85

hisō hizoku

非僧非俗

neither monk, nor layman

22

hō

法

I. law, Dharma II. phenomena, entities, dharmas

I. 118 II. 228

hōben

方便

means

hon' i

本位

basic standpoint

47

hongaku

本覚

original enlightenment

263–64

元論

Cross-Index

See also Buddhism: persecution

See also emanation

See ibid.

I. See also Dharma II. See also phenomena See ibid.

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  375

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Page

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hongan

本願

original vow

20

honshin

本心

basic spirit

128

honzon

本尊

sanctum

70

hōsha

報謝

gratitude

27

hyakushō teki gakusha

百姓的学者

peasant scholar

149, 202

hyōron

評論

critical discussion

46

indo tetsugaku

インド哲学

Indian philosophy

78, 182 See also ibid.

inga

因果

cause and effect

jakuniku kyōshoku

弱肉強食

weak flesh is fodder of the strong

16, 81, 190

jiai hanai

自愛汎愛

self-love vs. universal love

131

jigō jitoku

自業自得

karmic retribution

273

jihi

慈悲

compassion (Skt. karuṇā)

jikken

実験

experience

60, 317n19

See also empiricism; experience

jikken teki jitsu

実験的実

empirical facts

60

See also empiricism; experience

jikyō dōki

治教同帰

union of politics and teaching

7

jinbun

人文

human civilization

196

See also discussion

See causality See also evolutionary theory: SocialDarwinism

See also under causality See ibid.

See also civilization

376  Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms

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jindō

人道

Human Path

jinen

自然

spontaneous

23

jinrin

人倫

human ties, morals

18

jiri rita

自利利他

benefiting self and others 270

jiriki tariki

自力他力

self-power vs. other-power

jissai jō

実際上

pragmatic, practical

273

jissai keiken

実際経験

real experience

31

jitsuzai

実在

being

224, 227

jittai

実体

substance

54

See also ibid.

jiyū

自由

freedom

54, 316n11

See also ibid.

jiyū jizai

自由自在

freely and independently 151

See also freedom

jizen

慈善

compassionate welfare

280

See also compassion; welfare

jizen shugi

慈善主義

compassionate welfare principle

280

See also compassion; welfare

jōdo

浄土

Pure Land

jōdo mon

浄土門

Gate to the Pure Land

257, 329n22

jugaku

儒学

literati learning

119, 64 See also Confucianism

juke

儒家

literati guild

18

See ibid.

See also ethics

See self-effort

See also empiricism; experience

See ibid.

See also Confucianism

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  377

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Script

Meaning

Page

Cross-Index

jukyō

儒教

literati teaching

118

See also Confucianism

junki

純気

pure ether

161

See also ether

junsei tetsugaku

純正哲学

genuine / pure philosophy, metaphysics

kagaku

科学

science

52-53

kagaku

化学

chemistry

112

kaigi

会議

debate, conference

8, 9

kaihatsu teki

開発的

emancipatory

177

kaihei

解蔽

dissolving obscurity

166

See also enlightenment (historical)

kaimei

開明

enlightenment

15, 84, 246

See also enlightenment (historical)

kakubutsu kyūri

格物窮理

investigation of things and extension of knowledge

121

See also science

kakyo

科挙

examination system

kakyō teki jitsuzai ron

過境的実在論

transcendent realism

225

kami

神

spirit, deity

162, 171

kan

官

mandarin (Ch. guān)

123

kangaku

勧学

encouragement of learning

46, 151, 281

kansatsu hōmen

観察方面

directions of speculation 219

See metaphysics See ibid.

See also discussion

See under Confucianism See also realism

See also Confucianism

See also under metaphor

378  Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms

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Meaning

Page

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katsu

活

alive, living, vitalizing

See living

katsu bukkyō

活仏教

living Buddhism

See under living

katsu tetsugaku

活哲学

living philosophy

See under living

katsubutsu

活物

living thing

See under living

katsudō shugi

活動主義

activism

239

katsudō tai

活動体

living substance

329n21

katsugaku

活学

living learning

153

katsugen

活眼

vivid eyes

239

katsuron

活論

living discourse, animating discussion

See under living

katsusho

活書

living book

See under living

katsuyaku

活躍

activity

329n21

katsuyō

活用

employment

329n21

kazoku kokka

家族国家

family state

160

keiken

経験

experience

31

keitō

系統

genealogy

241

kekkō soshiki

結構組織

system and organization 66

kenkō-na

健康な

sound, wholesome

248

kikai-gaku

器械学

engineering

112

kikon

機根

disposition

255

See also ibid.

See also organization; system of the sciences

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  379

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Script

Meaning

Page

kishin yōkai

鬼神妖怪

spirits and mysteries (lit. demons-spiritssorcery-apparitions)

166

kōfuku

幸福

happiness

See ibid.

kōgi yoron

公議輿論

official debate and public 9, 45 opinion

See also discussion

kojin

個人

individual

See also individualism

kōjō tetsugaku

向上哲学

upward philosophy

kōkai-gaku

航海学

nautics

112

kokusui hozon shugi

国粋保存主義

principle of the preservation of national genuineness

144

kokutai

国体

national polity

kōnai kōgai

向内向外

inward and outward

262

kongō setsu

混合説

amalgamated theory, syncretism

291

kōnin-kyō

公認教

officially acknowledged religion

279

kōri shugi

功利主義

utilitarianism

kōron

公論

public debate

9

See also discussion

kōsen shugi

好戦主義

belligerism

189

See also Inoue Enryō: about war

kū-ka-chū

空仮中

emptiness, provisional [existence], and mean

241

See also dialectics

kudoku ekō

功徳回向

transference of merit

263, 283

54, 316n11

Cross-Index

See under philosophy

See also nativism See ibid.

See also syncretism

See ibid.

380  Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms

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Meaning

Page

kyō

教

teaching

118

kyōhan

教判

teaching classifications

kyōhō

教法

religion

kyōiku

教育

education

kyōiku-gaku

教育学

pedagogy

kyōkai

教会

church, teaching service 201, 280

kyōkaku satsugyū

矯角殺牛

killing the ox when rectifying its horns

215

mangin

謾吟

spontaneous verse

14

manpō, banpō

万法

all phenomena

228-29

See also phenomena

mei

明

light, clear, clarifying

15

See also under metaphor

meishin

迷信

superstition

See ibid.

mon

門

Gate, pathway, approach 118

See also Gate

mukei mushō

無形無象

abstract (lit. immaterial and non-phenomenal)

mukei ushō

無形有象

symbolic (lit. immaterial 111-12 and phenomenal)

mushi mushū

無始無終

no beginning, no end

269

namu zettai mugen son

南無絶対

Hail, Hallowed Infinite Absolute

205

nikujiki saitai

肉食妻帯

meat eating and marriage

21

See also celibacy

ningen tetsugaku

人間哲学

human philosophy, philosophical anthropology

134

See also philosophy: as humanism

無限尊

Cross-Index

See ibid. 69

See also religion See ibid.

112

See also education

111-12

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  381

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Page

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ningen-gaku

人間学

study of mankind, [philosophical] anthropology

134

See also philosophy: as humanism

nisshin

日新

ever-renewing

121

o-bake hakase

お化け博士

Ghost Doc, Doctor Specter

o-yatoi gaikoku jin

お雇い外国人

employed foreigners

ōbyō yoyaku

応病与薬

giving medicine 254-55 appropriate to the illness

See also means

ōsei fukkō

王政復興

restoring imperial rule

7

See also restoration

ōsō gensō

往相還相

going into and returning [from the Pure Land]

263

ōyō

応用

application

ri

理

principle, logem, reason, 54-55, theory, logos 106

ri

利

profit, utility

270

See also utilitarianism

rigaku

理学

science

112

See also ibid.

rikugei

六芸

Six Arts

64

rinen

理念

idea

55

rinri-gaku

倫理学

ethics

55, 112 See also ibid.

riron

理論

theory

55

risei

理性

reason [as faculty]

55

risō

理想

Ideal

55

risō soku shin

理想即神

divine ideal (lit. Ideal-sive-God)

161

See under Inoue Enryō 74

See ibid.

See also ibid.

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ritai

理体

logical substance

104, 106

ritsu

律

precepts (Skt. vinaya)

riyū

理由

reason [as motive]

55

ronri-gaku

論理学

logic

112

ryō

量

[epistemological] means 94 (Skt. pramā ṇa)

ryōhan

両班

two orders (Kr. yangban) 123

ryōshin

良心

conscience (lit. good heart)

saidai kōfuku setsu

最大幸福説

principle of greatest happiness

270

saisei itchi

祭政一致

unity of reign and rites

7

sanbō

三宝

Three Jewels

See ibid.

sandai (tai-sō-yū)

三大 (体相用)

three great [principles] 228-29 (substance, attribute, and function)

See also Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith

sanji kyō

三時教

three periods of teaching 101

sankyō itchi

三教一致

three teachings converge 83 in one

setchū shugi

折衷主義

principle of compromise, 291 syncretism

See also syncretism

sei-han-gō

正反合

thesis, antithesis, and synthesis

101

See also dialectics

seibutsu-gaku

生物学

biology

112

See also ibid.

seiji-gaku

政治学

politics

112

See also ibid.

seikatsu

生活

life

329

seizō-gaku

製造学

manufacturing

112

See ibid.

See also ibid.

See ibid. See also utilitarianism

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  383

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Page

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sejin shisō

世人思想

common sense, secular thought

90

seken bukkyō

世間仏教

secular Buddhism

22

See also under secularity

seken shinri

世間真理

secular truth

90

See also truth

sen

仙

mountain ascetic

18

senten jitsuzai ron

先天実在論

transcendental realism

225

shakai-gaku

社会学

sociology

112

shi kan

止観

composure (Skt. samādhi) and insight (Skt. vipaśyanā)

251

shibu

四部

Four [literary] Divisions 64

shibutsu

死物

dead thing

153

See also living

shigaku

死学

dead learning

288

See also living

shigyaku

弑逆

regicide

176

shin bukkyō

新仏教

New Buddhism

25, 277 See also ibid.

shin butsudō

新仏道

New Buddhist Path

25

shinbutsu bunri

神仏分離

separation of Gods and Buddhas

8

shinjitsu mubō

真実無妄

veritable truth

31

shinkai

真怪

True Mystery

170–72

shinkei suijaku

神経衰弱

neurastenia

shinkyō

新教

reformed teaching, Protestantism

See also ibid.

See also New Buddhism

See also truth

See Inoue Enryō: nervous disease 25

See also Protestantism. See also under True School

384  Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms

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shinnyo

真如

suchness

shinnyo engi

真如縁起

dependent arising from suchness

shinri

真理

truth

shinri hyōjun

真理標準

criterion of truth

shinri-gaku

心理学

psychology

shinsei

信性

spiritual temper

255

shintai zokutai

真諦俗諦

absolute truth vs. conventional truth

268

shisō

思想

thought

128

shison shinmin

子孫臣民

descendants and subjects 161

shitai

四諦

Four [noble] Truths

246

shitoku

師徳

virtue of the teachers

28

shitsuu busshō

悉有仏性

everything owes Buddha 229 Nature

shōdō mon

聖道門

Gate to the Path of Holiness

257, 329n22

shogaku zenbi

諸学全備

the various studies all provided

77

See also university

shōjō

小乗

Inferior Vehicle (Skt. hīna-yāna)

253

See also Theravada

shōmetsu

生滅

birth and death

249

shosei tetsugaku

処世哲学

philosophy of life conduct

197

shoshi hyakka

諸子百家

various masters and hundred schools

118

shū

宗

school, sect

118

See ibid. 228, 267

See under causality See ibid.

88

See also truth See ibid.

See also philosophy

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  385

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Meaning

Page

shūgaku shojutsu

衆学諸術

the many sciences and various technologies

66

shugi

主義

-ism

51

shugo kyakugo

主語客語

[linguistic] subject vs. object

56

shugyō shinjin

修行信心

practice of the faithful mind

251

shukan kyakkan

主観客観

[epistemological] subject 56 vs. object

See also subject and object

shukke

出家

leaving the household / the family

See also celibacy

shūkyō

宗教

religion

shūshi-kei

終止形

final form

50

shūshin

修身

personal cultivation, morals

200

See also ethics

shutai kyakutai

主体客体

[ontological] subject vs. object

56

See also subject and object

sōgan setsu

相含説

theory of mutual inclusion

219

sōke

宗家

head family

161

soku

即

is (i.e., copula)

227

sonnō hōbutsu

尊皇奉仏

revering the Emperor 144 and serving the Buddha

soshiki

組織

organization

soshiki kyōri-gaku

組織教理学

systematic doctrinal studies

235

taiki seppō

対機説法

preaching correspondent to the disposition

254

18

Cross-Index

See also subject and object

See ibid.

See ibid.

See also means

386  Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms

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taikyoku

太極

Supreme Ultimate

171

tako tsubo bunka

タコ壼文化

octopus-pot culture

48

tenjin bunri

天人分離

separation of heaven and 88 human [realm]

tenjin shi bun

天人之分

separation of heaven and 321n53 human [realm]

tenjō

天井

ceiling (lit. heavenly well)

205

tenmon-gaku

天文学

astronomy

112

tenshin

天心

zenith (lit. heavenly mind)

103

tetsu-jin

哲人

philosopher

289

tetsugaku

哲学

philosophy

tetsuri

哲理

philosophical reason

93

tōdō seiki

東道西器

Eastern Path, Western technology

123

tōgi

討議

debating

46

tōgō teki

統合的

synthetical, comprehensive

112

tōyō tetsugaku

東洋哲学

Oriental philosophy

See under philosophy

tsūbukkyō

通仏教

general or trans-sectarian 235 Buddhism

See also transsectarianism

tsūshū

通宗

popular schools

241

tsūzoku

通俗

popular

241

u-kū-chū

有空中

existence, emptiness, and middle

101, 241 See also dialectics

See ibid.

See also discussion

Glossary of Sino‑Japanese Terms  387

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Page

ukei ushō

有形有象

material (lit. material and phenomenal)

112

wa ji fu dō

和而不同

affable but not conformist

13

wakon yōsai

和魂洋才

Japanese Spirit, Western skills

123

yamato damashii

大和魂

Japanese Spirit

yōkai

妖怪

mystery

yōkai hakase

妖怪博士

Ghost Doc, Doctor Specter

See under Inoue Enryō

yōkai-gaku

妖怪学

mystery studies

See under Inoue Enryō

yōkyū

要求

demand, postulate

276

yuishiki

唯識

consciousness-only

249

See also idealism; Yogācāra school

yūki soshiki

有機組織

organic system

240

See also organism; organization

zatsuei

雑詠

random verse

12

zen’ in rakka akuin kuka

善因楽果

good cause → joyous result, bad cause → sorrowful result

269

zettai

絶対

Absolute

zoku

俗

secular

悪因苦果

Cross-Index

See ibid.

See also causality

See ibid. 18, 312n9

See also secularity

Index of Names and Western Terms

a priori: and a posteriori, 47, 63, 66, 71, 77, 104, 245; concept of truth, 62–63, 66, 67, 71, 115; commitment to truth, 47, 71, 115, 117, 287; synthesis, 82 Absolute, 103, 131–32, 262; Hegelian, 102, 108, 134; Herbert Spencer, 75, 171, 225; immanent, 161, 171, 228, 268; sculpture in the Four Sages Shrine, 172, 205, 291; terminology, 54, 102, 250. See also metaphysics, suchness academia: Japanese, 34, 290–91; modern East Asian, 57, 119, 245. See also university Africa, 42, 139, 192, 194 Aizawa Seishisai 会沢正志斎 (1782– 1863), 7–8, 16, 41, 159, 311n1 Akamatsu Renjō 赤松連城 (1841– 1919), 25–28, 31, 33, 91, 100 Alexander II, Tsar of Russia (1818– 1881), 176 altruism, 131, 262–65, 270, 280–82. See also welfare Amida, Amita, Amitābha, 20, 23–24, 26–29, 31, 231–32, 242, 257, 262–63, 313n17 Analects 論語, 12–14, 119, 134, 150, 176, 189, 192, 203, 315n3

analogy: Buddhism and medicine, 253–55, 257–58; family and national polity, 160; organism and organization, 240–42, 259; philosophy-religion and theory-practice, 132, 135, 168, 241, 246–48, 251, 269. See also metaphor Anesaki Masaharu 姉崎正治 (1873– 1949), 232, 281, 287 apocrypha, 233, 282 apologetics, 24, 95, 238–39, 243 appearances. See phenomena application: metaphysics, 132, 205, 219; in Mystery Studies, 168–69, 170; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112; philosophy, 168, 241, 246, 251, 269; psychology, 111, 169; science, 112, 130, 132. See also theory Aristotle (384–322 BCE), 69, 82, 116, 135, 166; Amicus Plato quotation, 95–96, 119, 321n54; metaphysics, 75, 230; Nicomachean Ethics, 201, 321n54; system of the sciences, 65–66, 75, 111, 147–48 Australia, 139 Avalokiteśvara 観世音 (Jp. Kanzeon), 262

389

390  Index of Names and Western Terms

Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith, Treatise on the 大乗起信論, 78, 98, 228–30, 233, 249–51, 267; smile of water and waves, 228, 249, 251, 268; Three Great Principles, 228–29. See also suchness awakening, 17, 58, 92, 106, 171, 226, 237, 247–48, 261–64, 270 Bälz, Erwin von (1849–1913), 45 Barth, Karl (1886–1968), 19–20 Baur, Ferdinand C. (1792–1860), 232 Berlin, 3, 223, 225, 255 Bible, 89–90, 117, 257 biology, 38, 75–76, 160, 189, 192, 207, 209, 213, 240–42; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112. See also evolutionary theory; organism; metaphor Bismarck, Otto von (1815–1898), 3, 191 Black Ships, 16, 45 Blumenberg, Hans (1920–1996), 207–10 Bluntschli, Johann K. (1808–1881), 68, 77, 191 Bodhisattva, 184, 261–63 Boshin Rescript 戊辰詔書, 196 Bowen, Francis (1811–1890), 82–83 British Empire. See England Buddha (6th cent. BCE), 26, 58, 70; 93, 96, 120, 171, 254, 262; as one of the Four Sages, 81–82, 84, 221, 291; as historical figure, 17, 231–35, 240, 261; as one of the Three Jewels, 246, 251, 283; as transcendent being, 108, 154, 229, 258, 262, 268. See also Amida; Buddhism Buddha Nature 仏性, 229 Buddhism: Chinese, 18–19, 21, 53, 101, 253, 262, 282; dialectics,

100–101, 241; and education, 149–50, 279–82; enlightenment (historical), 25, 28, 33, 39, 116, 186; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112; and happiness, 270–72; and identity realism, 226–27; Indian, 81, 101, 118, 167; Korean, 21, 29, 253–54, 262, 282; lay, 27, 264, 271, 285; living, 237–43, 259, 280, 288; and medicine, 253–55, 257–58; metaphysics, 32, 54, 161, 163, 219–20, 227, 234, 248, 258; modern studies of, 33–34, 231–35, 277–78; modern, 24, 28, 32, 34, 37, 100, 147, 234, 245, 254, 261, 269, 270, 281, 284–85; nationalism, 282–84; nation-protecting and nation-protected, 21, 282–84; as organization, 240–43, 245, 248; persecution, 8, 19, 24; as philosophical religion, 32, 132, 241, 245–48, 251, 269; reform of, 202–03, 205, 277–85; and science, 31–34, 37, 41, 91, 93, 97, 240, 269, 277; terminology, 48, 54, 91–92, 118–19, 182, 238; at early Tokyo University, 77–80; truth, 57–59, 93–94, 59, 247–48, 257–58, 264. See also Critical Buddhism; East Asian Buddhism; Japanese Buddhism; Mahāyāna Buddhism; New Buddhism. See also specific schools, doctrines, texts Bühler, J. Georg (1837–1898), 141 Burnouf, Eugène (1801–1852), 141 Busse, Ludwig (1862–1907), 225, 234, 291 Buys, Egbert (?–1769), 65 Cabralis, Franciscus (1529–1609), 19

Index of Names and Western Terms  391

Cài Yuánpéi 蔡元培 (1868–1940), 114, 172, 307–308 Calcutta, 3 Capital North Kindergarten 京北幼稚園. See Inoue Enryō, institutions Capital North Middle School 京北中学校. See Inoue Enryō, institutions capitalism, 169, 213 Carus, Paul (1852–1919), 289 causality, 104, 228–29, 242; and conscience, 273–76; and consequentialism, 269–72; dependent arising from suchness, 228, 249, 267–68 (see also emanation); dependent origination, 267; interdependence, 272, 273; karmic retribution, 269, 272–73; and science, 31–32, 269 cause and effect. See causality celibacy, 17–21. See also monasticism ceremony. See ritual charity. See welfare chauvinism. See nationalism Chegwan 諦観 (?–971), 78, 320n45 Chén Běixī 陳北渓 (1159–1223), 317n1 Chile (Punta Arenas), 139 China: civilization, 63, 88, 118, 197; language and script, 49–56, 78, 238, 312n9; as subject to imperialism, 41–42, 100, 122–23, 195, 197. See also Confucianism. See also under Buddhism Chinese dynasties: Western Zhōu 西周 dynasty (1046–771), 64; Hán 漢 dynastiy (206 BCE-220 CE), 64, 120; Southern and Northern 南北 dynasties (386– 589), 64; Northern Wèi 北魏 dynasty (386–535), 21, 282; Suí 隋 dynasty (581–618), 282; Táng 唐 dynasty (618–906), 8,

21, 64, 282; Sòng 宋 dynasty (960–1279), 3, 64, 87; Míng 明 dynasty (1368–1644), 3, 119–20, 203; Qīng 清 dynasty (1644–1912), 61 Chinese philosophy, 70, 78, 81, 97, 99, 100, 116, 119, 190, 245; terminology, 51, 78, 182. See also Confucianism Christianity: in comparative perspective, 120, 138, 157, 264–65, 281, 288; opposition to, 24, 29, 37–42, 70, 75–76, 145, 278–79; and progress, 207–11; during Russo-Japanese War, 184–86; and Spinoza, 256–57. See also Jesuits; mission; Protestantism civilization, 1–3, 195–98, 215–16; Chinese, 63, 88, 118, 197; East Asian, 81; and enlightenment, 11, 14–16, 174, 207; human, 135, 148, 186, 196, 198, 216, 259; Indian, 81; Japanese, 144, 197, 279, 281; modern, 91, 94, 149, 170, 189, 200, 210; and progress, 212, 213, 215; rational, 25; standard of, 215; terminology, 14–16, 51, 312n8; Western, 10, 61, 74–75, 82, 95, 123, 137, 145, 195, 197. See also enlightenment (historical); modernization; progress clergy, 20–21, 24, 29, 277–80 colony, 2–3, 55 197, 199, 283; colonization, 16, 45, 139, 145, 325n33 compassion, 251, 261–65, 269–70, 272, 280–81, 283 composite. See compound. See also terminology compound: of four characters, 14–16, 123; increase of, 55–56; with katsu 活, 239, 329n21; with ri 理, 55. See also terminology

392  Index of Names and Western Terms

Comte, Auguste (1798–1857): positivism, 25, 62, 66, 75, 85; Religion of Humanity, 204, 288–89 Confucianism: and Buddhism, 18–19, 83; and Education Rescript, 158–59; education, 8, 64, 77, 118, 120, 123, 150–51; examination system, 53, 64, 120, 123, 245; Four Books and Five Classics 四書五経, 8, 120; Neo-Confucianism, 83–84, 118–23, 166, 245; and peace, 12, 189–90; terminology, 51, 54–57, 59, 118–19, 150, 182, 200–201, 317n17. See also Analects; Chinese philosophy; Confucius Confucius (551?–479 BCE), 134, 154, 166, 171; and orthodoxy, 69–70, 83, 119–20; as one of the Four Sages, 80–81, 83, 221, 291. See also Analects; Confucianism conscience, 157, 179, 195, 269, 273–76 consciousness, 9, 114, 155, 207, 211; in Buddhism, 228, 247, 249, 251 consequentialism. See utilitarianism Constitution of the Great Japanese Empire 大日本帝国憲法, 47, 157–59, 180–81, 185, 278 contingency, 123, 210 corporation. See organization; organism Critical Buddhism, 233, 261, 267–68 critique, criticism: of Christianity, 87–93, 230; historical, 231–35; of identity politics, 37–42; of progress, 207–26. See also Kant cynicism, cynical, 3, 41, 191, 314n1 Dalai Lama, 14th (b. 1935), 32 Dàlián 大連 (Port Arthur), 194, 205

Darmesteter, James (1849–1894), 141 Darwin, Charles (1809–1882). See also evolutionary theory Darwinism. See evolutionary theory de Bary, Wm. Theodore (1919– 2017), 54, 118–19 debate. See discussion Descartes, René (1596–1650), 82 Dharma, 58, 118, 171, 254; protection of, 95, 238–39; as one of the Three Jewels, 246, 251, 283. See also Buddhism Dharmakīrti (7th cent.), 58, 116 dialectics, 46, 98–102, 241, 256, 260–61; trichotomy, 99–101, 103. See also sublation dialogue: interreligious, 20, 87, 256; as literary form, 102, 321n59; Socratic, 116. See also Inoue Enryō, works: An Evening of Philosophical Conversation; discussion Diderot, Denis (1713–1784), 65 Dignāga (480–540), 58, 94, 116 discussion: culture of, 8–9, 13, 45–48, 96–98, 116, 122; doctrinal, 94, 256, 238, 246, 256, 267; as method, 45–47, 71–72; about Philosophy Academy Incident 179–81. See also dialogue Disraeli, Benjamin (1804–1881), 2 divination, 23, 167–68, 173–74 Doctrine of the Mean 中庸, 176 Dōgen 道元 (1200–1253), 254 dualism, 101, 103, 114, 228, 261 Dutch: studies, 53, 59–61, 65–66; universities, 68, 318n27 East Asian Buddhism: copula, 227; historical critique, 34, 93, 231–35, 282; nation-protecting and nation-protected, 21, 282–84; original enlightenment,

Index of Names and Western Terms  393

263–64; scriptural authority, 94, 116, 233; teaching classifications and trichotomy, 100– 101, 241–42, 253; terminology, 58, 238–39, 267, 269. See also Mahāyāna Buddhism; means eclecticism, 141, 291–92. See also syncretism Edo 江戸 period (1603–1868), 8, 21, 32, 123, 283; education, 8, 113, 120, 149–50, 203; scholarship, 49–50, 53, 59–60, 66 Education Rescript. See Imperial Rescript on Education education, 63, 111, 147–56, 216; and Buddhism, 149–50, 279–82; and Confucianism, 8, 64, 77, 118, 120, 123, 150–51; egalitarian, 118, 281; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112; and philosophy, 84–85, 132, 147–49, 274; private, 11, 62, 80, 147, 151–52, 177, 183, 202; social, 184, 203; as topic of debate, 46–48; Western institutions, 2, 35, 129, 138, 142, 145; modern, 11, 13, 32, 77–78, 199, 277–78. See also Imperial Rescript on Education; Inoue Enryō: as educator; Philosophy Academy; textbooks egalitarianism. See equality Elisabeth, Empress of Austria (1837– 1898), 176 emanation, 161–62, 171–72, 205, 228, 230; dependent arising from suchness, 228, 249, 267–68; generative monism, 234 Emerson, Ralph Waldo (1803– 1882), 289–90, 319n39 Emperor, Japanese, 7–9, 49, 123, 144, 157–62, 170, 176, 180–81, 195, 202, 284 empiricism, 38, 59–61, 82, 107, 224–25; empirical evidence,

31, 53, 72, 90–91, 94, 97, 168, 258; non-western, 118, 121, 166; empirical world, 249, 273–75. See also experience; science emptiness, 101, 241, 247 England, 3, 76, 137, 141, 284 English language: studies, 11, 45, 61–62; Enryō’s command of, 11, 77–78, 137, 238, 295; at early Tokyo University, 68, 82–83, 99–100, 319n39; enlightenment (historical): Buddhist, 25, 28, 33, 39, 116, 186; and civilization, 11, 14–15, 312n7; concept of, 42, 115, 117–18, 212; European (Western), 14–15, 52, 65, 115, 166, 170, 191, 199; Japanese, 10, 46, 116–18, 121, 315n2; and superstition, 165, 169; terminology, 15, 166 enlightenment (experience). See awakening. See also under metaphor Epicurus (341–271 BCE), 98 epistemology, 58, 105, 107, 221, 224, 226, 248; Buddhist, 58, 245, 247 equality, 13, 21, 54, 118, 123, 151, 159, 193, 208 eschatology, 117, 207, 209–10 Essentials of the Eight Sects 八宗綱要, 78, 320n45 ether, 161–62, 171–72, 228 ethics: Buddhist, 269–72; Confucian, 18, 150, 158–59; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112; Enryō’s theory of, 157–58, 159–61, 181, 261, 280; Japanese ethics and Education Rescript, 157–64; and Philosophy Academy Incident, 175–82; and Social Darwinism, 189–93; terminology, 51, 55, 150, 200–201; at early Tokyo University, 69, 74–75, 122;

394  Index of Names and Western Terms

ethics (continued) Western, 149, 157, 163, 272. See also conscience; utilitarianism; freedom: liberalism; precepts Europe, 24, 34, 137–39, 141, 210, aristocracy, 38; countries, 3, 117, 122, 194, 196; Enlightenment, 52, 65, 115, 170; history, 75, 82, 169, 284; individualism, 74; knowledge, 60, 61, 11; languages, 15, 50, 250; Middle Ages, 65; philosophy, 81, 97, 98, 116, 134, 219, 229, 245; Reformation, 23; religion, 25, 29, 239, 281; scholarship, 34, 51, 81, 98, 140, 210; superstition, 170, 173; university, 64, 71. See also West evolutionary theory: and Christianity, 87, 240, 275; and Spencer’s ethics, 157, 189–90; and progress, 213, 288; as Social-Darwinism, 3, 16, 99, 189–98, 215, 284; at early Tokyo University, 75–76, 83, 98–100, 130 Examination Board for Moral Education Textbooks 修身教科書調査委員会, 152, 176, 297 experience: epistemologically, 63, 90, 104–105, 154, 221, 224, 226; terminology, 51, 60, 114, 317n19. See also empiricism faculty. See university faith: of Enryō, 24, 255; as postulate, 273; religion of, 20, 23–29, 34, 91, 242; as religious pragmatism, 257–58, 274. See also True School; religion Fāng Yǐzhì 方以智 (1611–1671), 59–61, 65 Fausböll, Viggo (1821–1908), 141

Fǎzàng 法蔵 (643–712), 329n20 Fenollosa, Ernest F. (1853–1908), 74, 113, 165, 240, 316n10; dialectics and evolution, 98–100, 102, 190–91; and Kant, 82–83, 320n48; as model for Enryō, 113 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb (1762– 1814), 102, 224, 226 filial piety, 18; and loyalty, 160–62, 172, 176, 201 first generation of Meiji, 11–12, 58, 97, 151. See also Enlightenment: Japanese First Sino-Japanese War (1894– 1895), 163, 184, 189, 194 Foucault, Michel (1926–1984), 34, 40, 67, 212 Four Noble Truths 四諦, 246 Four Sages 四聖, 80–84, 172, 205, 221, 291–92 Fourier, François Marie Charles (1772–1837), 25 France, 3, 31, 137, 141, 284; Japanese studies, 25, 31 freedom, 82, 148–49, 191, 287; of expression, 47, 20, 179–81; as Kantian concept, 181, 208–209, 212, 221; liberalism, 9, 54, 119, 151, 163, 181; of movement and occupation, 9; and Philosophy Academy Incident, 175–82; of religion, 185, 255, 278–79; terminology, 54 Fukuzawa Yukichi 福沢諭吉 (1835– 1901), 41, 50; discussion, 46–47, 260; and Japanese enlightenment, 10–12, 14, 61, 95, 116, 351n2; as model for Enryō, 80, 151 Gate 門, 118, 131–32, 241, 249–51, 257, 329n22 gender relation, 159 genuine philosophy 純正哲学. See metaphysics

Index of Names and Western Terms  395

German Idealism, 74, 134, 229 Germany, 3, 83, 137, 141, 191, 199; Inoue Tetsujirō in, 223–26; language, 68; university, 68, 77 Gibbon, Edward (1776–1788). See Gibbon’s Rule Gibbon’s Rule, 314n1, 37, 38–40 globalization, 1, 12, 16, 137, 197, 215 God, 20, 23, 70, 196, 247, 264, 273; in An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, 101, 103; in The Golden Compass of Truth, 88–90; kami, 162, 171; and secularization, 207–209, 211. See also Christianity; monotheism; pantheism; theology Golden Light Sūtra 金光明経, 282, 331n42 Great Coalition for Revering the Emperor and Serving the Buddha 尊皇奉仏大同団, 144 Great Learning 大学, 60 Guimet, Émile É. (1836–1919), 31–32, 314n26 Guizot, François (1787‐1874), 14 Gumplowicz, Ludwig (1838–1909), 191 Gyōnen 凝然 (1240–1321), 78, 320n45 Haas, Hans (1868–1935), 173, 312–13n14 Haeckle, Ernst (1834–1919), 289 Hamilton, William (1788–1856), 62 Hammerfest (Norway), 139 Hán Yù 韓愈 (768–824), 18–19 happiness 幸福, 106, 135, 151, 155, 190; in Buddhism, 26–27, 269–72; Spinoza about, 257; terminology, 51, 270; as utilitarian end, 130, 157, 189–90, 198, 269–72 Harmony and Equality Circle

和同会.

See Inoue Enryō, institutions Hartmann, Eduard von (1842– 1906), 223–25 Hawaii, 139 Hayashi Razan 林羅山 (1583–1657), 324n17 Hearn, Lafcadio (1850–1904), 139–45, 291, 297 Hegel, Georg W. F. (1770–1831), 82, 98–99, 101–102, 108, 113, 163, 221, 224 Heidegger, Martin (1889–1976), 208 Hellwald, Friedrich von (1842– 1892), 191 Helmholtz, Hermann L. F. von (1821–1894), 269 Hepburn, James C. (1815–1911), 61 High School Education Committee 高等教育会議, 297 High Treason Incident 大逆事件, 176 Hīnayāna. See Theravada Buddhism historiography: comparative, 29, 71; conceptual history, 34, 50–56, 67; critique of Buddhism, 33–34, 231–35; in Japanese humanities, 48, 255, 288; Nietzsche about, 1, 39–40, 193; philosophical, 42, 115, 215–16, 284; postmodern, 37–42, 212; at early Tokyo University, 70, 98–102 Hitler, Adolf (1889–1945), 191 Hong Kong, 3 Hóng Yīngmíng 洪応明 (Hung Ying-ming, 1572?–1620), 203 Huáng Zōngxī 黄宗羲 (1610–1695), 119 Huáyán 華厳 Buddhism, 219, 227 Human Path 人道, 134, 211; human rights, 122, 163, 191, 196 humanism, 40, 88, 117, 150

396  Index of Names and Western Terms

humanities, 48, 67, 111–14, 187–88; terminology, 50–56; at early Tokyo University, 70, 77 humanity: as mankind, 38–40, 118, 128, 155, 157, 204, 246; virtue of, 106, 176, 185 Hume, David (1711–1776), 82, 104 Huxley, Thomas H. (1825–1895), 76. See also X-Club idealism, 103–104, 114, 224, 249; German, 74, 83, 134, 229. See also Yogācāra School identity politics, 37–42 identity realism, 105, 223–27, 247–48, 327n6 identity, logical, 104–106, 227 Ienaga Saburō 家永三郎 (1913–2002), 189 illumination. See metaphor: enlightenment. See also awakening immanence, 18, 91, 103–104, 107, 109, 161, 171, 230 Imperial Household, 158–62, 172, 182, 203, 240, 279, 284 Imperial Oath 御誓文, 9, 16, 45, 121 Imperial Rescript on Education 教育ニ関スル勅語, 8, 157–64, 170, 176–77, 197, 200–202, 280, 323n11 Imperial University Law 帝国大学令, 129–30 Imperial University 太学 (China), 64 imperialism: Age of, 2, 16; Japanese, 41, 123, 190, 215, 194–97, 283, 285; Western, 9, 41, 145, 163, 207, 213–15. See also jingoism India, 2, 34, 42, 81, 118, 137–38 Indian Buddhism, 81, 101, 118, 167 Indian philosophy, 70, 78, 81, 94, 97, 140, 234, 237; terminology, 78, 182 individualism, 74, 118, 287 Indology. See Sanskrit.

Inoue Enryō 井上円了 (1858–1919): as Buddhist reformer, 11–22, 32–33, 78–79, 91–94, 100–101, 115–16, 146, 184–85, 234–35, 238–43, 277–85; clothes, 22, 113, 141, 146; death, 80, 84, 188, 205, 298; doctor of letters, 237, 297, 328n17; as Doctor Specter or Ghost Doc, 174, 292; early readings, 10, 11, 14, 16, 151; and Education Rescript, 157–64, 170, 197, 201–203, 280; as educator, 50, 80, 111, 113, 139–46, 147–56, 170, 176, 187, 199–204, 277–78; faith, 58, 274; family, 8, 17, 22, 187, 277, 289; home temple, 7, 8, 17, 295; influence in China, 56, 113–14; as Japan’s first philosopher, 68, 79; as layman, 22, 79, 95; lecture tours, 145–46, 199–203, 197, 297–98; as modern prophet, 288–89; Mystery Studies, 110, 111–12, 165–74, 203; name and pennames, 17, 22, 107–108, 313n18, 313n20; nervous disease, 84, 109, 181, 187, 287, 296, 295; oeuvre, 109–14 (see also Inoue Enryō, works); as opponent of Christianity, 87–90, 93, 144–45, 184–85, 201, 238–39, 240, 278–79; about overseas mission, 41–42, 197; priesthood, 8, 17, 288; as public figure, 47, 79, 87–93, 139, 152, 185, 285, 292; sense of metaphor, 85, 91, 114 (see also metaphor); as student of Tokyo University, 11, 48, 68, 74–78, 100; about war, 184–85, 189–90, 196–98; as world traveler, 137–39, 296–98. See also specific philosophical contents

Index of Names and Western Terms  397

Inoue Enryō 井上円了 (1858–1919), institutions: Capital North Kindergarten 京北幼稚園, 152, 187, 298; Capital North Middle School 京北中学校, 152, 297; Four Sages Shrine 四聖堂, 132, 172, 205; Harmony and Equality Circle 和同会, 13–14, 295; Morality Church 修身教会, 139, 183–84, 200–202, 280, 298; Philosophy Ceremony 哲学際, 80–84, 296; Philosophy Press 哲学書院, 84, 144, 296; Philosophy Shrine 哲学堂 (later Four Sages Shrine), 84, 184, 298; Religion of Philosophy 哲学宗, 13, 132, 204–205, 290; Temple Garden of Philosophy 哲学堂公園, 13, 84, 114, 132, 155–56, 172, 184, 199, 204– 205, 287–92, 298. See also Great Coalition for Revering the Emperor and Serving the Buddha; Philosophy Academy; Philosophy Society; Politics and Teaching Society; Toyo University Inoue Enryō 井上円了 (1858–1919), works: Buddhist Science, 97, 111; Epitome of Philosophy, 97, 100, 102, 109, 219; An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, 101–109, 219, 227, 229, 296; Founding Ideas of the Philosophy Academy, 84–85, 147; A Fragment of a Philosophy of War, 110, 189–90, 196, 297; The Golden Compass of Truth, 87–91, 95, 102, 104, 109, 145, 256, 296; Lectures on Mystery Studies, 167–73, 297; Life is a Battlefield, 110, 189, 196–97, 215, 298; Living Buddhism, 50, 237–39, 259, 261–62, 298;

Living Discourse on Buddhism: Disclosing the Right, 237–41, 271, 297; Living Discourse on Buddhism: Refuting the False, 237–40, 296; Living Discourse on Loyalty and Filial Piety, 161–63, 172, 297; My Mission in Philosophy, 205, 298; My Thoughts on Facing Russia, 184–85, 298; New Proposal in Philosophy, 50, 219–21, 298; Notebook, 75–76, 99, 295, 321n56; The Pedagogical View of Life and the World, 110, 152–55, 297; Philosophy of Struggle, 127, 131–33, 197–98, 215, 220, 298; Prolegomena to a Living Discourse on Buddhism, 25, 91–95, 100, 102, 109, 115, 127–29, 130, 132–33, 145, 204, 227–29, 234, 237–38, 246, 249, 259–61, 270, 279, 296; Proposal of Japanese Ethics, 159–60, 162–63, 297; A Survey of Ethics, 109, 130, 132, 157, 275; Quick Primer to Philosophy, 50, 133–34, 147–48 Inoue Gen’ichi 井上玄一 (1887–1972), 22, 289–90, 92, 331n2, 313n19 Inoue Kei 吉田敬 (neé Yoshida 吉田) (1862–1951), 22, 296 Inoue Shigeno 井上滋野 (1890–1954), 313n19 Inoue Sumie 井上澄江 (1899–1979), 22, 313n19 Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎 (1856– 1944), 98; Education Rescript, 158–59, 161–63; ethical religion, 48, 204; and Enryō, 79–80; identity realism, 105, 223–27, 247–48; and terminology, 53, 55, 61 Ishikawa Shuntai 石川舜台 (1842– 1931), 33

398  Index of Names and Western Terms

Itō Hirobumi 伊藤博文 (1841–1909), 2, 195, 315n1, 325n33 Itō Jinsai 伊藤仁斎 (1627–1705), 317n17 Iwakura Embassy, 1–3, 24, 137–38, 191, 278 Japan: language, 49–56 (see also terminology); modernization, 16, 35, 55, 67, 123, 150, 195, 284; imperialism, 41, 123, 190, 215, 194–96, 283, 285. See also enlightenment (historical): Japanese Japanese Buddhism, 22, 24, 142, 203, 229, 234, 242, 267, 282; modern, 33–34, 100, 269, 284; sectarianism, 254–57, 277–80 Japanese Spirit, 123, 161–62, 210 Jesuits, 19, 24, 51, 53, 59, 64–66, 201, 238 Jesus (3?–30?), 19, 83, 89, 93, 120, 238–39. See also Christianity jingoism, 163, 197, 213, 288. See also imperialism Jiun 慈雲 (1718–1804), 231 Jízàng 吉蔵 (549–623), 329n18 Joly, Henri L., 173 Journal of the Philosophical Society 哲学会雑誌 , 84, 296 Julien, Stanislas (1797–1873), 141 Kant, Immanuel (1724–1804), 101, 104, 131, 193; Critique of Pure Reason and critical epistemology, 85, 105, 219, 221, 224–26, 248, 326n2; enlightenment, 169–70, 212; as one of the Four Sages, 80–83, 191, 320n48; freedom, 181, 208–209, 212, 221; perpetual peace, 194; postulate, 248, 276; progress, 208–209, 212; self-knowledge, 38–39; university theory, 71, 77. See also Neo-Kantianism

karuṇā. See compassion Katō Hiroyuki 加藤弘之 (1836– 1916): Chinese translations of, 322n61; as enlightenment scholar, 11, 95, 116, 315n2; and Enryō, 11, 48, 73, 78–79, 144; positivism, 74, 122, 193; Social Darwinism, 191, 193, 196; and Tokyo University, 66, 68–74, 77–78, 84, 115–16, 121–22, 129–30; on truth, 62, 69, 97, 115 Katsu Kaishū 勝海舟 (1823–1899), 73, 144 Katsura Tarō 桂太郎 (1848–1913), 185 Keio University, 11, 151 Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢満之 (1863– 1903), 33 Knott, Cargill G. (1856–1922), 71 Koeber, Raphael (1848–1923), 225 Korea, 72, 184; as colony, 114, 164, 195–96, 199, 284–85, 298; as phial and dagger, 195, 325n33–34; and Confucianism 120, 122–23. See also under Buddhism Kuījī 窺基 (632–682), 101, 316n12, 321n58 Kūkai 空海 (774–835), 254, 281 Kulmus, Johann A. (1689–1745), 59 Kuwaki Gen’yoku 桑木厳翼 (1874– 1946), 101, 323n15 Kyoto, 28–34, 123, 147, 205, 281, Enryō in, 32–34, 238, 295 Kyoto School, 101, 221, 245 laity, 8, 20, 264, 281, 285; Enryō’s return to, 24, 91 language: literary and colloquial, 49–50; modernization, 49–56. See also terminology. See also spe‑ cific languages Laozi 老子 (ca. 6th cent. BCE), 83, 171

Index of Names and Western Terms  399

Late Mito School 後期水戸学, 7, 159 lecture tours. See Inoue Enryō: lecture tours Leiden University, 62, 318n27 Lewes, George H. (1817–1878), 62 Liáng Qícháo 梁啓超 (1873–1929), 114 liberalism. See freedom liberty. See freedom Light of Compassion Temple 慈光寺, 7, 295. See also Inoue Enryō: home temple literati. See Confucianism liturgy. See ritual living 活, 239, 259; book, 153, 155; Buddhism, 237–43, 259, 280, 288; discourse, 94, 240; philosophy, 132, 288; thing, 99, 153, 230, 240. See also organism Lobscheid, Wilhelm (1822–1893), 61 logic: in Buddhism 94, 101, 116, 241–42, 268; of political action, 209, 212; reception of, 62; terminology, 51, 55 logos, 55 London, 2, 165, 181, 204 Lotus Sūtra 法華経, 257–58, 316n12, 320n42 love of truth, 93–96. See also protection of country and love of truth; truth Löwith, Karl (1897–1973), 207–12 loyalty, 21, 159, 181–82, 284; and filial piety, 160–62, 172, 176, 201 Lubbock, John (1834–1913), 75, 319n38. See also X-Club Luther, Martin (1483–1546), 19–20, 25, 38 Maeda Eun 前田慧雲 (1857–1930), 33, 186–88 Magellan Strait, 139

Mahāyāna Buddhism, 34, 58, 241–42; as active, 149, 259–65; as altruist, 269–72, 281; as inauthentic, 93, 231–35; philosophy of, 109, 134, 226, 229, 249–51; as pragmatic, 253–58; transference of merit, 263, 283. See also Buddhism; East Asian Buddhism. See also specific schools, doctrines, texts Manchuria, 184, 199, 298 Maruyama Masao 丸山眞男 (1914– 1996), 48 Marx, Karl (1818–1883), 211 Mayer, Julius R. von (1814–1878), 269 McKinley, William (1843–1901), 176 Mean. See Middle Path means, soteriological 方便, 23, 28, 204, 253–58, 274 medicine: and Buddhism, 253–55, 257–58 meditation, 242, 246, 251, 258, 259, 263 Meiji 明治 period (1868–1912): antiChristian trend, 76; early Meiji period, 9, 11–12, 14–16, 61, 151, 231, 270 (see also politics: Restoration); educational landscape, 147, 151; global outlook, 11; language change, 49–52, 182; late Meiji period, 158, 201–203; modernization, 34–35, 284; philosophical zeitgeist, 48, 70; public sphere, 45–48; superstition, 173–74 Meiroku Journal 明六雑誌, 48, 53, 62, 83 Meiroku Society 明六社, 11, 46, 48, 67, 80, 315n2 Mencius 孟子 (371–289 BCE), 18, 69–70, 122, 157, 180 metalanguage. See terminology

400  Index of Names and Western Terms

metaphor: of awakening, 247; biological, 242; of the compass, 91; of the gate, 118; juridical, 208, 209; Korea as phial and dagger, 195, 325n33–34; of love, 131; of the moon, 15, 92, 103, 106, 153; medical, 254–55, 257–58; nautical, 92, 260; organic, 240–42, 259; of the path, 118, 211; political, 85; spatial, 18, 97, 101, 220–21, 262, 268–69; theory of, 209–10, 220–21; of transport, 253; visual, 15; of water and waves, 228, 249, 251, 268. See also analogy; Inoue Enryō: sense of metaphor metaphysics: applied, 132, 205, 219; Aristotelian, 75, 147; Buddhist, 32, 54, 161, 163, 219–20, 227, 234, 248, 258; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112; first Japanese work on, 101; genuine philosophy 純正哲学, 75, 112, 219; in Mystery Studies, 167–68; in New Proposal in Philosophy, 219–21; and progress, 211–12; as queen of sciences, 85; at early Tokyo University, 73, 75, 82. See also emanation; ontology; speculation method, methodology: of Buddhist practice, 241–42; discussion as, 45–47; of humanities, 277; philology as, 27, 287 (see also Sanskrit); of philosophy, 116; of present book, 29, 37, 40, 174 (see also historiography: philosophical); of empirical research, 63, 66, 67, 69, 73, 115, 167 Mexico, 139 Middle Path 中道, the Mean, 101– 102, 107, 259–61 Mill, John S. (1806–1873), 62, 159, 270, 319n38

Milton, John (1608–1674), 171 Ministry of Culture 文部省, 147, 152, 202, 279, 297; and Philosophy Academy Incident, 175–82, 183, 186, 202 mission: Buddhist, 25, 41, 279–84; Christian, 29, 41, 61, 231, 239, 279, 283. See also Jesuits Mitsukuri Rinshō 箕作麟祥 (1846– 1897), 11, 315n2 Mitsukuri Shūhei 箕作秋坪 (1825– 1886), 315n2 modernity: and East Asia, 122–23, 210; legitimacy of, 207–11; and Japan, 41, 191, 210. See also Buddhism: modern modernization, 29, 215, 284; institutional, 55, 284; Japan, 16, 35, 55, 67, 123, 150, 195, 284; language, 49–56 Mohammad (570?–632), 25 monasticism, 17–22, 240, 263–64, 270–71, 282. See also celibacy Mongolia, 184 monism, 105, 226, 228–29, 234, 249, 268 monotheism, 25, 28, 91, 256–57, 264, 273, 292 monsterology. See Inoue Enryō: Mystery Studies Morality Church 修身教会. See under Inoue Enryō, institutions Mori Arinori 森有礼 (1847–1889), 315n1, 315n2 Mormons, 138, 278 Movement for the Official Acknowledgment of Buddhism 仏教公認教運動, 279 Muirhead, John H. (1855–1940), 175, 177–81 Müller, Max (1823–1900), 34, 141, 232, 276 Murakami Senshō 村上専精 (1851– 1929), 33, 186

Index of Names and Western Terms  401

Mystery Studies. See Inoue Enryō: Mystery Studies Nāgādjuna. See Nāgārjuna Nagaoka School for Western Studies, 11–13, 295 Nagaoka 長岡, 7, 295 Nāgārjuna (150?–250?), 26 Nakajima Tokuzō 中島徳蔵 (1864– 1940), 175–82 Nakamura Hajime 中村元 (1912– 1999), 53, 268 Nakamura Masanao 中村正直 (1832– 1891), 11, 77, 80, 315n2 Nakayama Shigeru 中山茂 (1928– 2014), 71 Nanjio Bunyiu. See Nanjō Bun’yū Nanjō Bun’yū 南条文雄 (1849–1927), 33–34, 141, 186, 232 national polity 国体, 157–64, 172, 176, 190, 203, 215, 284 nationalism, 145, 163, 174, 194–95; Buddhist, 282–83; chauvinism, 162–63, 213, 283; Japanese, 7, 159–64, 195, 223; patriotism, 15, 141, 145, 163, 185; and protection of country, 12, 94, 131, 157–64; ultranationalism, 158, 160, 162. See also nativism nativism, 7, 83, 122, 144–45, 162 nature: and pantheism, 227–30, and beauty, 268 Neo-Confucianism. See Confucianism Neo-Kantianism, 83, 223–24, 327n3 neologism. See terminology Netherlands. See Dutch New Buddhism 新仏教, 23–29, 277–78. See also Buddhism: modern Nichiren School 日蓮宗, 237, 241–42 Nietzsche, Friedrich (1844–1900): compared with Enryō, 287–89;

historiography, 1, 38–40, 193–94; inspiration, 156; religious pragmatism, 254, 330n32; Niigata 新潟, 7, 137 nirvana, 26–27, 258 Nishi Amane 西周 (1829–1897): as enlightenment scholar, 95, 116, 315n2; and Enryō, 79–80; positivism, 10, 62, 66, 73, 85; system of sciences, 64, 66, 68, 318n27; and terminology, 52, 59, 119, 317n14; on truth, 95, 61–64, 115; utilitarianism, 271 Nishida Kitarō 西田幾多郎 (1870– 1945), 101, 113, 287 Nishimura Shigeki 西村茂樹 (18281902), 116, 312n8, 315n2 Nitobe Inazō 新渡戸稲造 (1862– 1933), 195, 325n33 nominalism, 34, 67 noumenon. See thing itself Occidentalism, 37–42, 70, 165, 284 Ogyū Sorai 荻生徂徠 (1666–1728), 317n17 Ōnishi Hajime 大西祝 (1864–1900), 48, 287, 291 ontology: and monism, 105, 226, 228, 263; and research areas, 65, 85, 111, 147, 168. See also metaphysics optimism: and Buddhism, 204, 247, 259, 261; and progress, 12, 15, 170, 207. See also pessimism organism, 192, 213, 220; social, 99, 240–43. See also evolutionary theory; living; organization organization: Buddhism as, 17–18, 21, 35, 240–43, 255, 259, 280–81; of the university, 58, 64, 66, 71–72, 245; religious, 138, 174, 243, 278, 281. See also evolutionary theory; living; organism: social

402  Index of Names and Western Terms

Orientalism, 25, 28, 29, 38–41. See also Occidentalism original enlightenment, 263–64 orthodoxy: in Confucianism, 119, 122, 166, 245; in Buddhism, 93, 253, 233, 263; in philosophy, 96 Ōtani Branch 大谷派, or Eastern Original Vow Temple 東本願寺, 17, 32–33, 295–96. See also True School other-power 他力. See self-effort otherworldliness, 17–19, 202, 260–61, 269–71, 280, 288 Ōuchi Seiran 大内青巒 (1845–1918), 186 Outline of the Tiāntāi Fourfold Teachings 天台四教儀, 78, 320n45 Oxford University, 34, 141, 232 Pali, 140, 232, 264 pantheism, 227–30, 248–49, 257, 268 paradigm: Aristotelian, 64–65, 75, 111, 148; evolutionary, 75; Neo-Confucian, 119, 122; of philosophy, 64–65, 67, 71, 84, 109–14, 122; semantic, 51–54, 113, 239 (see also terminology) Paramārtha (Ch. Zhēndì 真諦, 499– 569), 321n57 Paris University, 64 Paris, 2, 25, 31, 141, 173 parish, 7–8, 279–80 Path 道: Bodhisattva, 261–63; Buddhist, 17, 25, 118, 261, 263–64, 268, 269–70, 276; in An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, 102–108; Human, 134, 211; in the Imperial Oath, 9, 121; Middle, 101–102, 107, 259–61. See also metaphor patriotism. See nationalism Paul (?– 67 CE), 20, 117, 209, 330n32 pedagogy. See education

pessimism, 203, 259. See also optimism Pfleiderer, Otto (1839–1908), 229 phenomena, appearances: and the Absolute, 161, 205, 228; knowable, 104–105; mysterious, 166, 168–69. See also identity realism phenomena-sive-being theory 現象即実在論. See identity realism phenomenology, 251, 275 philology: and conceptual history, 52, 58, 62; in Japanese humanities, 48, 70, 231–33, 255, 287. See also Sanskrit Philosophy Academy Incident 哲学館事件, 152, 175–82, 183, 186, 202, 279, 297 Philosophy Academy Lecture Records 哲学講義録 , 50, 110, 184, 277, 296 Philosophy Academy University 哲学館大学. See Philosophy Academy Philosophy Academy 哲学館, 13, 15, 50, 199, 200, 237, 289, 296–98; distance learning, 110, 199 (see also Philosophy Academy Lecture Records); Enryō’s resignation, 183–88; founding ideas, 84–86, 147; Hearn about, 139–45, 165; Incident, 152, 175–82, 183, 186, 202, 279, 297; as ministry of external affairs of Buddhism, 79, 277; opening ceremony, 131; as Philosophy Academy University, 183–88, 298; and reform of Buddhism, 33, 79, 277–79; renaming of, 183, 187; Three Benefactors of, 73. See also Toyo University Philosophy Ceremony 哲学際. See under Inoue Enryō, institutions

Index of Names and Western Terms  403

Philosophy Press 哲学書院. See under Inoue Enryō, institutions Philosophy Shrine 哲学堂. See under Inoue Enryō, institutions Philosophy Society 哲学会, 70, 79–80, 84, 223, 296 philosophy: as academic approach, 92–94, 96, 116–17; applied, 112, 168, 241, 246, 251, 269; comparative, 98, 290; as culture of discussion, 48, 96, 98, 116; downward, 130–32, 205; Eastern or Oriental, 78, 80, 81, 99–100, 140, 182, 289; and education, 147–48; European, 98, 116, 219, 229; as government of the sciences, 85; as humanism, 88, 134; as idea of the university, 11, 65, 71, 85, 97, 148; Indian, 78, 81, 97, 140, 182, 234, 237; and individualism, 287; Japanese, 101, 105, 223, 225, 327n6 (see also identity realism, Kyoto School); as king of the sciences, 135; and Mystery Studies, 165, 168; paradigm of, 84, 110–11, 122; and Philosophy Academy Incident, 181–82; positivist, 62; practical, 65, 132, 133–35, 157, 208–209; of religion, 168, 229–30, 247; speculative, 101–102, 132; synthesis of Eastern and Western, 100, 140; terminology, 51–56, 59, 78, 91–92, 113, 182; theoretical, 65, 75; theory of science, 65–66, 75, 85; at early Tokyo University, 68, 69–71, 74, 75, 78–84, 98–100; upward (dialectic / speculative), 97–108, 131–32; world, 83–84, 134, 291–92; See also Buddhism: philosophy; ethics; Chinese philosophy; metaphysics; Western

philosophy Plato (427–347 BCE): and the Academy, 116, 135; Amicus Plato quotation, 95–96, 119, 321n54; paternal lie, 274–75; Republic and practical philosophy, 148, 170, 193, 274–75; and Socrates, 69, 116, 134 pleasure, 101, 134, 190, 270, 330n32 Politics and Teaching Society 政教会, 144, 296 politics: and Confucianism, 18, 118, 119–20; debate, 45–46; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112; of identity, 37–42; international, 3, 16, 190–91, 193–95, 207–16; of Meiji Restoration, 7–10; and progress, 209; as subject at early Tokyo University, 68, 69, 80. See also imperialism; nationalism; national polity positivism, 62, 66, 73–74. See also science; empiricism; truth postcolonialism, 52, 55 postmodernism, 33–35, 37–42, 174, 212 poststructuralism, 67 postulate: of progress, 208–209; of conscience, 269, 273–76 practice: institutional, 67, 245, 247, 277; religious, 23, 34–35, 53, 132, 205, 241–42, 245–47, 251, 262–63, 265, 269 (see also altruism; welfare); superstitious, 167–68, 173, 262. See also theory pragmatism: religious, 253–58. See also truth: pragmatic theory of; means precepts (Skt. vinaya), 19–21, 264, 269 priesthood. See clergy

404  Index of Names and Western Terms

progress: civilizational, 3, 14, 16, 47, 127–28, 197, 204, 259; concept of, 207–16; and enlightenment, 85, 115; and evolution, 98, 190, 213; of morality, 148–49; and Mystery Studies, 165, 170, 174; and philosophy, 70, 98–100, 102, 116–17; scientific and technological, 16, 25, 63, 69, 121–22, 149, 167, 194 Prosperous Plain School 昌平黌, 83, 120 protection of country and love of truth, 16, 94–95, 127–35, 163, 170–71, 181, 221, 240 protection of country, 94, 157–63; and Buddhism, 21, 242, 280–83 protection of Dharma, 95, 238–39 Protestantism, 19, 23, 25–26, 28–29, 91. See also under True School psychology: and Buddhism, 111, 247, 258, 277; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 109–12; and Mystery Studies, 166–69; terminology, 55; at early Tokyo University, 69, 75 public: debate about the Philosophy Academy Incident, 175, 177, 182; image of philosophy, 75, 182; sphere during Meiji, 9, 15, 45–47, 56, 158, 163. See also Inoue Enryō: as public figure Punta Arenas (Chile), 139 Pure Land 浄土, 20, 31, 257, 263, 274, 329n22 race, 213; Enryō about, 184–85; and Social Darwinism, 191–92, 195 rationalism, premodern East-Asian, 118, 121, 231 realism: in The Golden Compass of Truth, 103–104; of Hartmann, 225; political, 209, 212; variants

of, 224. See also identity realism regicide, 175–80 Religion of Philosophy 哲学宗. See under Inoue Enryō, institutions religion: in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 111–23; as institution, 34–35, 138, 245–46, 278–79; as means of imperialism, 41–42; of mercy, 19–20, 29; new religion, 34, 48, 92, 204–205, 288, 290; philosophical, 32, 132, 262, 290; and philosophy, 75, 111, 128, 132, 135, 168, 219–20, 241, 245–48; practice, 23, 34–35, 53, 132, 205, 241–42, 245–47, 251, 262–63, 265, 269; religious pragmatism, 253–58; during Russo-Japanese War, 184–86; and superstition, 165, 167; terminology, 34–35, 52–53, 247. See also faith; otherworldliness Renan, Ernest (1823–1892), 25 renunciation. See otherworldliness research for its own sake, 71, 130, 318n32. See also university; science; truth restoration, 7–10, 21, 35, 83 retribution. See causality Ricci, Matteo (1660?–1734), 64 Rising Generation, 12, 87, 144, 195 ritual: Confucian ceremony, 64, 83, 120–21; court rituals, 21, 282–83; reform of liturgy, 35, 204, 278, 280; in True School, 23, 28, 34. See also Inoue Enryō, institutions: Philosophy Ceremony Roosevelt, Theodore (1858–1919), 213–15 Rosny, Léon de (1837–1916), 25–26, 33 Russia, 138, 164, 184–85, 194, 325n33

Index of Names and Western Terms  405

Russo-Japanese War (1904/05), 184, 189, 194, 215 Said, Edward W. (1935–2003), 40 salvation, 17, 167, 241, 261–63; means to, 247, 253–58; in True School, 20, 23, 26–27, 242 San Francisco, 2, 6, 255 sa ṅgha, 17–18, 240, 253, 282. See also Three Jewels Sanskrit: Enryō’s ignorance of, 233–34, 288; Japanese scholarship, 34, 231–32; Western scholarship, 34, 232 Sattelzeit, 52. See also terminology Schelling, Friedrich W. J. (1775– 1854), 98, 224, 226, 229 Schleiermacher, Friedrich (1768– 1834), 288 Schmitt, Carl (1888–1985), 208 science: benefit of, 130, 132; and Buddhism, 31–34, 37, 41, 91, 93, 97, 240, 269, 277; in China, 64, 121, 122; empirical, 24, 37, 60, 73, 193; progress of, 74, 122; and religion, 69, 75–76, 87, 97, 165, 171, 204, 239–40, 256; and superstition, 24, 53, 167–69; system and theory of, 64–65, 75, 85, 112, 147; terminology, 52–53, 113; and True School, 23–25; truth, 59, 60, 62–63, 69, 71, 97, 102, 135; university and faculty, 68, 71, 74, 121–22, 129–30; worldview, 31, 32, 76, 61, 165, 240. See also university; truth; empiricism second generation of Meiji Japan, 11–12. See also Rising Generation sectarianism, 91, 94, 239, 254–57, 277–80 secularity: Buddhism, 21–22, 93, 261, 265, 282, 283, 285;

Confucianism, 18–19, 88; ethics, 202, 280; learning, 78, 84; truth 90–91, 97, 115 secularization, 19, 21, 207–11 self-effort 自力 and other-power 他力, 20, 23, 26–27, 241–42, 256 semantics: structure, 52–53, 67, 113, 284, 174; metaphor, 209. See also terminology Shakyamuni. See Buddha Shimaji Mokurai 島地黙雷 (1838– 1911), 25, 28, 31–33, 91, 186 Shingon Buddhism. See True Word School shinnyo. See suchness Shinran 親鸞 (1173–1273), 19–20, 22–23, 26, 32, 34, 38, 150, 254, 263 shinshū, shinshiu. See True School Shintoism, 8, 47, 83, 120–21, 150, 185, 278 slavery, 169–70, 215 sociology, 14, 213, 243, 277; in Enryō’s system of the sciences, 112; at early Tokyo University, 75, 82 Socrates (469?–399 BCE), 69, 148; as one of the Four Sages, 80–81, 83, 221, 291; in Plato, 116, 134, 274–75 South Africa (Cape Town), 139 speculation, 54, 82, 101–02, 132, 134, 219–21, 224, 234, 248, 261. See also dialectics; metaphysics; sublation Spencer, Herbert (1820–1903), 140, 270; ethics, 157, 189–90, 192; evolution and progress, 189–90, 213; First Principles and the Unknowable, 104, 165, 171, 224–25, 327n6; and Enryō, 75; at early Tokyo University, 74–76, 85, 98–99, 240, 319n39. See also X-Club

406  Index of Names and Western Terms

Spinoza, Baruch de (1632–1677), 140, 163; causality, 267–68; pantheism, 227, 229–30; realization, 248–49; religious pragmatism, 256–57 Steiner, Rudolf (1861–1925), 289 structuralism, 67 subject and object, 55, 169, 219, 226, 228, 239, 247, 251; terminology, 56 sublation, Aufhebung, 99, 109, 132, 219. See also dialectics; speculation substance: in An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, 104– 106; metaphysical, 104, 224, 233–34; Spinoza about, 230; terminology, 54; as one of the Three Great Principles, 228–29 suchness 真如, 249–51; dependent arising, 228–29, 230, 267–68; in meditation, 248, 251, 268; as truth, 58, 102, 171 Suez Canal, 1, 137 suffering, 26, 261; and consequentialism, 269–72; overcoming of, 246–48, 259; and pragmatism, 254–56; rescue from, 263–64 Sugi Kōji 杉亨二 (1828–1917), 53–54, 315n2 Sugimoto Tsutomo 杉本つとむ (b. 1927), 49, 59–60 Sugita Genpaku 杉田玄白 (1733– 1817), 59–61 superstition, 24, 276, 278; decline of, 170, 215, 173–74, 284; and Mystery Studies, 165–74; terminology, 52–53, 165 Sūtra for Humane Kings Protecting the Country 仁王護国経, 282, 331n42 Sūtra of Avalokiteśvara 観音経, 262 Sūtra of Contemplation on the Buddha of Immeasurable Life

観無量寿仏経, 20, 262, 313n17, 330n34 Sūtra of Perfect Enlightenment 圓覚経, 78, 320n45 Suzuki T. Daisetsu 鈴木大拙 (1870– 1966), 287 syncretism, 8, 48, 83, 223, 291. See also eclecticism system of the sciences, 63–66, 69; Aristotelian paradigm, 64–65, 75, 111, 147–48; Enryō’s system, 110–13; and faculty order, 64–65, 68; and ontology, 65, 147; philosophy as government of the sciences, 85; and university theory, 71–72, 129–30. See also university

Taiwan, 199, 285 Takagi Hiroō 高木宏夫 (1921–2005), 162 Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順次郎 (1866– 1945), 33, 287 Takemura Makio 竹村牧男 (b. 1948), 234–35 Taoism, 19, 64, 83, 118 teaching classifications 教判, 100, 253 technology, 128, 168; Enryō about, 85, 130, 149; and modern education, 32; of printing, 47; of warfare, 194; and Western superiority, 16, 25, 45, 50, 55, 122–23, 207 Temple Garden of Philosophy 哲学堂公園. See under Inoue Enryō, institutions Terada Fukuju 寺田福寿 (1853– 1894), 73 terminology: Buddhism, 54, 100, 219, 228, 238–39, 242, 329n22; Confucianism, 51, 54, 150–51, 200, 317n17; East Asian humanities, 51, 55–56, 114; of Enryō,

Index of Names and Western Terms  407

48, 54, 56, 92, 219, 238–40, 247; Japanese humanities, 50–56; metalanguage, 52, 54, 81, 133, 150, 239; neologism, 51–54, 59, 131, 224, 316n11; Sattelzeit, 52. See also semantics; compound textbooks: commissioned by Ministry of Culture, 152, 176–77, 173, 297; of Enryō’s early education, 11; at Philosophy Academy, 175–76, 182, 184; at early Tokyo University, 68, 76, 319n39; written by Enryō, 109–10, 152, 157 theology: Christian, 76, 91, 208– 209, 264; faculty of, 64–65, 121, 318n27; of Martin Luther, 19; and Spinoza, 230, 249, 256 theory: and application, 112, 130, 168, 241; and practice, 51, 61, 113, 131–35, 168, 239, 241, 246–48, 251, 269; pure, 221, 246–48. See also application Theravada Buddhism, 253, 264–65 thing itself, 105, 224–25 Three Benefactors 三恩人 of Philosophy Academy, 73 Three Jewels 三宝, 246, 251, 283 Tiāntāi School 天台宗, 78, 241, 320n45 Tibet, 184, 262 Tokugawa 徳川, 83, 120, 123 Tokyo Academy 東京学士会院, 46, 55, 315n2 Tokyo University 東京大学: early history of, 67–84, 122–23; Enryō as student at, 11, 48, 68, 74–78, 100; prehistory of, 67–68, 83–84, 120–22; and terminology, 56, 58–59; (Tokyo) Imperial University, 70, 71, 95, 129, 225, 232, 234, 237, 297

Tominaga Nakamoto 富永仲基 (1715–1746), 231–32 totalitarianism, 7, 160, 162, 284 Toyama Masakazu 外山正一 (1848– 1900), 48, 74–75, 95–96, 116, 240 Toyo University 東洋大学, 13, 33, 73, 84–86, 290; Buddhist studies, 33, 278, 284; presidents, 33, 182, 187; renaming of Philosophy Academy, 187, 284; symbols of, 84. See also Philosophy Academy transcendence, 120, 161, 259, 261; and immanence, 18, 249; being, 90–91, 103–104, 108, 115, 171 transcendental, 224–26 transference of merit, 263, 283 trans-sectarianism, 91, 94, 277–79, 284 Treatise on the Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith. See Awakening of Mahāyāna Faith Treatise on the Great Transcendent Wisdom 大智度論, 320n42, 330n31 trichotomy. See dialectics True Mystery 真怪, 170–72 True Pure Land School 浄土真宗. See True School True School 真宗, 17–29, 241, 262; branches, 32–33; doctrine first in English, 26–28; and Enryō, 91, 150, 238, 241–42, 255, 260, 295–96; as Protestantism, 19–20, 23–24, 25–29; reform movement, 24–28, 31–33, 238; and superstition, 24, 167. See also Shinran True Word School 真言宗, 281 truth 真理: as the Absolute, 102; a priori concept of, 62–63, 66, 67, 71, 115; conceptual history of, 55, 57–63; criterion of,

408  Index of Names and Western Terms

88–89, 94, 97, 103–07; and discussion, 45–47; empirical, 31, 72; in An Evening of Philosophical Conversation, 101–08; in The Golden Compass of Truth, 87–91; and the Good, 127–35; and the Good and the Beautiful, 113, 133, 292; horizontal vs. vertical, 97; ineffability of, 57–58, 59, 107, 131; love of, 93, 95–96, 127–32, 163; and Mystery Studies, 167, 170; philosophical, 70; positivist, 193; and postmodern scholarship, 37, 39–40, 174; pragmatic theory of, 247–48, 257–58, 264; scientific, 69, 135; secular, 88–91; and the university, 67, 69, 71–72, 77; as value, 133, 135. See also validity Tsuda Mamichi 津田真道 (1829– 1903), 83, 315n2 Tübingen University, 68 Tyndall, John (1820–1893), 76. See also X-Club ultranationalism. See nationalism United Nations, 194, 215 United States of America, 1–2, 11, 16, 100, 137, 142, 144, 231, 290 university: and Aristotelian paradigm, 64–66, 71, 135, 148; faculty order, 64–65, 68, 121; German, 68, 77; Imperial University 太学 (China), 64; Keio, 11, 151; Leiden, 62, 318n27; Oxford, 34, 141, 232; Paris, 64; research university, 58–59, 68, 69, 71, 85; science faculty, 68; theory of, 71–72, 122, 129–30, 134–35; Tübingen, 68; See also system of the sciences; Toyo University; Tokyo University

Unknowable, 104, 171, 224–25, 327n6 Ura 浦 village, 7. See also Inoue Enryō: home temple, family utilitarianism, 122, 129–30, 157, 270–71; as consequentialism, 271–72. See also under causality validity: as guideline of philosophical historiography, 40, 42, 77, 115, 117, 127, 292; practical, 48, 67, 70, 133, 193, 215, 258; theoretical, 62, 72, 97, 115–16, 191, 239, 246–47, 256, 267 (see also truth) Valignano, Alessandro (1539–1606), 19 Victoria, Queen (1837–1901), 2 Vietnam, 120, 123, 194; Saigon, 3 virtue, 39, 135, 147, 213; Buddhism, 269; Confucianism, 18, 121, 150, 176, 200; Education Rescript, 158–59, 163, 176, 201. See also compassion; filial piety; loyalty; wisdom Voltaire (1694–1778), 25 Wáng Bó 王勃 (ca. 650–676), 12 Wáng Yángmíng 王陽明 (1472– 1529), 119 war, 41, 163, 190, 192, 194. See also specific wars Weber, Albrecht (1925–1901), 141 Weber, Max (1864–1920), 20, 23, 29, 169 welfare: of society, 179, 246; as charity, 21, 35, 149, 263, 270, 278, 280–85 West, Western: academia, 46; antiquity, 95; Buddhism, 255; calendar, 45; Enlightenment, 14–15, 166; ethics, 157, 270, 272; imperialism, 9, 41, 145, 163, 207, 213–15; modern

Index of Names and Western Terms  409

civilization, 3, 10, 14, 50, 95, 98, 117, 122–23, 137, 146, 149, 195, 197, 207, 210; as opposed to the East or Orient, 78, 107, 144, 98, 140, 214; as opposed to East Asia, 67, 81, 250; as opposed to India and China, 70, 97; as opposed to Japan, 75; religion, 25, 76, 138, 278; religious studies, 91; scholarly perception by, 28–29, 40–41, 118, 280; science, 31–32, 33, 37, 50, 53, 62–63, 66, 69, 74, 93, 239; terminology, 34, 35, 51–56, 57, 59, 100, 119–20, 150, 227, 247, 270; as travel destination, 1, 25, 137–38; Western studies, 11, 46, 61, 68, 121, 295. See also Europe Western Original Vow Temple 西本願寺, 32–33. See also True School Western philosophy, 33, 54, 59, 62, 116–17, 137, 229, 238, 242, 245, 247; Enryō’s understanding of, 75, 92–93, 98–101, 148–49, 221, 239; at early Tokyo University, 69–71, 74, 75, 78–84, 98–100. See also ethics; metaphysics; philosophy westernization, 1, 2, 14. See also Occidentalism wisdom: Buddhism, 229, 246, 264, 270; Confucianism, 3, 150, 176,

134; Enryō about 14, 16, 137; folk, 167; Itō Hirobumi about, 2, 45; Western philosophy, 95, 116, 119, 135 Wittgenstein, Ludwig (1889–1951), 67, 174, 268 world travels. See Inoue Enryō: world travels World War I, 145, 194, 199, 207, 213, 284 World War II, 3, 158, 162, 190–91 X-Club, 73–76, 87, 165, 240 Xuánzàng 玄奘 (602–664), 321n57 Xúnzǐ 荀子 (3rd cent. BCE), 60, 88, 166 Yamagata Sokō 山鹿素行 (1622– 1685), 317n17 Yáng Zhū 楊朱 (ca. 4th-3rd cent. BCE), 98 Yogācāra School, 100–101, 241 Yoshitani Kakuju 吉谷覚寿 (1843– 1914), 48, 78 Zen School 禅宗, 78, 111, 237, 241–42 Zhìy ǐ 智顗 (538–597), 316n12 Zhū Xī 朱熹 (1130–1200), 119–21, 176 Zhuāngzǐ 荘子 (4th cent. BCE), 19 Zonkaku 存覚 (1290–1373), 329n19