Public Opinion Propaganda Ideology Brill’S Japanese Studies Library

Public Opinion Propaganda Ideology Brill’s Japanese Studies Library

Edited by Joshua Mostow (Managing Editor) Caroline Rose Kate Wildman Nakai

VOLUME 39

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.nl/bjsl Public Opinion Propaganda Ideology

Theories on the Press and its Social Function in Interwar Japan, 1918–1937

By Fabian Schäfer

Leiden • boston 2012 Cover illustration: Taken from volume 2 of Sōgō jānarizumu kōza (Naigai-sha, 1930/31), depicting violations against article 23 of the press law (shinbunshi-hō) and article 19 of the publishing law (shuppan-hō) in 1923 (right circle) and in 1929 (left circle). During the short period of only six years, prohibitions of sale on the basis of ideology-based violations of the public peace and order (an’nei chitsujō) rose from 122 to 565 cases, whereas offenses against public morality ( fūzoku kairan) sunk from 1.394 to 614 cases.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Schäfer, Fabian. Public opinion, propaganda, ideology : theories on the press and its social function in interwar Japan, 1918–1937 / by Fabian Schäfer. p. cm. — (Brill’s Japanese studies library ; 39) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-22913-6 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Journalism—Social aspects—Japan—History—20th century. 2. Journalism—Political aspects—Japan—History—20th century. 3. Public opinion—Japan. I. Title.

PN5407.S6S33 2012 02.230952—dc23 2012009656

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This book is printed on acid-free paper. Contents

List of Figures and Tables ...... vii Acknowledgements ...... ix

Introduction ...... 1

1. The Formation of a Modern Mass Press in Japan ...... 8

2. Transnational Contexts: Appropriation, Reciprocities, and Parallels ...... 16

3. disciplining Knowledge: The Foundation of Newspaper Studies ...... 34

4. The Social Function of the Press: Education, Public Opinion, Propaganda ...... 68

5. Marxian Intervention: The Crisis of Philosophy and the Actuality of Journalism ...... 95

6. Latent Publics: Rumors and the Reciprocity of Communication ...... 124

Conclusion ...... 157

References ...... 173 Index ...... 187

LIST OF FIGURES AND TABLES

Figures 1. Comparison of newspaper content ...... 53 2. Exhibition grounds of PRESSA on the right bank of the river Rhine in Cologne ...... 61 3. Ono Hideo, his wife Ono Tsuru and Karl d’Ester at the Starnberger See ...... 61 4. Article by Karl d’Ester on Ono Hideo, published in the German academic journal Zeitungswissenschaft in 1926 ...... 62 5. Karl d’Ester together with the editorial staff of the Tōkyō Imperial University’s student newspaper Teikoku daigaku shinbun (in autumn 1929) ...... 66 6. Karl d’Ester delivering a lecture on the history of the German press in the conference room of the newspaper Kyōto nichinichi ...... 67 7. Koyama’s model of the four strata of public opinion as adapted from Ferdinand Tönnies ...... 94

Tables 1. Reading habits of Tōkyō’s conscripts in the 1930s ...... 56 2. Information-seeking behavior of school children in the 1930s .... 57 3. The sociological meaning of the press ...... 81 4. Shimizu Ikutarō’s linguistic analysis of ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’ forms of news and public opinion ...... 153

Acknowledgements

I remain deeply indebted to many—to too many—for their enduring support and encouragement without which this book would not have been possible. First and foremost, however, I would like to express my gratitude to my family, above all my parents, for their unwavering confidence in me, though doubts must have lingered from time to time as to what exactly I was doing on my various research and conference trips to Asia and the USA as well as throughout Europe during the many years I worked on the dissertation that has become this book. I am moreover grateful to many friends and colleagues without whose criticisms and comments on earlier drafts this book could not have come to completion. My dissertation advisors Steffi Richter and Kobayashi Toshiaki have supported me since I began my early studies, eventually encouraging me to continue on to doctoral research. We became colleagues at the University of Leipzig, and over the years this relationship has grown into friendship. Both have been essential to me, and to this project, from the beginning to the end and have made crucial interventions throughout my research. The result of their generous guidance is this book, for which I alone remain responsible. A Japan Foundation Doctoral Fellowship allowed me to take a trea- sured year to gather sources at the library of the University of Tōkyō and the Multimedia and Socio-Information Studies Archive of the Interfaculty Initiative in Information Studies. Attending Professor Yoshimi Shunya’s weekly graduate seminars during my stay in Japan was insightful in many ways. It was also he who suggested, in 2001, the subject of my dissertation, at a time when he himself had just finished conducting research on the history of the Newspaper Research Seminar at the University of Tōkyō— the academic forerunner of today’s Interfaculty Initiative in Information Studies. He and other scholars—among them Iwasaki Minoru, Arnulf Kutsch, Naoki Sakai, Richard Calichman, Annette Schad-Seifert, Shimada Shingo, and Stefanie Averbeck—allowed me to present my work at conferences or study groups; and their criticism and comments were essential in focusing my research at different stages. While in Japan, my dear friend Yui Toshiyuki not only introduced me to his fantastic colleagues in the Department of German Studies at the University of Tōkyō, but also re-introduced me to the beauty of the writings of Heinrich von Kleist, x acknowledgements whom I had almost completely forgotten about since I graduated from high school. My gratitude remains especially with Paul Droubie and Maya von Heyden for our time together while conducting research at Tōdai. A Writing-Up Grant by the Modern East Asia Research Center at the University of Leiden provided me with the opportunity to take a precious, year-long sabbatical and revise my dissertation into a publishable book. In particular, I would like to thank Christopher Goto-Jones, Esther Truijen, Chiara Brivio, and Annika Pissin for the fruitful and wonderful year I was able to spend in the Netherlands. To Yih-Jye Hwang, who shared his office with me, I remain tremendously grateful for him being the fabulous office- mate that he is. Our coffee breaks were the inspiration for my writing. The ups and downs of writing a dissertation have created strong bonds between me and my fellow doctoral students at the University of Leipzig, especially Cornelia Reiher and Katrin Gengenbach. Along with my good friends Martin Roth and Oliver Geppert, they not only provided personal and scholarly assistance when needed, but also the necessary non-academic distraction from work that makes any and all work possible. And finally, I would like to thank ML for contributing so much to the completion of this book—much more than she might expect or could have expected. Introduction

The interwar period, ranging roughly from the end of WWI in 1918 and the open war launched against China in 1937, was a time of great intellectual diversity in Japan. In his recent book on the history of the social sciences in modern Japan, Andrew E. Barshay has described the 1920s and 1930s as a ‘pluralizing moment’ (Barshay 2004: 46) after the almost state-controlled knowledge-transfer in the preceding Meiji period. In contrast to earlier German-derived concepts of ‘state-science’ (Staatswissenschaften) and ‘national-economics’ (Nationalökonomie) of the preceding Meiji period, a great variety of new theories had not only been introduced but were also proactively altered to become applicable to the cultural context of modern Japan within newly founded disciplines such as sociology, political science and economics. One can argue that this intellectual development occurred for two reasons in particular: on the one hand, based on the rapid development of the global communication and transport infrastruc- ture, knowledge (in the form of news in the daily press or academic books) started to circulate globally and thereby turned into what Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels in 1847/48 called ‘common property’ in their Communist Manifesto. On the other hand, the pluralist and democratic developments on the political and social level in the 1920s within societies such as Japan (Taishō Democracy) or Germany (Weimarer Republik) not only allowed for, but even necessitated a pluralization of thought reflecting these most recent trends intellectually. Discourse on the press and its social function was no exemption to this general historical intellectual process. It was already in the eventful early Meiji period that a small number of Japanese enlighteners started to contribute to an emerging discourse on the press, describing it basically as an important instrument of technological civilization, intellectual enlightenment and political debate. As early as 1867, Fukuzawa Yukichi (1835–1901) offered one of the first systematic definitions of the modern press in his book Seiyō jijō (“Conditions in the West”), published upon his return from a mission to Europe and the USA. He carefully defined the basic function of ‘the newspaper’ (shinbun-shi) as the “collection and recording of new information about society and its distribution to the people” (Fukuzawa 1969–71, Vol. 1: 304). In a subsequent essay of 1879, entitled Minjō isshin (“Reform of the Condition of the People”), he 2 introduction remarked that printing technology (insatsu) in general, as one of the most important information technologies, was constitutive of the very essence of civilization along with the steamship, the telegraph and postal services. Fukuzawa even predicted that these four ‘tools’ (riki) of enlightenment possessed the power to create homogeneous global markets. He asserted, “if commercial news were transmitted by means of the telegraph and if freight would be carried by steam-ships, prices would become averaged everywhere” (Fukuzawa 1969–71, Vol. 5: 25). Moreover, an extensive use of these new information technologies would not only have economic effects but would also lead to a “change of the mentality of society” in general (Fukuzawa 1969–71, Vol. 5: 24). Fukuzawa suggested “telegraphs to shrink the surface of the earth. [. . .] [I]f combined with steam-power, time would shrink and things would become more plentiful and human life prolonged” (Fukuzawa 1969–71, Vol. 5: 25). By contrast, Tsuda Mamichi (1829–1903), who was, like Fukuzawa, a prominent member of both the Movement for Freedom and Popular Rights ( Jiyū minken undō) and the Meiroku-sha (Meiji 6 Society), saw the social function of the press within the civilization process mainly in its role as a moral educator of society. In an article published in the 20th issue of the group’s journal Meiroku zasshi in 1874, Tsuda praised the role of the press for the process of enlightenment of the people. He argued: “It should [. . .] be observed that the press has been truly significant in broadening the outlook of men as well as in advancing civilization and enlightenment. Moreover, to the press offices should be ascribed the nurturing of the roots of the nation’s strength and prosperity.” On the other hand, Tsuda already criticized also the sensationalist tendencies of modern journalism: “Half of the local reports [. . .] relate to robberies and adultery” (Tsuda 1874: 250). It is “beyond dispute that, in addition to contradicting the purpose behind the permission by the government to publish newspapers, [these reports] are actually contrary to the aim of the press [. . .] to advance civilization and enlightenment” (Tsuda 1874: 251). At the same time, the political role of the newspaper was emphasized, particularly by a group of young journalists such as Fukuchi Gen’ichrō (1841–1906) or the politician Yasukawa Shigenari (1839–1906), based on their observations of the conditions in European countries. About a decade after the Meiji restoration, Yasukawa (1875) considered the press as an important means for the development of democracy, in his book on the Victorian British press (which at the time of his visit already had assumed gigantic dimensions, with London alone having more that 50 papers). He claimed that the freedom of the press in countries like Great Britain had introduction 3 helped to “encourage the knowledge of the people and supported the unification of the nation.” Fukuchi (1894) hinted in his memoirs at the political importance of the press, because “it has the power to influence public opinion ( yoron).”1 Given the tremendously fast development of the newspaper publishing business starting from the last decade of the 19th (cf. chapter 1 for an overview of the development of the modern press in Japan), the late Meiji and early Taishō (1912–1926) periods were predominantly characterized by the emergence of practical and ethical handbooks for journalists and newspaper entrepreneurs. One of the first books of this type was published by journalist and politician Matsumoto Kunpei (1877–1944) in 1899. His book entitled Shinbungaku (“Newspaper Studies”) (Matsumoto 1899)—which was actually the first to feature the term shinbungaku in its title (later becoming the name of the Japanese version of German academic newspaper studies)—is representative of this type of publications on the press written by practicing journalists such as Sugimura Sojinkan (1915), Onose Fujito (1915), and Yoshino Sakuzō (1916) during this period. However, despite the title of Matsumoto’s book, these publications were by no means aiming at the foundation of an academic discipline; rather, these were comprehensive guides to the newspaper publishing business and the work and training of journalists. Basically, these publications primarily introduced facts on the foreign press, its economic and managerial aspects, or the professional practice and training of journalists in Europe and the USA. 1918, marking the year of the outbreak of the so-called nationwide rice riots (kome sōdō) in Japan, must be considered a crucial tipping point for the future development of the prewar Japanese press, public opinion, and its related academic and intellectual discourse. Other than the rather descriptive publications on the press written in the Meiji era, proponents of this period tried to find ways to understand and define the social and ideological function of the press or the social processes behind the formation of public opinion. Initiated by the statement of an official of Prime Minister Terauchi Masatake’s (1852–1919) government that the “bombastic and inflammatory news” about provincial rioting in the newspapers was “spreading an evil influence everywhere” (quoted in: Huffman 1997: 366), the riot and its coverage in the mass press not only set off one of the most intense struggles between newspaper publishers and the government in

1 Quotes by Yasukawa and Fukuchi are taken from Yamamoto (1969b: 62). 4 introduction prewar history, but also intensified the interest of academic scholars into the press and its social function. Home Minister Mizuno Rentarō (1868– 1949) eventually forbade any news coverage of the riots on August 14, and clamped down especially hard on the Ōsaka Asahi shinbun, home of renowned journalists such as Hasegawa Nyozekan (1875–1969) and Tori’i Sosen (1867–1928). The government felt prompted to take action particularly on the Ōsaka asahi after the paper had published a commentary on a reporters’ rally against press censorship, in which reporter Ōnishi Toshiō (1896–1947) used a phrase from a Chinese classic, the Book of History, describing the atmosphere at the rally as that of “a white rainbow pierc- ing the sun” (hakkō hi o tsuranuku). This allusion to the peasants contem- plating revolution in pre-modern China, which can also be interpreted as an assassination threat against the emperor, ultimately led to the harsh backlash by government officials. The Home Minister not only confiscated that day’s issue, but also initiated judicial proceedings to shut down the paper altogether. This step, along with the attacks of right-wing organizations accusing the paper of inspiring ‘treason,’ finally caused the Asahi to submit to the officials’ conditions and issue a public apology, promising henceforth to be ‘impartial’ and to show “respect for the imperial house” as well as “support for constitutional government.” Moreover, the Asahi announced the resignation of its president Murayama Ryōhei (1855–1963), managing editor Tori’i, and city editor Hasegawa, who openly criticized this kind of state censorship of the press (Huffman: 367). Having learned their lesson from the harsh government reaction to the Asahi shinbun’s alleged attack on the Emperor—later to become known as the White Rainbow Incident (Hakkō jiken)—most newspapers in Japan henceforth committed themselves to the dogma of being ‘impartial and non- partisan’ ( fuhen futō).2

2 According to historian Andrew Barshay (1988: 154–155), “beginning with the ‘White Rainbow’ incident the relative importance of the critical function in organs of opinion gradually diminished. The vast expansion of readership in the years after 1918 brought about the rapid commercialization of all communications media. With it, the price of ‘failure’—being shut down, pressured, or otherwise threatened by the government—grew that much higher. A newspaper had to publish, period.” Ariyama Teruo (2004b: 241–242) argues that a fundamental problem of the motto “impartiality and non-partisanship” was that it did not offer certain norms for the journalists to judge their own reporting. Thus, despite claiming to be “neutral,” even the formerly rather liberal newspaper Ōsaka asahi shinbun declared an anti-revolutionary and pro-Emperor stance from the 1920s onwards. Thereby, according to Ariyama, the press adopted a system of unenforced self-censorship. Historian Carol Gluck (Gluck 1985: 233) describes this process as follows: “At the same time the distinctive editorial stance that still characterizes Japanese journalism emerged introduction 5

One can argue that it was particularly the debates over the freedom of speech during and after the events of 1918 that triggered intense debates in academic and journalistic circles about the social function of the press (as a commercial enterprise vs. being an organ of education and enlightenment) and the formation of public opinion (in terms of free speech vs. social control). In their efforts to understand these aspects, many academics and intellectuals were influenced by the approaches of the social sciences in Germany. (Cf. chapter 2 for an overview of the transnational contexts of the contemporary discourse on the press and public opinion in interwar Japan.) Most notably, studies of the press at that time in Japan followed existing concepts of German Zeitungswissenschaft or Zeitungskunde (newspaper studies) and sociology. The main proponent of newspaper studies in Japan (shinbungaku) was journalist and philologist Ono Hideo (1885–1977), who by 1929 had managed to establish the Newspaper Research Seminar (Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu) at Tōkyō Imperial University (Tōkyō teikoku daigaku) (cf. chapter 3). Despite its academic institutionalization at the end of the 1920s, Ono’s approach did not remain uncontested. Within the boundaries of academia, Ono’s own disciple Koyama Eizō (1899–1983) criticized his mentor’s strict adherence to German newspaper studies from an interdisciplinary perspective and introduced sociological approaches to the press and public opinion in the 1930s (cf. chapter 4). Outside academia, it was particularly Marxian philosopher Tosaka Jun (1900–1945) who criticized the uncritical adoption of (what he called) ‘bourgeois’ sociology and newspaper studies (cf. chapter 5), whereas sociologist Shimizu Ikutarō (1907–1988) shifted his focus away from theorizing about the relationship between larger imagined entities such as ‘the press’ and its ‘public’ (being the designated subjects of newspaper studies and sociology) towards rumors as a form of interpersonal communication and the formation of what he considered ‘latent’ public opinions (cf. chapter 6).

more decisively. It combined frequently crusading anti-establishment positions—often as critical of the parties as of the government—with an ever-stronger insistence on ‘impartial and non-partisan’ editorial policy. Even the aggressively progressive Ōsaka asahi shinbun adopted the motto that it had earlier avoided and became fuhen futō in the aftermath of government suppression in 1918. But this combination of conscientious opposition with the sometimes Herculean effort to remain editorially unaligned was not a product of censorship alone. Rather, like the censorship itself, it was a legacy of Meiji politics and ideology: the stance of opposition was inherited from the long popular crusade against the government, and that of non-alignment from the cumulative effects of the identification of party politics with civically unworthy partisanship.” 6 introduction

Starting in the second half of the 1930s, discourse on the mass media and public opinion was gradually linked to and animated by ideological concepts such as ‘Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere’ (Dai tōa kyōeiken), ‘Volk’ (minzoku), ‘Japanese spirit’ (nihon seishin) or ‘thought war’ (shisō-sen). Whereas Tosaka Jun’s outspoken critique of this fascist- Nipponist ideology (cf. chapter 5) was successfully silenced by the war regime by banning him from publishing and arresting him for violating the Peace Preservation Law (chian iji hō) in 1938—he eventually died in prison only a couple of days before the official Japanese declaration of surrender—other scholars and intellectuals such as Shimizu, Ono, and Koyama accommodated themselves to the new political situation by realigning their thought more or less with the nationalistic ideology (cf. the conclusion of this book).

A comprehensive Japanese monograph on interwar discourses on the press and its social function is still lacking, not to speak of an English one. Accordingly, the predominant aim of this book is to remedy the lack of research on the prewar history of media and communication theory in Japan. As with the small number of articles on the potential proponents of a critical tradition of culture and media studies such as Tosaka Jun (Yamamoto 1962; Etō 1972; Takagi 1983; Tsuruki 1987; Yoshimi 1998; Baba 1985, 1973; Schäfer 2007, 2011), secondary literature on the single proponents of the prewar discourse on media and communication, if existent at all, is fragmentary and widely scattered. Publications on Ono Hideo include a number of obituaries on the occasion of his demise (Hirokawa 1978; Uchikawa 1978) as well as discussions of his scholarly output and his involvement in the foundation of the first Newspaper Research Seminar at Tōkyō Imperial University (Tsuchiya 2006; Yoshimi 1999, 2000, 2002a; Schäfer 2005). Regarding the sociological and social-psychological approach, although one can find a growing number of recent and very critical studies of Koyama Eizō’s racial and propaganda studies (Fukuma 2003; Kushner 2006; Morris-Suzuki 1999, 2000; Satō 1998; Yoshimi 1999, 2000, 2002a) as well as some rather euphemistic and laudatory publications on his theory of public opinion and advertising (Miura 1996; Miura and Iwai 1997), only a very limited number of studies exists regarding other proponents of this approach. Despite the fact that many general introductions are available of sociological thought in Japan and its main proponents (Kawai 2003; Kawamura 1975; Naka 2002), one is able to find only limited secondary sources on the biography and thought of Muneo Matsuji introduction 7

(Tomizuka 2002) and Shimizu Ikutarō (Kersten 2006; Oguma 2003; Ōkubo 1999, 2004, 2006), though with no particular regard to their approaches to the mass media, public opinion, or communication. Moreover, virtually no research is obtainable on the prewar writings of relatively unknown figures such as Fujiwara Kanji and Sugiyama Sakae. Unlike the manifold prewar discourse on media and communication in the 1920s and 1930s that will be the subject of this book, and on which research is as yet insufficient, the shift towards propaganda studies and propaganda policies within the intellectual discourse of wartime Japan towards the end of the 1930s until the mid-40s is well-documented in a vast number of publications in Japanese and in Western languages. Besides the already mentioned studies on the propaganda theory of Koyama Eizō, these include annotated collections of primary sources and publications on wartime propaganda policies (Akazawa 1995; Nanba 2002; Ariyama and Nishiyama 2000; Awaya 1981; Satō 1996; Satō 1998; Tsuganesawa and Satō 1994) and publications dealing with the state control of the mass media (Uchikawa 1973, 1975; Uchikawa and Kōuchi 1961; Mitchell 1976; Kasza 1988). Chapter One

The Formation of a Modern Mass Press in Japan

There are only a few countries in which the press had become such an important factor of cultural development as in the ‘Empire of the Rising Sun.’ [. . .] Today, Japan’s press marches in the vanguard of the world press, in terms of the circulation figures of individual newspapers as well as technical facilities. (Karl d’Ester) Given the politically turbulent times before and after the Meiji Restoration (1868) (Meiji ishin),1 most of the newspapers founded in Japan in the 19th century had a political background as well. They belonged to an early type of newspapers that German press historian Heinz-Dietrich Fischer has defined as ‘tendency press’ (Tendenzpresse) for the European case. According to Fischer, the tendency press of the 19th century can be described as “a specific form of periodical which supports, either by direct dependence, indirect connection, or mere sympathy [. . .] the objective of a political group” (Fischer 1981: ix). With the exception of the first English- language financial newspapers, founded in Japan by foreign journalists already during the Bakumatsu period (1853–1868),2 the earliest political newspapers were published under the supervision of the tarnished bakufu3 in order to gain influence on public opinion and the political situation. In particular, there are two publications from the so-called ‘Keiō press’ (named after the Keiō period, 1865–1868) of this period were important: the Chūgai shinbun (founded 1868), published by Yanagawa Shunsan,4 and

1 The term Meiji Restoration refers to the re-establishment of the Imperial Reign in 1868. 2 The Nagasaki List and Advertizer (1861) by the Englishman H.W. Hansard, The Japan Herald (1861) by Scotsman John R. Black, The Japan Commercial News (1863) by the Portu- guese F. da Roza, or the Kaigai shinbun (1864/65) published by Joseph Heco, an American of Japanese origin. 3 This was the name of the feudal regime in Japan up to the end of the Edo period (ca. 1600–1868). 4 Yanagawa Shunsan (1832–1870) was one of the first modern Japanese journalists (Huff- man 1997: 32) and one of the first assistants at the successor organization of the Research Institute for Western Books, kaiseijo, founded in 1863. the formation of a modern mass press in japan 9 the Kōko shinbun (founded 1868) by Fukuchi Gen’ichirō.5 The publishers of both newspapers had close personal ties to the bakufu shogunate. Accordingly, the news coverage of both periodicals—of which the former once reached a circulation of more than 1,500 copies—was oriented against a restoration of the Emperor and towards the preservation of the shogunate. In addition to these ‘official’ papers, which were supported by the bakufu, dozens of other newspapers taking a position against the government were also launched. Indeed this period was a time of relatively free expression of opinion and open discussion among the intellectual and political strata in Japan. Despite the fact that the fifth article of the Charter Oath (Gokajō no goseimon) pronounced by Emperor Meiji in 1868, outlining the main aims and the course of action for Japan’s modernization, stated that “all matters [were to be] decided by open discussion (kōron),”6 the year of the Meiji Restoration saw yet again a suppression of the freedom of expression by means of an absolute ban on publication (hakkō kinshi) in order to stabilize the political situation. From that time onward, every publication was subject to the approval of the then newly established Meiji government. However, the officials soon had to recognize that a press law that was too restrictive was far from appropriate to their own modernization campaigns. Therefore, only a year later, the government enacted a rather liberal eight-article edict for the publication of newspapers (shinbunshi inkō jōrei). This edict abolished pre- censorship, though it maintained the system of authorization by the state, and it transferred the full responsibility for the newspaper’s contents to its respective publishers. The ensuing situation in the first years of the Meiji period (1868–1912), which was politically a relatively liberal period, witnessed a multitude of newspaper start-ups by private entrepreneurs. Most of these papers had a particular political character and can be classified according to their political faction. The first of these was the group of conservative newspapers (kanken-ha), which advanced official and government-friendly opinions.

5 Fukuchi Gen’ichirō (1841–1906) was one of the most famous journalists of the Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun. In 1888, he started to work for the Yamato newspaper. In 1904 he was elected a member of the Japanese parliament. 6 This was, for the first time in Japan’s modern history, that the idea of the term ‘public’ (kō/oyake) was not related to the idea of ‘official,’ ‘formal,’ or ‘governing authority,’ but to that of a public sphere or ‘society’ in general. Jürgen Habermas has described a similar conceptual shift for the case of Europe in his landmark study The Structural Transforma- tion of the Public Sphere (1962). 10 chapter one

These included the first Japanese daily newspaper, Yokohama mainichi shinbun (founded 1870), and also the Yūbin hōchi shinbun (founded 1872), which even incorporated the title of official government newspaper (goyō shinbun), a title which the Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun (founded in 1872) also held at times. These newspapers had in common that they were published by leading bureaucrats of the new administration, obtained sub- sidies from the state, and were in fact organs of the new government. In 1872, the government even decided to begin sending copies of these goyō shinbun to every prefecture and encourage the establishment of public reading rooms for their use. According to Gregory K. Ornatowski, this can be understood as a reflection of the attitude of the government that considered “newspapers [as] useful organs in furthering understanding and acceptance of new government policies” (Ornatowski 1985: 7). In return for the government’s privileging, the newspapers “cooperated with the government’s intentions by devoting a good deal of their space to government decrees, explanations of them, and articles encouraging bunmei kaika (civilization and enlightenment).” (Ornatowski 1985: 8) The second group was represented by the liberal-democratic newspapers of the minken-ha, which were run by a group of politicians and intellectuals who had committed themselves to the advocacy of popular rights and free elections. Most of them had connections to the people’s rights movement ( Jiyū minken undō). Two of the most important newspapers of this group were the Chōya shinbun (founded 1972) and the Tōkyō akebono shinbun (founded 1875). Despite their totally opposing views on the matter of popular rights—a matter that caused lively discussions in the editorials of the papers of both groups—they were united in response to a new piece of press legislation. It was, in particular, the protest against a new and far more restrictive press law introduced in 1875 (shinbunshi jōrei) and a law on protection against libel (zanbōritsu) of the same year that led to the establishment of an association of newspaper journalists (shinbun kisha rengō), in which even conservative journalists openly dis- tanced themselves from the government. This step can also be seen as the turning point where the Japanese press began to emancipate itself from its dependency upon the state.7

7 This situation was similar to that of 19th century Europe. Historian Anthony Smith has summarized the case of France thus: “In 1815, press freedom in Europe was an idea, a dream, an experiment, a fearful dread; by 1881 it had become an enduring institution, its most admired text enshrined in the French Press Law passed in July of that year.” (Smith 1979: 105) In the course of the foundation of the Reich in 1873 Germany, like France, had enacted a standardized press law (Reichspressegesetz) in the following year, which was to the formation of a modern mass press in japan 11

At the outset of the formation of political parties at the beginning of the 1880s, evoked by the Emperor’s resolution to summon a parliament in 1890, another form of political newspaper emerged: the party paper. The Jiyū shinbun, founded in 1882, became the party organ for the Liberal Party ( Jiyūtō) that had been founded one year earlier; the Yūbin hōchi shinbun (founded 1872) placed itself in the service of the Constitutional Reform Party (Rikken kaishintō); and the Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun served as a medium for the Constitutional Imperial Rule Party (Rikken teiseitō). The so-called Era of Party Papers (seitō kikanshi jidai) described above came to a sudden end after only a few years. This occurred for several reasons. The most important of these was intensified enforcement of the press law of 1883—a law that was particularly aimed against the popular rights movement (i.e. the liberal spectrum of the print media), resulting in a wave of arrests of unpopular and oppositional journalists. Both the threat of being banned from publishing and the augmentation of the bail for the amortization of possible fines could mean bankruptcy for small newspapers. Thus, after the enactment of the new press law, about 40% of the newspapers being published in the Tōkyō area ceased publication. Other reasons, such as splits and conflicts within certain parties as well as the general financial depression that prevailed in Japan at the beginning of the 1880s, were also partly responsible for the demise of the party papers. In the 1880s, not only Japan, but the whole world was ready for a ‘new formula,’ to use the words of press historian Anthony Smith (Smith 1979: 141): namely the phenomenon of the mass press, which emerged in the 1830s in France and the USA, in the 1850s in England, and a few decades later in Germany and Japan. In the USA, these newspapers were called ‘penny papers,’ in France they were given the name ‘grande presse,’ and England described them as ‘new journalism.’ In Japan, this new formula was best represented by the so-called ko-shinbun, small-format papers

guarantee freedom of the press. This liberal law, which abolished the practice of deposits or stamp taxes, set “the essential stage for the long-lasting economical upswing of the press.” (Stöber 2000: 136) In Britain, the total abolition of the so-called ‘stamp tax’ on newspapers in 1861 was not really comparable to this liberal form of law, but at least it put an end to what was called ‘taxes on knowledge,’ which resulted in an enormous boost to the newspaper market. In 1881, with the abolition of the obligation to deposit a caution (enforced since in 1819), English press law finally achieved liberalization. In the United States, the government had already recognized the important political meaning of the press: “The newspaper had become a crucial tool in building the nation, [. . .] gradually all the papers were drawn into the task of national and local administration.” (Smith 1979: 133) All things considered, after the French Revolution of 1789, the independence of the USA and the Meiji Restoration of 1868 in Japan, the press had become a global driving force for political activity. 12 chapter one such as the Yomiuri shinbun (founded 1874), or the Ōsaka asahi shinbun (founded 1879), in opposition to the political press and party papers discussed above. (These papers were called ō-shinbun because of their larger format.) According to press historian Stöber, the formula of this global phenomenon described by Smith encompassed the following universal criteria: [It was] falling paper prices, an explosive expansion in the capacity of printing machines, and the growing advertising market [that] advanced [the] implementation [of the mass press]. It established itself by expanding in the medium-sized to major cities. Here, it found a public that was open-minded enough for changes. Market entry was by no means based on displacing other newspapers; rather, they developed new spectra of readership. (Stöber 2000: 232) Given the universality of this phenomenon, Stöber’s description of the nature of the German mass press can likewise be applied to the Japanese press. At the beginning of the 1890s, both the Asahi shinbun and the Ōsaka mainichi shinbun had purchased highly efficient Marinoni rotary printing presses which made it possible to print up to 15,000 copies per hour. It was also at this time that the nexus between the newspaper business and the advertising business became tighter. In the years 1886–1908 alone, the prices for newspaper advertisements increased six-fold. However, only if a publisher was able to assure a constant or rising circulation of his paper could he be certain of high advertisement prices. Among the aforementioned intellectual or political papers, only the politically independent Jiji shinpō (founded in 1882 by Fukuzawa Yukichi) was able (due to its afflu- ent readership of middle-class and aristocratic upper-class) to compete with this next generation of newspapers by generating a considerable income from its advertising business. In order to generate money through high circulation, the ‘commodity’ of this new type of newspaper—i.e. its content—had to be suited to the broadest possible mass readership. Thus, there were diverse methods for guaranteeing continual circulation and achieving close bonds between a newspaper and a broader readership. In particular, it was the use of sim- plified language and the supplementary furigana8 that were to turn the newspaper into a commodity for a broader urban stratum. On the level of content, local news coverage in particular was intensified, since people

8 Furigana are Japanese phonetic syllabary characters written next to or above Chinese characters to show the pronunciation and facilitate reading of complex characters. the formation of a modern mass press in japan 13 living in densely urbanized areas “wanted to be informed of their nearby realm of experience” (Stöber 2000: 191). Another significant characteristic of this new type of mass journalism was the emergence of sports coverage. This was based on two considerations in particular. First, news about sports had a predominantly positive and entertaining nature. Second, sporting events were increasingly sponsored by the newspaper companies and thus represented an easy possibility for creating news based on ‘media events’—which also meant efficient advertising for the newspapers themselves. For instance, around the turn of the century, coverage of the national sumo championship entered the papers and in 1906 the Yomiuri shinbun began to report on the high school baseball champion- ships, while the Ōsaka mainichi shinbun held a national swimming contest (in 1901) and the first marathon in Japan (in 1907) (Westney 1987: 189). Modern sports notably gained in importance: in 1911, the Asahi shinbun organized the first Japanese air show and even invited an American avia- tor to Japan to show his flying machine to the Japanese people. In this way, sports became not only a “sales strategy, but at the same time also a synonym for modernity” (Stöber 2000: 194). In addition to sport, and along with reports of bribery scandals in politics or the sex lives of politicians and other administrative leaders, it was the reporting of so-called ‘social problems’ (shakai no mondai), uncovered by the investigative journalism of the modern mass press, that evoked the interest of the new urban masses. Huffmann describes this new phenomenon as follows: Now, awakened to bleak living conditions in the expanding cities and pro- pelled by new classes of readers, journalists became a vanguard for social change, [. . .] who took up the whole range of shakai no mondai afflicting the city masses: low wages, inadequate housing, lack of organization or influential connections, inhuman working conditions, inadequate child care and nutrition in the home, pollution of the rivers, prostitution and concubinage, the need for labor organizations. The populist journalists dealt with these issues in every section of the papers, in novels about everyday problems, in ads for solidarity rallies, in editorials about corrupt politicians who robbed the poor, in news articles about dead fish in the Watarase. (Huffman 1997: 269–270) The newspaper Yorozu chōhō (founded 1892) in particular, assigned itself the task of covering the social mishaps of the urban populace. Ono Hideo, one of the most renowned press scholars of the 1920s and 30s, who himself worked for the Yorozu chōhō over a long period, referred to the journalistic ideals of its founder Kuroiwa Ruikō (1862–1929) as follows: “He wanted 14 chapter one to think as the general public did, he wanted to share their anger, and he wanted to solve problems along with them. It was his intention to give aid to the poor and infirm” (Ono 1971: 28). This was a basic attitude that many left-oppositional intellectuals of the time could identify with. In 1903–1904, before journalist Kuroiwa openly favored the war against Russia, the pacifist and Christian Uchimura Kanzō (1861–1930) as well as the socialists Kōtoku Shūsui (1871–1911) and Sakai Toshihiko (1871–1933) were among the most important editors of the Yorozu chōhō. In addition to the paper’s society-related content, factors responsible for the newspaper’s success included its unbeatable low price, its short and simple populist stories, and the sales-promotional yellow- ish paper. In 1903, the Yorozu chōhō increased its circulation to 87,000 copies—a success that could be beaten only by the Niroku shinpo (1893), which had a similar appearance and sold about 142,000 copies in the same year. According to Ono, there were many reasons why this new style of journalism had an effect on the rest of the newspapers in Japan during the last year of the Meiji period (1868–1912). Especially in the periods after the Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895) and the Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905), almost every paper was able to record enormous increases in circulation due to the public interest in war correspondence. Major papers, among them the Asahi shinbun, played an important role in creating strong public opinion in favor of war, particularly on the verge of the Russo-Japanese War, and in fostering the impression among the public that such a war would be an easy victory. This attitude had its roots in the anti-Russian reporting over the struggle with Russia on common interest in Manchuria after the Sino-Japanese War. (Ornatowski 1985: 56–60) Other factors contributing to the increasing popularity of newspapers included: a reduction in highly intellectual editorials and an increasing use of short comment pieces; an increase in social, economic, and arts topics; accelerated communications by means of the telegraph; reproductions of art works; the insertion of a vertical masthead; a larger typeface for titles; an intensification of advertising campaigns to promote sales; and a greater dependence on advertising revenue (Ono 1922: 250–251). These tendencies were not only displayed by the aforementioned ko- shinbun; the long-established, former purely political ō-shinbun was also increasingly affected by these developments. Accordingly, the Japanese press witnessed a growing congruence between the two formerly distinct types of newspapers. the formation of a modern mass press in japan 15

The reorganization of the Yūbin hōchi shinbun by journalist and editor Miki Zenpachi (1856–1931) in 1895 can be considered as a good example of these new processes. Like many other politically oriented newspapers it had lost ground heavily in terms of market share, and in the course of the paper’s reorganization, not only was the name reduced to Hōchi shinbun but the publishers also expanded the ‘miscellaneous’ column (in Japanese: sanmen kiji—literally: news on page three), reduced the price to one third of the original amount, introduced a smaller format, began to include serialized novels, reduced the number of political articles in favor of reports of entertainment and social content, and paid greater attention to a sim- pler language style. The benefits of these changes soon became observable in a consistently increasing daily circulation—from 21,000 copies in 1895 to 83,000 copies in 1903. (Huffman 1997: 386–387) According to historian William de Lange, “with the gradual political awakening of Japanese society during the [eighteen hundred]eighties, the sharp distinction between the major papers and tabloids disappeared” (De Lange 1998: 67). This congruence was based on the fact that, on the one hand, the ‘large newspapers’ (ō-shinbun) had adapted themselves to the commercial features of the modern mass press style so as not to lose their share of the market, while on the other hand, the ‘small papers’ (ko- shinbun) had begun to incorporate political news coverage intensively into their contents (although on a much more superficial level than that of the former political papers). Japanese media historian Yamamoto Taketoshi has described this finely tuned composition of political and entertainment content, incorporated best by the prototype Yorozu chōho, as a ‘strategy in two directions’ (ryōmen sakusen) (Yamamoto 1973: 97). By the 1920s, newspapers like the Tōkyō-based Mainichi shinbun or Asahi shinbun already reached daily circulations of more than a million copies and the inaugural issue of Kōdansha’s popular magazine Kingu sold the enormous number of 750.000 copies. Chapter Two

Transnational Contexts: Appropriation, Reciprocities, and Parallels

In place of the old local and national seclusion and self- sufficiency, we have intercourse in every direction, universal inter-dependence of nations. And as in material, so also in intellectual production. The intellectual cre- ations of individual nations become common property. (Marx/Engels, Communist Manifesto) The way of understanding global or international flows of cultural products or knowledge has previously been either through comparisons between two national formations of culture or knowledge, or through a search for traces of reception of ideas and knowledge from one national formation of culture and knowledge into another. However, what is problematic about these approaches is that before one can actually compare two formations or analyze the influence/reception between them, one has to presuppose the units under study or comparison—societies or nation- states—as given, self-contained and historically synchronous entities. In a certain sense, comparisons and analyses of intellectual reception are therefore always ‘tautological’ because they merely represent differences or similarities that were already implied in the way that these given entities are imagined (Werner and Zimmermann 2003: 610; 2006). In the final analysis, comparative approaches often lead to either an emphasis on cultural or national particularities or to a description of common universali- ties between the (national, social, cultural) entities under study. This approach, described in 1974 by sociologist Herminio Martins (1974: 276) as ‘methodological nationalism,’ considers “the ‘total’ or ‘inclusive society’—in effect the nation-state, [. . .]—to be the standard, optimal or even maximal ‘isolate’ for sociological analysis.”1 Modernization theory, by considering flows of knowledge and culture merely as a ‘transfer’ of knowledge from ‘Western’ (modern and highly developed) nations into ‘non-Western’ (non-modern and underdeveloped) nations epitomized this

1 The discussion on methodological nationalism within the social sciences was further developed by Beck (2000) and Wimmer and Schiller (2002). appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 17 perspective and contributed to its academic solidification. Accordingly, scholars who considered modernization teleologically as something that ends in an imagined ideal of (Western) modernity grasped the flows of knowledge merely in terms of a cultural or intellectual gradient between nations and the necessary process of the ‘lesser’ developed regions to catch up with the superior ideals of ‘Westernized’ modern societies.2 The historian Daniel T. Rodgers, author of a comprehensive study on transatlantic intellectual and cultural flows, described the problem of comparative approaches to the case of the USA and Europe as follows: The crux of comparative history is difference. By masking interdependen- cies between nations, freezing historically contingent processes into ideal types, and laying across them a grid of social and political characteristics, the method of comparison throws powerful light on differences. No one can work in this field without amassing a debt to the best of this comparative work. In the end, however, it is the connections between the industrializ- ing countries of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—their vulnerability to the same economic forces, the closeness with which they read each other’s experience and policy experiments—that makes the difference between their policy choices historically interesting. Robert Kelley’s admonition still carries weight: to take seriously “the appearance of similar movements within the several countries, like the outcroppings of common strata, derived from shared intellectual and social influences.” Atlantic-era social politics had its origins not in its nation-state containers, not in a hypothesized “Europe” nor an equally imagined “America,” but in the world between them. There are gains to be made by starting with connections. (Rodgers 1998: 4–5) As a result of this comparative approach, according to Rogers, with its focus on “questions of national difference,” “the narrative field too often [shrank] back in the nation; the boundaries of the nation-state bec[a]me an analytical cage,” and this produced “histories lopped off at precisely those junctures where the nation-state’s permeability might be brought into view, where the transnational forces do their most important work” (Rodgers 1998: 2).

2 Accordingly, the transmission of scientific knowledge or cultural products from other societies into Japanese society was often understood as ‘transfer.’ A wide range of literature deals with the ‘transfer’ of technological knowledge from western countries to Japan. The following publications are representative for that approach: a special issue of Monumenta Nipponica (1964, Vol. 19/No. 3+4), Jeremy, David J. (ed.) 1992: The Transfer of Interna- tional Technology: Europe, Japan and the USA in the Twentieth Century, Aldershot, Hants: E. Elgar; Yamada Keiji 1994: The Transfer of Science and Technology between Europe and Asia, 1780–1880, International Research Center for Japanese Studies: Kyoto; Jang-Sup Shin 1996: The Economics of the Latecomers: Catching-up, Technology Transfer and Institu- tions in Germany, Japan and South Korea, London, New York: Routledge. 18 chapter two

However, it is just as problematic to consider nation-states in an over- relativizing and idealizing manner as ‘semi-permeable containers’ (Rodgers 1998: 1), as if the intellectual strata of one country had unhampered access to a ‘world mart’ (Rodgers 1998: 4) of ideas as Marx and Engels also envisaged this in the prefixed quote from the Communist Manifesto. Though something like a ‘world mart’ of ideas might have existed, the participants were not always equal partners in this market place. In other words, this perspective easily obscures the fact that transnational/reciprocal cultural or intellectual entanglements are often embedded into certain power relations, which are not infrequently based on colonial or postcolonial relationships. In fact, especially the intellectual relationship between Euro-American and non-Euro-American societies must be characterized by what historian Dipesh Chakrabarty described as one of ‘asymmetric ignorance’ for the case of the social sciences: For generations now, philosophers and thinkers who shape the nature of social science have produced theories that embrace the entirety of humanity. As we well know, these statements have been produced in relative, and sometimes absolute, ignorance of the majority of humankind—that is, those living in non-Western cultures. This is in itself not paradoxical, for the more self-conscious of European philosophers have always sought theoretically to justify this stance. The everyday paradox of third world social science is that we find these theories, in spite of their inherent ignorance of ‘us,’ eminently useful in understanding our societies. (Chakrabarty 2008: 29) This paradoxical attraction towards a centripetal intellectual center that Chakrabarty—speaking from the subject position of a Indian intellectual in a postcolonial constellation—describes here must have been experienced in a very similar way by many intellectuals living and working in the ‘peripheries’ of the intellectual centers in the 1920s and 1930s such as Japan. Interestingly, it was not under the pressure of direct dominance or the use of force, but under an intellectual hegemony—or what Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci also described as ‘spontaneous consent’ (Gramsci 1988: 306–307)—that Western thought was accepted by intellectuals in the subaltern periphery in Japan or elsewhere in Asia. In divergence from the aforementioned approaches, which are based on comparisons or histories of reception, I generally agree with Daniel T. Rogers that it is important to think of new ways of approaching the intellectual flows of the 1920s and 30s. However, I’d like to grasp the global history of media and communication studies from three different perspectives.3

3 This approach owes much to the most recent historiographical trend of transnational history in German and French scholarship. For a comprehensive account of this appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 19

Firstly, from the perspective of appropriation, which conceives of the process of ‘transfer’ of knowledge or theories not as passive and ‘receptive,’ but as a spontaneous (in Gramsci’s terms) and creative one (in terms of the alteration and critique of adopted theories and knowledge). The second perspective from which the transnational flow of thought should be reconsidered here is that of intellectual and social reciprocities between different local intellectual formations of thinkers. The third perspective is that of cognitive and epistemological parallels between approaches of different geographical regions. Unlike the second approach, these parallels are not so much based on reciprocal or unilateral intellectual or social rec- ognitions, but on similar local reflections of analogical social or cultural global phenomena.4

Appropriation of Concepts Defining the ‘Press’ (shinbun) and ‘Public Opinion’ (yoron)

In the visual arts, the term ‘appropriation’ refers to the use of borrowed elements in the creation of new work. The new work does not actually alter the original per se; instead it uses the original to create something new and different. In contemporary sociology and cultural studies, the concept stands for “the assimilation of concepts into a governing framework . . . [the] arrogation, confiscation, [or] seizure of concepts” (Sosnoski 1993: 50). Accordingly, other than the idea of a passive reception from a ‘dominant’ to a ‘minority’ culture, the concept of appropriation understands the adoption of knowledge as an active, selective, and even productive process. If reconsidered from this perspective, it is necessary to look at the mechanisms and strategies behind the adoption, alterations, and critique of concepts such as ‘the press’ and ‘public opinion,’ by shed- ding light on the decision-making processes behind this adoption in particular.5 approach please refer particularly to Werner and Zimmermann (2003, 2006) or Middell (2000, 2005). 4 It is important to add here that the three approaches to be presented here are induc- tively derived from the primary sources of my research and, thus, do not necessarily possess the status of approaches in transnational studies in general. 5 Moore and Tumin (1949) have tried to describe this active process of exclusion of knowledge in their classic study, Some Social Functions of Ignorance. They define knowledge as an important source of power, while ignorance of other forms of knowledge (in the sense of ‘not-knowing’) can be understood as a social strategy to preserve a privileged position secured by the form of knowledge in possession. This implies that the decision in favor of a certain form of knowledge must be understood as an active choice and a consequent ignorance towards other forms. The reasons for ignorance of a certain field of 20 chapter two

For instance, the proactive decision by Ono Hideo to chose the more theoretical model of Zeitungswissenschaft over the rather pragmatic (i.e. fulfilling mainly the purpose of the professional training for future journalists) American schools of journalism had ideological and strategical reasons. Although clear-cut distinctions are always hard to make, one can say that other than the many Japanese private universities, whose graduates and scholars were still heavily influenced by Anglo-American philosophy and sociology in the 1920s (particularly by liberalism, pragmatism and/or Spencer’s organicistic view of society), scholars at the Imperial Universities had begun to shift towards German philosophy and social sciences in the 1880s.6 By the 1920s, the German language had already become something that French sociologist Bourdieu once termed as ‘cultural capital’ (Bourdieu 1984 [1979]: 1986), i.e. accumulated cultural knowledge that con- fers power and status. According to Katō Tetsurō, for somebody choosing a path in higher education beyond the compulsory education of six years, the exposure to the German language already started in the higher middle schools and higher normal schools, where German had been the primary foreign language instead of English since the 1890s. In 1930, according to Katō’s estimation, “at least half of Japanese students in their middle and higher education, i.e. several hundred thousand youths, attended German language classes every year”7 (Katō 2006: 122). knowledge are manifold: they range from personal dislike, language barriers and disciplinary borders to political inter-state relationships. The mutual and deliberate unawareness of the German sociologist Max Weber and the French sociologist Emile Durkheim during the period of formation of European sociology offers one good example of ignorance towards other national traditions of knowledge. (Tiryakian 1966) 6 The year Meiji 14 (1881) was especially decisive for the role that German thought should play in the process of ‘Westernization’ in the Japanese intellectual and academic world. In that year, the leading strata of Meiji oligarchs agreed to build the new constitu- tion of the young Meiji state on the Prussian model. The Japanese government hoped thereby to combine traditional Confucian values with Prussian constitutionalism in order to consolidate the rather young Japanese nation-state. In the aftermath, the hegemony of German thought disseminated into almost all academic and intellectual fields. This dominance was particularly strong within the fields of law, medicine, agriculture, philosophy, history and economics, where the Japanese universities had started to hire foreign scholars in order to expedite the modernization of their institutions. According to James R. Bartholomew, the majority of these scholars were from Germany: out of the 120 foreign academics at Tōkyō Imperial University almost 40% were German. Moreover, around the same time, the Japanese government started to send promising Japanese scholars abroad to study their respective disciplines at German Universities. Between 1895 and 1912, out of 623 people sent abroad by the Japanese Ministry of Education more than two thirds (539) visited Germany (Bartholomew 1978: 263). For a comprehensive discussion of this period see Pyle (1989). 7 The four main figures to be discussed in this book were all socialized in this Ger- manophile environment and graduated from Imperial Universities: Ono Hideo (German appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 21

Ono’s achievement in the field of Japanese newspaper studies was pioneering in three fields: a history of the Japanese press, empirical studies of the press, and theorization of the press on an academic level. In the beginning, and strongly influenced by the historicism of contemporary historiography in Japan, Ono’s research almost exclusively focused on historical research of the Japanese press (Ono 1922, 1927b, 1930/1931b). Subsequent to the foundation of the so-called Newspaper Research Seminar (Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu) at Tōkyō Imperial University in 1929 (of which Ono became managing director), the institute also conducted empirical inquiries on the press (such as surveys among newspaper readerships and content analyses respectively) under the guidance of Ono (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1931, 1937, 1942a, 1942b). Especially Ono’s third achievement—namely his theoretical approach towards the press and public opinion—provided the theoretical framework that became important in distinguishing the new academic discipline of shinbungaku—based on the definition of a research object uniquely reserved for this discipline—from other disciplines in the social sciences and, moreover, decisively shaped the subsequent discourse on the press and public opinion in Japan. With reference to Karl Bücher (1847–1930),8 professor in newspaper studies and economics at Leipzig University, Ono defined a ‘means of spiritual exchange’ (geistiges Verkehrsinstrument, shin-teki kōtsū kikan), possessing a significant meaning for society” (Bücher 1981 [1926]: 118; Ono 1926c: 1). As such, the press has basically two functions in Ono’s view: a ‘mediatory function’ (baikai kinō) and a ‘leading function’ (yūdō kinō). The former refers to the ability of the press to rapidly transmit news about current matters over a great distance; the latter—the leading function of the press—to the power of the press to evoke a ‘similar consciousness,’ in the sense of a unitary public opinion (yoron) among its spatially isolated readers. In doing so, Ono divided society into separate halves: a leading stratum of conscious and active leaders (among them journalists, politicians

literature in 1910), Koyama (sociology and political science in 1924 and 1925 respectively), and Shimizu (sociology in 1931) graduated from Tōkyō Imperial University. Tosaka Jun, although receiving his degree in philosophy from Kyōto Imperial University, graduated from Tōkyō’s First Higher School (Daiichi kōtō gakkō), which was the most prestigious higher school (comparable to today’s college level) in Japan at that time. Most graduates from Ichikō, as it was also acronymized, entered one of the Imperial Universities upon graduation. 8 Karl Bücher’s earliest book, which also included a long chapter on the press, was translated into Japanese under the title Kezai-teki bunmeishi-ron: kokumin kezai no seiritsu (“On the History of Economic Civilization—The Development of National Economy”) by Gonda Yasunosuke as early as 1917. 22 chapter two and intellectuals) and a passive mass of de-individualized people (Ono (1925a: 72). These remarks, in particular, by Ono reveal that he basically remained within the previously predominant dichotomy of an educated elite versus an uneducated mass of French crowd psychology, which was also prevalent among the rather conservative German newspaper researchers towards the Japanese academic audience (cf. Averbeck 1999). It was particularly Ono’s disciple sociologist Koyama Eizō who introduced sociological perspectives into Japanese newspaper studies. Especially with regard to the relationship between the press and public opinion, he could already rely on a number of publications by Japanese sociologists that had introduced the most current sociological trends in Europe in this field. Reflecting the two competing currents of sociology in Japan at the turn of the 19th century—namely the ‘organicistic’ view of society inspired by the reception of Comte and Spencer and the ‘psychologistic’ or ‘social-psychological’ view of society influenced by the theories of Tarde and Simmel (Becker 1936: 458–461)—sociologist Takebe Tongo (1871–1945) considered the role of the press as one of education (kyōdō) and social control (shakai tōsei), whereas his colleague Yoneda Shōtarō (1873–1945) introduced Gabriel Tarde’s (1843–1904) conceptual differentiation between ‘crowds’ (gunshū) and ‘publics’ (kōshū) and their relationship to the formation of public opinion (Takebe 1921; Yoneda 1919). Moreover, in 1923, sociologist Fujiwara Kanji (1895–1972) published a book that was influenced by contemporary sociological thought as much as by the perspectives put forth by proponents of early newspaper studies in Japan and Germany, which proposed a unification of Takebe’s and Yoneda’s approaches (Fujiwara 1923). Koyama’s sociological view on the effects of the modern press on society appears to be rather progressive. In today’s terms one might even refer to this as socio-constructivist. Although, like his mentor Ono, he defines the press as a ‘means of spiritual exchange,’ Koyama widens this definition by claiming that the most basic function of the modern mass press is to supply society with an ‘ideational construct of the world’ (kannen-teki sekai kōsei) (Koyama 1935: 231). According to Koyama, the effects of this mediated experience of social reality is so strong that the press even has the power to invert the relation of truth and falseness or of reality and unreality, since the people eventually conceive merely the ‘reported world’ (shinbun-ka sareta sekai) as the ‘true world,’ which turns the social reality not reported in the press into an ‘untrue world’ (Koyama 1935: 5). Based on this ‘catalytic function,’ Koyama describes the press also as the “eye through which we see society” (shakai o miru me) (Koyama 1935: 3). It was appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 23 already in his first book on newspaper studies that Koyama asserted that it was precisely this function of the press to distort mediated social reality that makes it so useful for propaganda purposes (Koyama 1935: 272). With regard to the concept of ‘public opinion,’ Koyama asserted that this phenomenon should not be simply understood as “the opinion of the majority on a certain issue,” but as a “notional construct, existing only as an abstraction (shi’i-teki kōsei-butsu, chūshō toshite sonzai suru nomi)” (Koyama 1935: 249). Koyama differentiated between four forms of public opinion to describe its different layers. Borrowing a model of public opinion formation developed by the German newspaper scholar and sociologist Gerhard Münzner (1928), who himself drew heavily upon assertions made by German sociologist Ferdinand Tönnies six years earlier in his Critique of Public Opinion (Tönnies 1922), Koyama argued that it was the first level of public opinion that was “primarily molded by everyday news-coverage.” However, this form of (political) public opinion was merely a ‘superstructure’ that rested upon deeper strata of shared opinions. Underneath the evanescent, ‘vaporous’ (kitai-teki yoron) level of opinion related to current events ( jiji ni kansuru iken) was the ‘fluid’ level of opinion that was based on class-consciousness. While Koyama seemed to emphasize the volatility of the opinions of those upper two levels that created only the rather loose links of Gesellschaft (association), he also contrasted them to an almost immobile and ‘solid’ stratum of customs and attitudes determined by the ‘ethnic spirit’ and the fundamental ‘social self-awareness’ of humanity as a whole that forms a feeling of Gemeinschaft (community), which has historically ‘crystallized’ out of the two more transient forms of public opinion (Koyama 1935: 258–259). What is already obvious here is that Koyama understood this concept simply as a model of the different shapes of common opinions and consciousnesses existing in a given society. This is unlike Münzner or Tönnies, who saw their model not only as a typology of the different qualitative forms of social consciousnesses but also as a model that describes the formation of public opinion through the shifts between variably consolidated layers. Against the background of growing commercialization in the 1920s and the increasingly alarmist and nationalistic tendencies of the mass press that followed the Manchurian Incident in 1931, the intellectual discourse on the press started to shift towards the idea of journalism ( jānarizumu) in general around the mid-1920s, often having an anti-capitalist and critical tone. Inspired by the strong impact of Marxist theory on Japanese social sciences in the 1930s (cf. Ishida 1984; Maruyama 1982]), many of the contributions to the influential lecture series on journalism (Sōgō jānarizumu 24 chapter two kōza) published in 1930/19319 by the publisher Naigai-sha took up a firm leftist or Marxist position as well.10 Even a brief look at the essays published in the twelve volumes of the lecture series reveals the dominance of these approaches. Most of the articles either criticize the class character, ideological nature, growing sensationalism, commercialization, or conglomeratization of the bourgeois mass press. In particular, the shift towards the concept of journalism and Marxist perspectives was informed by a debate among Marxist intellectuals over the role of a vanguard party and revolutionary paths taking place in the 1920s between the ideological leader of Rōnōha (Labor Farmer Faction), Yamakawa Hitoshi (1880–1958), and Fukumoto Kazuo (1894–1983), a Leninist and leading member of the Japanese Communist Party (JCP). Whereas Yamakawa and the members of the Rōnōha focused on a single revolution against the bourgeoisie and emphasized the need for a mass party of workers and peasants to form a united front instead of a Communist party, Fukumoto held the opinion that it was only if the JCP, though still lacking an organic cohesion with the masses, would become a ‘true vanguard party’ that a genuine proletarian class consciousness could be created, which could then lead to a two-step revolution, first against the remaining feudalist elements within Japanese society (first and foremost the Emperor), and then against the bourgeoisie. This debate over the different ways to create a revolutionary class- consciousness reverberated also in the discussion on the role of a proletarian press in the 1920s. While the two ‘Yamakawaists’ Hayasaka Jirō

9 Tsujimura Akira’s (1956: 187) rather negative appraisal that the majority of contributions to the lecture series weren’t on the level of ‘academic research’ but were mostly “inconsiderate and subjective assertions about the press” might be considered accurate, if one compares it, as Tsujimura does, to the later Lectures in Mass Communication (Masu komyunikēshon kōza) published in the postwar time. Despite this, the Lecture Series on Journalism had an immense impact on the shape of the discourse in the 1930s. This series not only contributed significantly to the use of the English word ‘journalism’ in contemporary Japan since the 1930s, but also set a proper definition for the term, comprising the press (shinbun), magazines (zasshi), and other sorts of print publications (shuppan- butsu). 10 As so many times before in Japanese intellectual history, it was the so-called sōgō zasshi ( journals of general content) that anticipated and forged this interest in the modern press and journalism. In March 1929, Kaizō published a special issue entitled shinbun-ron (On the Press), Keizai ōrai published a special number entitled Gendai jānarizumu hihan (Critique of Contemporary Journalism) in November 1930, and Chūō kōron published an issue entitled Gendai shinbun-ron (On the Contemporary Japanese Press) in July 1931. Among the contributors of the aforementioned journals, proponents of the leftist camp such as Hasegawa Nyozekan, Aono Suekichi, Hayasaka Jirō, Sugiyama Sakae and Suzuki Mosaburō were in the majority. appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 25 and Aono Suekichi emphasized that the spontaneous consciousness of the yet unorganized proletarian ‘masses’ (workers and peasants) should be elevated to a socialist class consciousness through a general proletarian mass press, Fukumoto himself (using the pseudonym Hōjō Kazuo) and ‘Fukumotoist’ Kadoya Hiroshi directly attacked this view, and stated that only the all-Japanese political organ of the re-founded JCP could become the press for the proletarian masses. This, they felt, would help to foster, by means of agitation, the national unification for class struggle (Kōuchi 1969; Yamamoto 1969a). It was particularly the latter camp that assimilated Vladimir Lenin’s views on the role of the press. Lenin, who had put forth his idea of the press as early as the beginning of the 20th century, defined the role of an ‘all-Russian’ press in his two famous essays, “Where to Begin?” (1901) and “What has to be done?” (1902), as the key instrument for the unification of the proletariat in Russia—namely as that of a ‘collective propagandist,’ ‘agitator,’ and ‘organizer.’11 Against the background of this ideological stalemate, Marxist philosopher Tosaka Jun’s approach to the press offered a fresh and inspiring philosophical perspective on the press that differed from the dogmatic view of the JCP. Being familiar with the aforementioned theoretical discourse of shinbungaku in Japan as well, Tosaka grounded his account of the press and public opinion on a more general critique of what he termed ‘bourgeois’ scholarship by opposing it to his understanding of a materialist social science (shakai kagaku). The method of Marxist social science as he envisaged it was actually very close to what his fellow Marxist economist Uno Kōzō (1897–1977) described as the “analysis of the contemporary situation” (genjō bunseki) (Duncan 1983: 301)—namely the contextualization of social phenomena in the light of their historical genesis and on the basis of the politico-economic conditions. Based on this general criticism, Tosaka made particular criticism of Ono’s and Koyama’s uncritical adoption of the terms ‘means of spiritual exchange’ (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]) and ‘public opinion’ (Tosaka 1966 [1932b]). He argued that the understanding of the press merely as a means of spiritual exchange was imprecise because this definition was in fact applicable to any material medium. Moreover, he pointed out that it was actually impossible to think of any

11 The organ of the JCP—the Proletarian Newspaper (Musansha shinbun)—was founded in 1925. Upon being banned temporarily, it was eventually absorbed by the new organ of the JCP—Akahata—in 1932. Though not being comparable to the daily Japanese mass press of that time, the first issue of the newspaper had a circulation of 25.000 copies (Yamamoto 1969: 146–47). 26 chapter two cultural or intellectual idea, which would not require a physical medium as its conveyor. Thus, to Tosaka, it was inappropriate to relate Ono’s and Bücher’s concept of ‘means of spiritual exchange’ exclusively to the press. To him, it was much more important to analyze the political economy of the modern press by questioning its embeddedness in the contemporary bourgeois-democratic and capitalist society. From this perspective, it was obvious to Tosaka that the press did not simply carry out the ‘neutral’ function of a means of spiritual exchange within society, but fulfilled, besides its economic function as a commodity, the social and cultural function of an ‘agent of ideology’ (ideorogī no ējento). Tosaka considered the concept of ‘public opinion’ to be at the core of this ‘bourgeois’ ideology conveyed by the bourgeois mass press. To Tosaka, to understand public opinion as an ‘average value’ (heikinchi)—namely the average opinion of ‘the people’ (vox populi, Volksmeinung) (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 135–136)—in fact meant to disguise the fact that public opinion was actually nothing but a social construct. In his opinion, public opinion was something like a certain norm or standard and thus the idealization of a previously determined (bourgeois-democratic) value. Similar to the meaning of ‘common sense,’ the idea of public opinion was in fact comparable to the public declaration of a certain health standard that considered “healthiness as the normal state” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 84–85), resulting in an internalization of this health standard by the people. Moreover, people even started to consider the preservation and improvement of this internalized health standard as their moral and social duty. Tosaka concluded that public opinion in fact did “not represent the average opinion held by the members of society at a certain moment,” but rather an ideological “goal or an ideal that the average value should be elevated to” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 85). Put differently, it had the effect of a ‘force field’ (chikara no ba) that ‘compelled’ (sokushin) the people to behave in accordance with certain norms, i.e. to behave in a ‘healthy’ way (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 85). Tosaka emphasized that the political norms or standards of liberal- democratic common sense were championed by a very small part of society—namely the ruling class of the bourgeoisie.12 To him, public opinion was nothing but “a rising murmur of one corner of society, called

12 Gramsci and Tosaka (1977 [1935/36]: 91) would have agreed that another common sense—one of ‘everyday knowledge’—exists besides a normative philosophical or political common sense. This “philosophy of non-philosophers” (how Gramsci termed it) was a “conception of the world which is uncritically absorbed by the various social and cultural appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 27 the bourgeois public (kōshū), or a ‘voice’ (koe), solemnly descending the stairways of the controlling government buildings” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 91). Unlike Jürgen Habermas, who emphasizes the positive effects of the modern print media as means for rational debate and the establishment of a bourgeois ‘public sphere’ (Habermas 1990 [1962]: 68–85) at its early stages, Tosaka criticized particularly the role of the early Japanese opinion press (ō-shinbun), which considered itself the ‘educators of society’ (shakai no bokutaku) (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 135), for playing a decisive role in multiplying the ‘healthy’ common sense or ‘public opinion’ advocated by the small bourgeois elite. Despite having turned into what Tosaka termed as an ‘agent of ideology’ (ideorogī no ējento), he considered journalism still as more promising than other contemporary agents of ideology. Other than academic philosophy for instance, which had detached itself from the actual everyday reality, it was particularly in journalism that Tosaka believed to have found an intellectual activity that, in its essential form, could fulfill the task of everyday critique.13 Tosaka asserts that if journalism is only understood as journalism in its most contemporary (commercialized and ideological) form, this original function is obliterated. To Tosaka, journalism from the outset had actually a different social function than academic philosophy since it was based on the “everyday life of the people,” “inhabiting” a world that is “quotidian, social, external and sometimes as well profane.” “[T]he interest of the common public into journalism is thus directed by its interest into the current, not the persistent matters” (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 147– 148). To Tosaka, “journalism, in contrast to academism, despite its internal antagonistic moments, is generally based on the principle of [. . .] actuality, a consciousness that origins in the activity of the everyday social-life (nichijō shakai seikatsu katsudō)” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 131). Accordingly, the most distinct difference between journalism and academism can be found in the way they view (and portray) the world. Journalism, according to Tosaka, “is an immediate expression of how people see the world. Within journalism, the social circumstances (sesō) appear in a lively way” (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 148). One can conclude that Tosaka’s approach not only overcomes the ideological position of the JCP by relating the function

environments in which the moral individuality of the average man is developed” and, thus, was “not a single unique conception, identical in time and space” (Gramsci 1988: 343). 13 Harry Harootunian’s book, Overcome by Modernity: History, Culture, and Community in Interwar Japan (Princeton 2000) deals with this feature of Tosaka’s thought in greater detail. 28 chapter two of the press to his philosophy of everydayness, but also represented an approach to the press that detached itself from the adherence to German theories in academic disciplines such as newspaper studies or sociology by criticizing these, as he used to say, ‘bourgeois disciplines from a Materialist perspective.

Reciprocities: Newspaper Studies in Germany and Japan

Despite the fact that prewar transnational flows of theories on the press and public opinion between Germany and Japan was asymmetric and almost unilateral, it is important to add that for a very short period of time, in the 1920s especially, the process of appropriation of newspaper studies in Japan also included international reciprocities on social as well as intellectual levels. Ono Hideo and German proponents of newspaper studies were particularly interested in an early internationalization of the discipline, which first and foremost had strategic reasons and helped to establish the young discipline. Besides the mutual awareness by the means of academic journals, this reciprocal relationship materialized especially in the social contacts between German newspaper scholar Karl d’Ester (1881–1960) and Ono and the participation of the latter at the first international congress of newspaper studies in Cologne in 1928 as well as d’Ester’s visit to Japan in 1929. To understand the particular historical context in which Ono aspired to gain the approval of his academic achievements by German academic circles, it will be necessary to address the internationalizing tendencies within German newspaper studies during the time between the two world wars more closely. Karl d’Ester’s academic standing as one of the most renowned German newspaper scholars of the 1920s was primarily based on two achievements, which, in turn, put Ono into the center of the German newspaper studies as well. These achievements were the foundation of the academic journal Zeitungswissenschaft (“Newspaper Studies”) co-founded by d’Ester in 1926 and the international press exhibition PRESSA in Cologne, together with the associated Erster Internationaler Zeitungswissenschaftlicher Kongress (“First International Congress of Newspaper Studies”) in 1928 (cf. chapter 3). However, in the times to come, a regular exchange of lecturers did not take place. Only d’Ester—always fond of traveling—went to Japan in 1929. As Ono’s guest, d’Ester gave lectures about the German press at various institutions and at the opening ceremony of the Shinbun kenkyū- shitsu at Tōkyō Imperial University in 1929. In addition, he assisted the appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 29 institute with the cataloguing of the German-speaking library collection (d’Ester 1951: 250–275). Nevertheless, the foundation of the Deutscher Zeitungswissenschaftlicher Verband (German Association of Newspaper Studies) in 1933 did not comply with d’Ester’s and Heide’s demand for an international collaboration of all newspaper scholars. The aim to bring together foreign researchers and institutes could not be fulfilled due to the increasing National-socialist influences in Germany. Ideological concepts and policies such as the ‘journalistic means of persuasion’ (Publizisitische Führungsmittel), ‘propaganda’ and the new ‘editor law’ (Schriftleitergesetz) detached German newspaper studies from its international ambitions.

Parallels: Rumors as Interpersonal Communication

When I come to speak of cognitive and epistemological parallels here, I will not refer to the global acceptance (and applicability) of universal (sociological or philosophical) categories or concepts. Accordingly, in order to not blunder into the aforementioned problematic of a comparative approach and its inclination towards universalizations or particularizations, ‘parallels’ will be understood here as similar, local intellectual reflections of analogous global, social or cultural phenomena. If seen from this perspective, the aforementioned approaches of the prewar discourses on media and communication can be considered as intellectual attempts to understand the origins and effects of a globally expanding modernity that was essentially based on an expansion of modern forms of mass media. Accordingly, this approach parallels Harry Harootunian’s viewpoint that ‘modernity’ is in fact a ‘co-existing’ and ‘co-eval’ process triggered by the expansion of capitalism, and similar intellectual reflections of this process are in fact inflections of this singular, larger global process (Harootunian 2000: xvi). Parallel to early approaches to interpersonal communication in Weimar Germany (cf.: Averbeck 1999), Shimizu Ikutarō’s socio-psychological approach also starts from his personal perception of the circulation of rumors. To Shimizu and others, the occurrence of rumors is often based on the total breakdown of conventional modes of mass communication, such as the press or radio. To a certain extent, rumors are therefore also a result of the growing importance of the mass media within the global process of modernization. Resembling Shimizu’s perspective, Russian scholar L.A. Bysow asserted in an article published in 1928 that “the absence of a free press or the ingrained distrust toward the official media (. . .) makes 30 chapter two the people particularly susceptible to rumors” (Bysow 1928: 422). Jamuna Prasad, an Indian sociologist living in Great Britain, similarly claimed in 1935 that, “especially where ordinary modes of authoritative intercommu- nication have broken down, [. . .] stories, many of them wildly exagger- ated, will be accepted with ease and passed on without criticism” (Prasad 1935: 15). Shimizu, who was acquainted with Bysow’s but not Prasad’s article, made comparable observations of the effects of the total news blackout imposed by government officials during the revolt of young soldiers on February 26, 1936—called the 2/26 Incident (2–26 jiken).14 This coup d’état, which kept the city of Tōkyō in a state of suspense for four days, had immense consequences on the subsequent media and information policy of the state. The crisis was so serious that by the end of its second day the government had already declared martial law in Tōkyō for the first time since the great earthquake in 1923. Despite this action, which was meant to control the circulation of information and entailed a total news blackout, rumors about the revolt had already spread quickly among the superficially informed population of Tōkyō. Shimizu recollected in his biographical notes that “the babbled information offered by the press and the radio [. . .] did not provide us, being in a state of shock and fear, with what we were looking for” (Shimizu 1992 [1975]: 123). Thus, he noted, it was basically the inadequate supply of information by the government on the one hand and the people’s strong demand for information on the other that resulted in the extraordinarily fast and wide-reaching spread of groundless rumors after the incident (Shimizu 1992 [1975]). Shimizu’s approach is unique because he considered rumors an important source of information within people’s everyday life and also as communication on a level subordinated to mass communication. However, Shimizu’s approach to the phenomenon of rumors went far beyond those of Bysow and Prasad. In a way that resembles Marshall McLuhan in the 1960s, he asserted that people living in modern societies

14 In the early morning of 26 February 1936, approximately 1,400 troops of the Imperial Japanese Army’s 1st Division seized key government buildings, Army Ministry headquarters and the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters and killed the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, Admiral Saitō Makoto, the inspector general of the military education, Gen- eral Watanabe Jōtarō, and Finance Minister Takahashi Korekiyo. Prime Minister Okada Keisuke was able to escape when the rebels killed his brother-in-law by mistake. For a comprehensive account of the so-called Ni-niroku jiken please refer to Shillony (1973). appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 31 have become accustomed to the daily use of channels such as the press to the extent that they consider the mass media as “extensions of the sensory organs” (kankaku kikan no enchō); if not even as “our very own sensory organs” (wareware no kankaku kikan sono mono) (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 17). Strongly influenced by contemporary socio-psychology and behaviorism, Shimizu claims that people need the mass media, first and foremost, to “adapt (teki’ō) to the environment (kankyō) surrounding their everyday life,” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 13) which, in modern times, is increasingly influenced by incidents that “occur in remote areas that happen to be out of reach of our own eyes and ears” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 17). Shimizu claims that rumors are necessarily also related to the formation of public opinion. Thus, he is one of the few proponents of early discourse on media and communication in prewar Japan who recognized that public opinion is neither simply the uniform ‘will of the people’ (Volkswille, vox populi) (Ono Hideo), nor an ‘abstract idea’ (Koyama Eizō), nor a unitizing ‘bourgeois ideology’ (Tosaka Jun). According to Shimizu, public opinion has to be understood as something that is always bounded to certain social groups and their specific interest (that can also alter the information of rumors). Hence, at any given point in time, different, contradictory public opinions exist within society. This becomes most obvious in the circulation of rumors that can assume the shape of what Shimizu calls ‘latent’ (senzai-teki)—contrary to ‘manifest’ (kenzai-teki)— public opinions. The conveyor of latent public opinions is the so-called ‘latent public’ (senzai-teki kōshū) (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 73–74). As a mass- psychological phenomenon, latent publics can be defined as something that lies in-between ‘crowds’ (gunshū)—a physical and spatially restricted accumulation of manipulable people that is based on the verbal communication of a leader, and ‘publics’—a purely spiritual and spatially non- restricted collectivity of newspaper readers who are physically separated and whose cohesion is entirely psychological. What is most crucial about his definition of latent publics is that it overcomes the dichotomy in crowd-psychology, generally accepted at that time, between crowds and publics. Shimizu defines latent publics as something that bears the characteristics of both. On the one hand, and similar to crowds, it is based on verbal communication and can be similarly emotionalizing; on the other hand, based on the far-reaching dissemination of the interpersonal communication of rumors, it can assume the spatial dimension of a newspaper public. However, it also differs from the readership of a newspaper in terms of the fact that the conveyors of latent opinions do not become 32 chapter two aware of their mental collectivity because of the necessary secrecy about information that is not allowed to be published. Shimizu added that despite the fact “that all manifest public opinions were formerly latent public opinions [. . .],” “not every latent public opinion develops into a manifest public opinion” because societies “possess certain orders which protect their existence” and thus, “necessarily restrict the actions of their members” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 74). Whether a latent public opinion could actually turn into a manifest public opinion depends on the social and political openness of a certain society towards opposite views. Thus, Shimizu argued, based on the political system, latent and manifest public opinions could be understood as one of two different ‘types’ (shurui) or ‘stages’ (dankai). Implicitly criticizing the political circumstances in Japan, Shimizu concludes that ‘silent obedience’ or latent public opinions were actually an important factor for the continuity of absolutistic and feudalist societies; whereas ‘speech’—namely the free expression of individual public opinions—has to be considered an important element of modern democratic societies (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 119– 127). One must “hint at the anachronism,” he added, that within “certain” modern societies “a disdain of speech which is typical of feudal societies is stipulated politically” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 126). Needless to say, this was as far as Shimizu’s implicit criticism of the restriction of free speech could go at a time when Japan was increasingly militaristic. It is also in this spirit that Shimizu also refers to rumors as ‘abnormal’ news or opinions and reported news or manifest public opinions as ‘normal’ ones.

One can conclude that the prewar discourse on media and communication in Japan was strongly influenced by the hegemony of German social sciences. Most notably, newspaper studies in Japan followed existing concepts of German Zeitungswissenschaft and sociology on theoretical and conceptual levels. In particular, Japanese scholar Ono Hideo adopted the theoretical and historical approach of Karl Bücher and his definition of the press as a means of spiritual exchange. Moreover, he introduced a scholarly concept of the press and a vertical and elitist understanding of public opinion formation (cf. chapter 3 and 4). This set the tone for the development of the subsequently evolving discourse on the press. In the 1930s, this already taken-for-granted approach to the press was particularly criticized by Marxian philosopher Tosaka Jun (cf. chapter 5). Against the background of a general critique of contemporary—or as he called it, bourgeois and highly academized—scholarship, he considered the con- appropriation, reciprocities, and parallels 33 cept of the press as a means of spiritual exchange as very problematic, since this kind of idealized imagination of the press disguises the actual function of the press in modern liberal and capitalist societies—namely its commodity character and its role as an ‘agent’ of bourgeois ideology and public opinion. Moreover, it is important to add that the discourse, particularly in the 1920s, was not merely based on the active but unilateral appropriation and critique of foreign approaches, but also on intellectual and social reciprocities between newspaper studies in Germany and Japan. Ono Hideo and German proponents of newspaper studies were particularly interested in an early internationalization of the discipline for strategic reasons, in order to help to establish this young discipline. Besides the mutual awareness by the means of academic journals, this reciprocal relationship materialized especially in the social contacts between Karl d’Ester and Ono and the participation of the latter at the first international congress of newspaper studies in Cologne in 1928, as well as d’Ester’s visit to Japan in 1929 (cf. chapter 3). Furthermore, theoretical developments in prewar discourse were not entirely based on active appropriation or intellectual and social reciprocities. Parallel to Indian socio-psychologist Jamuna Prasad and Russian sociologist L.A. Bysow, Japanese sociologist Shimizu Ikutarō’s socio- psychologist approach considered the problem of communication from his perceptions of the verbal circulation of rumors. Almost independently from each other, these three scholars arrive at the conclusion that rumors particularly occur if conventional forms of mass communication collapse (be it because of natural disasters or times of political and social unrest). For that reason, Shimizu concluded, rumors (or interpersonal communication) have to be seen in relation to the formation of public opinion. Accordingly, Shimizu can be described as one of a few proponents of early discourse on media and communication in prewar Japan who recognized that public opinion is neither simply the uniform ‘will of the people,’ nor an ‘abstract idea,’ nor a unitizing ‘bourgeois ideology’ (cf. chapter 6). Chapter Three

Disciplining Knowledge: The Foundation of Newspaper Studies

Regarding its development, the Japanese newspaper business has already lined up shoulder to shoulder to the countries of the West. [. . .] However, the fact that there is not yet a single [newspaper] research institute at Japan’s Imperial Universities fills me with a feeling of astonishment. (Ono Hideo) The Japanese term shinbungaku1 (‘newspaper studies’, derived from the German term Zeitungswissenschaft or Zeitungskunde) was not coined before the turn of the 19th century. In 1899, journalist and politician Matsumoto Kunpei (1877–1944) published the first book entitled Shinbungaku, basically dealing with the Western idea of press freedom and the European and American newspaper businesses (Matsumoto 1899). In the 1910s, further books and book series were published which bore the term shinbungaku in their titles (cf. Sugimura 1915; Onose 1915; Dainihon-shinbungakkai 1919). However, these publications focused primarily on the foreign press, its economic and managerial aspects, or the professional practice and education of journalists. Thus, they “were not attempts to objectify newspapers as social phenomena and establish a system of academic and intellectual inquiry about newspapers”2 (Yoshimi 2002a: 200). By the 1920s however, the meaning of the term shinbungaku had changed significantly. This was largely due to the founder of the respective academic discipline. Having received his university degree in German language and literature from Tōkyō Imperial University (Tōkyō teikoku daigaku), Ono Hideo (1885–1977) began his career as a journalist in the Japanese press. While

1 In Japan, the term shinbungaku has been used instead of the American term ‘mass communication studies’ even until the 1950s. In fact, the name of the journal Shinbungaku hyōron (Engl. title: Japanese Journalism Review) was not changed into Masukomyūnikēshon kenkyū (Engl. title: Journal of Mass Communication Studies) before 1992. 2 Actually, the same was true for early newspaper studies (Zeitungskunde) in Germany. There, many of the books published on the press around the 19th century were either histories of the press or professional handbooks for journalists and newspaper publishers. the foundation of newspaper studies 35 being employed at two of the biggest Japanese daily newspapers Yorozu chōhō and Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun, Ono became gradually disillusioned by the negative side of the newspaper-business due to its ever-increasing commercialization and tabloidization (Ono 1971: 137). As a result, he turned away from journalism, preferring instead to pursue an academic career, working as a scholar of newspaper studies. He founded a newspaper research institute, intending to provide a professionalized education for journalists, as well as to raise popular interest in the problems of the modern press in the broader Japanese public sphere. Ono’s sound command of German3 and his substantial knowledge of the German intellectual milieu played a decisive role in shaping his thoughts in this area, leading towards the institutionalization of the methodical approach and the orientation of shinbungaku in Japan towards contemporary academic newspaper studies in Germany (Zeitungswissenschaft or Zeitungskunde). One of the most important strategic decisions Ono had to make in founding his research institute concerned its funding. “[T]he Japanese government” he noted, was “only endowed with a very tight educational budget and also the universities themselves did not have the financial opportuni- ties to establish a press research institute” (Ono 1925a: 70). Accordingly, there was no other possibility than to “rely upon the benevolent aid of newspaper publishing companies, just like the European and American universities did” (Ono 1925a: 70). This situation put Ono in a somewhat paradoxical position, pulled between new possibilities and traditional realities. On the one hand, it was necessary to develop a unique methodology for the new discipline in order to distinguish it from already existing and contemporaneously emerging disciplines such as history or sociology. On the other, the strong practical orientation of the discipline—demanded by those newspaper publishing companies financially involved—had to be reconciled with the rather theoretically-oriented and research-aligned academia. As we will see, this dilemma had repressive consequences on the shape that newspaper studies actually assumed in Japan. However, in this respect, Japanese shinbungaku did not differ from its German counterparts, where the discipline was from the beginning trapped in a similar dilemma with similar consequences (cf. vom Bruch 1980).

3 Ono graduated with a thesis on Gerhart Hauptmann and Maxim Gorki. While being employed at Yorozu Chōhō, Ono published Japanese translations of the German editions of Henrik Ibsen’s “A Doll’s House” and “The Wild Duck” as well as plays by Johann Wolfgang Goethe and Gerhart Hauptmann (cf. Ono 1971). 36 chapter three

The nexus between newspaper publishing companies and universities had a comparatively early origin in Japan. By the beginning of the Meiji era (1868–1912), there was not yet a typical career path for the ill-paid and non-prestigious profession of the journalist. Rather, in a manner very similar to Europe and the USA, success in this field had to be achieved by developing personal contacts with the owner of a publishing house or the chief editor himself. However, as historian Eleanor Westney remarks, this soon changed because “in the 1880s, [. . .] a new ladder into journalism began to emerge in Tōkyō; it led from the new institution of higher education into the newspaper enterprises” (Westney 1987: 172). From that time, university graduates began to replace their lay counterparts (tanbōsha), forming the highly-qualified workforce of the large press companies. The rationale behind this was to increase the quality of newspaper content, which had previously been overly fabricated in editorial self-production. A reason for an increasing interest in a career in journalism among the university graduates themselves can also be found in the exceptionally high unemployment rate amongst graduates due to an economic recession taking place in Japan in the 1920s (Smith 1972: 214). At that time many young graduates tried to find a job at one of the large daily newspapers, which were still able to offer employment for graduates because of relatively constant or even increasing sales figures in the newspaper-business. One of the potential employers for graduates was the large nationwide daily Ōsaka mainichi shinbun. As advocated by its later president Motoyama Hiko’ichi4 (1853–1932), by the 1880s the Ōsaka mainichi publishing house had already started to employ university graduates as reporters and editors. Motoyama’s business-like understanding of the newspaper industry is evidenced by an introductory note he wrote for Ono’s first book on the history of the Japanese press: The newspaper is an organ of news reporting and by no means an organ of leadership meant to guide the people. Since the prestige of a newspaper is directly related to the personal qualities of its reporters, publishing houses are forced to employ journalists who are primarily organs of public opinion (genron kikan) and only secondarily educators of society (shakai no bokutaku). Accordingly, journalists need to be administrators rather than scholars, politicians or businessmen. (Motoyama 1922: 9a–9b)

4 Motoyama started his career as journalist at the Ōsaka shinpō in 1882 and went to the Jiji shinpō in the following year. In 1888 he helped to reorganize the Ōsaka mainichi shinbun and finally became its president in 1903. the foundation of newspaper studies 37

Thus, it is easy to understand that in 1922 Motoyama (1922: 9a–9b), in accordance with Ono, advocated the “foundation of departments for newspaper studies at the existing universities [. . .] in order to guarantee a practical education of journalists.” Motoyama’s claim for an academic institutionalization of newspaper studies had primarily economic reasons. First and foremost, he was interested in the establishment of preparatory training on an academic level to press ahead the ‘salarymanization’ of journalists. This becomes particularly apparent when looking at a personal conversation between Motoyama and Ono, which had taken place five years earlier on the occasion of Ono’s appointment at the Ōsaka mainichi-owned Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun: You have been working at the Yorozu chōhō,5 right? Then you must be one of those journalists considering himself an educator of society. It is a common characteristic of all newspaper journalists in Tōkyō to take to their heels as soon as things aren’t going their way. In short, this type of journalist bears the character of a vagabond. Since the Ōsaka mainichi publishing house has evolved by means of keeping to a systematical budget planning just like any other commercial enterprise, this type of journalist is a burden to the company. Thus, a journalist, just like a salaryman of any other profit-oriented company, needs to spare no efforts in favor of his company. (cited in Ono 1971: 52) In 1926, almost ten years after this first encounter with Motoyama, Ono was able to persuade additional important personalities such as the then-president of the financial newspaper Chūgai shōgyō shinpō6 Yanada Kyūjirō, entrepreneur Shibusawa Eiichi,7 and politician Sakatani Yoshirō8 to give financial support to the establishment of a newspaper research institute at Tōkyō Imperial University. In doing so, Ono made a major breakthrough in his efforts to institutionalize shinbungaku, finally over- coming one of his most significant obstacles by guaranteeing the financial base of a future newspaper research facility.

5 The Yorozu chōhō was famous for employing a number of socialist writers such as Kōtoku Shūsui in its most critical period at the beginning of the 20th century. 6 Chūgai shōgyō shinbun is the forerunner of today’s Nihon keizai shinbun (renamed in 1946). 7 Shibusawa Eiichi (1840–1931) was one of the most important Japanese entrepreneurs of the Meiji and Taishō eras. As a member of an official delegation he traveled to Europe in 1867 and accepted a post as civil servant at the forerunner of the treasury department. After he retreated from civil service in 1873 he was involved in the start-up of more than 500 companies either as shareholder or in other functions. He also founded the first stock corporation according to Western patterns and the first successful bank in Japan. 8 Sakatani Yoshirō (1863–1941) was finance minister in the first cabinet (1906–1908) of Prime Minister Saionji Kinmochi (1849–1940) and became mayor of Tōkyō later on. 38 chapter three

Another serious problem facing Ono was the need to develop an academic methodology suitable to his purposes. In 1922, he made an important step towards a disciplinary canonization of shinbungaku by writing the first complete History of the Development of the Japanese Press (Nihon shinbun hattatsu-shi). Although Ono was not able to establish a genuine research method of shinbungaku with this book alone, he at least bridged a fundamental knowledge gap regarding the history of the Japanese press. Ono also tried to strategically accelerate the establishment of the discipline with the help of numerous subsequent publications. On the one hand, he published many articles on the state of the academic discipline in America and Europe in professional journals such as Shinbun sōran or Shinbun oyobi shinbunkisha, in order to draw attention to the necessity of the press as an object of intellectual inquiry. With regard to their contents, these publications basically aimed at defining and typologizing the press as a reasonable object of research and were meant to specify the disciplinary boundaries of shinbungaku (cf. Ono 1923b, 1924, 1925a, 1925b, 1926c, 1927a, 1929b, 1930). On the other, Ono intended to arouse interest for problems of the Japanese press in the general public by publishing articles in the field of press history. These appeared within a wide range of professional and intellectual journals, including Shinkyū jidai—the organ of the Meiji bunka kenkyū-kai (Association for the Research of the Culture of the Meiji period)—and Taiyō, one of the most influential sōgō zasshi (intellectual journals) of the Meiji and Taishō era. (cf. Ono 1925c, 1925d, 1925e, 1926d, 1927b, 1927c, 1927d). Additionally, Ono (1930/1931a, 1930/1931b) contributed two extensive articles on the history of the press in Japan and the world press in an anthology entitled Sōgō jānarizumu kōza (Comprehensive Lectures in Journalism) and wrote the entry ‘Newspaper’ in Japan’s first modern encyclopedic unabridged dictionary (Dai-hyakkajiten), published by the publishing house Heibon-sha in 28 volumes in the years 1931–35.

Institutionalizing Newspaper Studies

Applying Terry N. Clark’s (1974) stages of academic institutionalization, shinbungaku in the 1920s can thus be described as an ‘amateur science.’9

9 Besides individual scholars such as Ono, only the private Newspaper Research Insti- tute (Shinbun kenkyū-jō), which was founded by the journalist Nagashiro Shizuo (1886– 1944) in 1920, dealt with the press on an academic level in the 1920s. The media-historian Yamamoto Taketoshi describes the situation at Japanese universities as follows: “In the the foundation of newspaper studies 39

According to Clark, the first step of development towards a properly established academic discipline was the “foundation of a scientific society or professional organization that allows for regular gatherings as well as the presentation, discussion and publication of articles” (Clark 1974: 111). Such a description describes Ono’s activities well. Motivated by the fear that without an academic journal “unnecessary time could pass until the publication of existing research results” (Ono 1926c: 5), he went on in 1926 to found the Shinbungaku kenkyū-kai (original English name: “Society for the Scientific Study of Journalism”) and published the first of five issues of the journal Shinbungaku kenkyū (original English title: “Journal for the Scientific Study of Journalism”).10 In 1925, one year after he had returned to Japan from a trip to Europe and America on a research grant of the Iwasaki family (the owners of the Mitsubishi zaibatsu), Ono published his proposal for the establishment of a newspaper research institute in Japan in the journal Shinbun sōran. In this article, Ono summarized his impressions of the international state of newspaper studies and the professional education of journalists as follows: Academic research of the press in Europe and America [. . .] can roughly be divided into two categories. Whereas the ‘Schools of Journalism’ at English and American universities [. . .] attach particular importance to the education of journalists, universities on the European continent ascribe greater importance to the scientific research of the press, while education plays a subordinated role. (Ono 1925a: 56) According to Ono, it was most reasonable to combine these two different types of newspaper studies. Thus, he showed substantial interest into the concept of the press research institutes in Zurich and Bern, where “a structure had been created that distinguishes itself from the rest of con- tinental Europe in the way that it combines the methods of Germany and America with the final intention to guarantee both, scientific research and education of journalists” (Ono 1923b: 28).

prewar time newspaper studies were normally carried out by researchers outside the universities. Despite sociologists or political scientists publishing articles in academic journals, no Japanese university, be it state-run or private, offered courses on mass communication” (Yamamoto 1986: 6). 10 The content of this journal has, for the most part, been authored by Ono himself. The contributions are either his own research articles or Japanese translations of articles written by German press researchers such as Walter Heide (1894–1957) or Oskar Wettstein (1866–1952). 40 chapter three

When elaborating his plan for a newspaper research institute, Ono had thus to rely on concepts developed in an era in which newspaper studies had not yet assumed a unitary shape even in Germany. At the time of Ono’s research trip, there were merely three research institutes in Germany: The Institut für Zeitungskunde (“Institute for Newspaper Studies”) in Leipzig (established in 1916); the Historisches Zeitungsseminar und -archiv (“Historical Newspaper Seminar and Archive”) in the city of Münster (founded 1919/20); and the Institut für Zeitungswesen und öffent- liche Meinung (“Institute for the Press and Public Opinion”) in Cologne (established 1920). However, at the time of his trip to Germany, none of these institutes had full professorships nor standardized examination reg- ulations and curricula.11 Thus, Ono decided to base his own conception of an institute on the approach of the Leipzig-based national-economist and press scholar Karl Bücher (1847–1930) and integrated practical elements of the American schools of journalism and the Swiss model with particular regard to the education of journalists. From today’s point of view, Ono’s pragmatic concept would seem most unimaginative. However, against the background of the intellectual climate at Japanese universities, Ono’s practical and interdisciplinary conception appeared quite revolutionary and thus, for the immediate future, was rejected by the faculty council of the literature department of Tōkyō Imperial University in 1927. According to the statement of the dean, Taki Seiichi12 (1873–1945), “research of the press at universities [. . .] should in the first instance consist of purely theoretical studies, whereas the education of journalists and managers of publishing houses must be considered a matter of subordinated importance” (cited in Ono 1971: 212–14). However, other factors may have played a role in the rejection. First, there were economic complications. Dean Taki had close connections to the Asahi publishing house, which was involved in a power struggle with the publishing house Ono worked with—the Mainichi shinbun. Second, Taki was occupied by the effort to try to stabilize his own field, i.e. Japan’s art history, which most likely was the actual cause for the rejection of a professorship in newspaper studies

11 The first extraordinary professor for newspaper studies was Karl d’Ester (1881–1950), appointed at Munich University in 1924. In 1926, Erich Everth (1878–1934), a journalist with a doctorate degree in art history, was appointed to the first full professorship for news paper studies in Leipzig. In the same year, newspaper studies became a fully-entitled field of study in Leipzig (Munich followed in 1933). 12 Taki Seiichi was a renowned art historian, professor at Tōkyō Imperial University and editor of the professional art history journal Kokka, which was co-founded by Okakura Tenshin (1862–1913). the foundation of newspaper studies 41 by the literary faculty (cf. Ono 1971: 212–220). Yoshimi Shun’ya described the second aspect as follows: The reason for this predictable conflict between Ono with his ambitious newspaper studies and Taki, a rather conservative art historian, was founded on the fact [. . .] that art history, [. . .] together with Japanese literature and humanities, occupied a position that desired to establish the central knowledge needed for the legitimization of the modern Japanese nation state. However, with newspaper studies, [. . .], a new type of knowledge had appeared that differed from the nationalistic disciplines of the Meiji Period. This led to a marginalization of knowledge of this type due to the [preferen- tial] position of disciplines such as the history of arts or literature within the rather strictly hierarchical academic organization of the Imperial University. (Yoshimi 1999: 51–52) Obviously, the Japanese Imperial Universities—particularly the prestigious Tōkyō Imperial University—with their rigid faculty structures and traditional disciplines still inherited an academic climate which was based on the elitist intellectualism of the Meiji era and were not very susceptible to practical and present-day subjects such as shinbungaku. By the end of the 1920s, however, this situation had begun to change within Tōkyō Imperial’s literary faculty, due to the rapid growth of the Japanese press and the general desire for its scholarly investigation. In 1929 the board of the literary faculty finally agreed to establish a Newspaper Research Seminar (Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu), but only as an alternative to a full-fledged research institute and a chair in shinbungaku. Moreover, due to the general attitude that only ‘pure sciences’ ( junsei gakumon) should be taught and researched at elitist Imperial Universities, Ono refrained from his initial plan to employ professional journalists as lecturers and teachers of practical exercises.13 Only affiliated professors of the faculty of law, literature and economics were to lecture (as well as Ono himself ) in the initial phase of the research seminar.14 In addition, one office worker and ten student assistants worked at the seminar at the time of its inception. Ono became director of the research institute—actually the first of its kind at a Japanese university—as an unpaid employee of

13 However, Ono’s innovative concept of professional education of journalists was realized at another university. The privately run Sophia University, which emerged out of a vocational school of the same name, accepted Ono’s pragmatic concept and established a Department of Journalism (Shinbun gakka) in 1932 (Ono 1971: 177). 14 Ono himself had already delivered a regular lecture with the title “Comparative Press History” as unpaid lecturer since 1926. On average, this lecture was attended by approximately 80 students. 42 chapter three the literary faculty. In the end, the newly founded institute with all its implemented changes and the abandonment of innovative elements of the Swiss model resembled, in nearly all details, comparable facilities in Germany. On the whole, the shape of shinbungaku at Tōkyō Imperial University closely matched Bücher’s concept of Zeitungskunde at Leipzig University, both conceptually and in its content. What had started as the idea of a fully-fledged research institute and full-time journalist education was downgraded into a small research office of marginal importance and a subsidiary subject of study for prospective journalists majoring in law, economics or literature.

Theoretical and Methodological Approach of Shinbungaku

According to a model of the historical development of newspaper studies in Germany proposed by Stefanie Averbeck and Arnulf Kutsch, Ono was still on the epistemological level of ‘problem identification’ in the 1920s.15 During this stage, “scholars of various disciplines and at different universities acknowledged the press and journalism as a social, political and economic problem” (Averbeck and Kutsch 2004: 58–60). Ono’s epistemological perspective can be located within a similar time-frame and context. First and foremost, he formulated a fundamental definition of the press with reference to Karl Bücher’s terminology.16 According to Ono, “the press has an universal use and a means of spiritual and material exchange (Verkehrsinstrument, kōtsū kikan) and possesses a significant meaning for society” (Bücher 1981 [1926]: 118; Ono 1926c: 1). In addition, Ono transferred the typology of the press coined by Robert Brunhuber (1878–1909) and Emil Löbl (1863–1942)—two press researchers and professional journalists from Germany and Austria respectively. Ono translated the characteristics of the German typology as follows: ‘periodicity’ (Periodizität, teikikankō-sei), ‘publicity’ (Publizität, kōgai-sei), ‘topicality/ actuality’ (Aktualität, jigi-sei), ‘versatility’ (Vielseitigkeit, tahōmen-sei) and ‘commonality of interest’ (Allgemeinheit des Interesses, kyōtsū-sei). (cf. Ono

15 The three successive phases in Germany described by Averbeck and Kutsch were: ‘problem definition’ (1925–1933), ‘ideological and organizational deformation’ (1933–1945) and ‘de-ideologization and reconstruction after 1945’ (cf. Averbeck/Kutsch 2002: 57). 16 Karl Bücher’s earliest book was translated into Japanese under the title Kezai-teki bunmeishi-ron: kokumin kezai no seiritsu (“On the History of Economic Civilization—The Development of National Economy”) by Gonda Yasunosuke, as early as 1917. the foundation of newspaper studies 43

1923b: 29–30; Brunhuber 1907; Löbl 1903). This accurate definition and typology of the press provided by Ono can be considered a first important step towards the institutionalization of shinbungaku because it allowed a precise determination of a research object uniquely reserved to the newly founded academic discipline. In the 1930s, Ono gradually departed from his literal adherence to the definitions of German newspaper studies and coined his own definition of the press by combining the most important elements of the aforementioned definition and typology. From then on, Ono basically defined the press as “an organization for the periodical and ubiquitous transmission of opinions and news being based on actual facts” (Ono 1931: 2).

Professional Ethos: The Press as a Means of Cultural Education

On an intellectual level, Ono proposed a cultural-essentialist viewpoint by stating that the origin and development of the Japanese press “needs to be seen in close connection to [. . .] Japanese culture” (Ono 1926c: 1). Even if the times of a restrictive press policy in Japan had already been overcome by the 1920s, he believed he had recognized yet another considerable danger threatening the modern press. According to Ono, this endangerment was most prevalent in the misuse of the press for individual purposes— namely its usage for political agitation and its commercialization (Ono 1926c: 2). It is striking that, although intently referring to the standard works of left-leaning national-economist Karl Bücher, Ono was not too receptive to his critical remarks on the problem of the commercialization of the press. Ono must have consciously ignored Bücher’s penetrat- ing analysis of the most severe deficit of the modern press—which lay in its strong dependency on the advertising business—as well as his recom- mendation to ‘communalize’ the advertising business (Bücher 1981 [1926]: 209). Nevertheless, Ono’s rejection of Bücher’s radical viewpoint is understandable against the background of the aforementioned nexus between shinbungaku and the newspaper publishing houses that were already earning almost half of their profits from advertising. Ono adopted a viewpoint towards the problem of commercialization that was rather close to that of the liberal newspaper researcher Robert Brunhuber. Brunhuber, despite admitting as well that “the greatest danger” for the modern press “[lay] in the expansion of capitalism to the intellectual field of the press” (Brunhuber 1908: 167–168), did not consider “a communalization of the advertising business or the press as a whole as the only medicine to save 44 chapter three the press.” Rather Brunhuber believed “in an inner recovery and main- tenance of the press” based on “a body of culturally educated entrepreneurs and publishers” and “editors being thoroughly mindful of their high duties” (Brunhuber 1907: 106). Ono completely shared Brunhuber’s opinion and similarly blamed the inadequate education and preparatory training of journalists for the growing degeneration of the press. By putting the focus on sensationalist reports, modern journalism was merely appealing to the most basic psychological instincts of mankind—its ‘curiosity’ (Ono 1926a: 7) (cf. chapter 5 for Tosaka Jun’s criticism of this view). To Ono, the press was only able to counteract the increasing unsteadiness of society (which was, in Ono’s opinion, based on the sensationalist reports by the press) by “adopting an attitude that renounce[d] sensational headlines and news stories” (Ono 1926a: 9) and stopping the practice of satisfying human curiosity with information of ethically questionable content. Rather, Ono suggested, journalists should again focus on the press’ function as cultural educator. In this respect Ono agreed with many of the perspectives of German journalist Emil Löbl, who in 1903 described the press as a “first-rate cultural factor” serving “humanity as a very important cultural tool” (Löbl 1903: 63, 240) in his book Kultur und Presse (“Culture and the Press”).17 According to Ono, the most basic function of the press lay in its ability to disseminate cultural and academic knowledge. Information of educational value could not only counteract the growing influence of sensationalism, but could also relativize the steadily increase in professional ‘specialization’ within modern societies. For Ono, it was the aforementioned ‘universal use’ of the press and its fundamental function as a ‘means of spiritual exchange’ that endowed it with the ability to popularize specialized knowledge. By means of the press, knowledge of highly educated experts, originally only available to a small share of the population, might be turned into popular knowledge (Ono 1926a: 2) (cf. chapter 5 for Tosaka Jun’s criticism of this view). The task of the journalist within this process was to render specialist knowledge into an easily understandable language. In this respect, Ono agreed with Löbl that, “the greatest task for the press to accomplish in the future is to convey

17 Even if Löbl’s book had already been published twenty years before Ono actually read it, the book had still been an important textbook of German newspaper studies in the 1920s. The press historian Otto Groth deems of the book that “Löbl’s [. . .] work ‘Culture and the Press’ is the most important, the richest in factual and notional terms, the most stimulating and most intense writing of a practitioner” (Groth 1948: 314–315; Duchkowitsch 2002: 276–278). the foundation of newspaper studies 45 the things worth knowing to the reader by means of strict selection and sophisticated editing” (Löbl 1903: 231). However, the selection and editing of specialized knowledge required an educational level of journalists equivalent to that of academics. One can now understand why Ono shared Brunhuber’s and Löbl’s general belief in a self-preservation of the press and refused Bücher’s radical position to communalize the advertising business. The liberal positions of Brunhuber and Löbl provided him with particular arguments to defend the necessity of newspaper research and the introduction of a higher education for journalists based on a professional ethos that defined the press as an important cultural tool to educate society.

Shinbungaku’s Methodology: Historicism and Empiricism

Having laid the foundation for the new discipline of shinbungaku by adopting Löbl’s and Brunhuber’s typology and Bücher’s concept of the press as means of spiritual exchange, Ono himself thereafter concentrated mainly on historical studies of the Japanese press. Here, he was particularly inspired by German historicism, which had already become a generally accepted method within Japanese history departments at the turn of the 19th century. This influence originated in the strong orientation of the Japanese history department at Tōkyō Imperial University towards German historiography. It was, in particular, the German historian Ludwig Rieß (1861–1928)—a disciple of historian Leopold von Ranke (1795–1886)—who introduced historicism as the state-of-the-art German historiographical approach to his fellow researchers and students during his stay in Japan from 1887–1902. Until then, Japanese historiography was primarily based on the tradition of the text-centered ‘sinological’ school of historiography (kōshō-gaku), which was considered an inappropriate approach to write the new official history of the still young Japanese nation-state. According to historian Bernd Martin, the rationale behind the adoption of historicism was therefore basically to “give the entire discipline the necessary nationalist orientation and thus, to explain the modern present by means of a historiographically revised past” (Martin 1994: 214). These nationalist tendencies within Japanese historiography were, according to Margaret Mehl (1998: 45–47), also perpetuated through the differentiation between kokushi (Japanese history, lit.: national history), seiyōshi (Western history), tōyōshi (Far-Eastern history) and their distinct epistemological patterns. These developed around the turn of the 19th century and allowed 46 chapter three historians to perceive China’s past as pre-modern and stagnating and Japan as modern and progressive.18, 19 In Germany, early books on the press were often written by historians such as Robert Prutz (1971 [1845]) and Ludwig Salomon (1900–06). Ono basically shared Salomon’s historical approach to the press and proposed that “research of the Japanese press should be based on the methods of cultural history” (i.e. historicism) (Ono 1926c: 1). Upon having read Salomon’s monumental three-volume work on the history of the press in Germany, Ono decided to publish a similar comprehensive historical study of the Japanese press for he believed that “the completion of a history of the Japanese press must be considered the first stage of shinbungaku” (Ono 1971: 139). In his research, Ono did not only rely upon the many existing non-academic, regional or periodical studies of the Japanese press, but also on the original sources of his collection of approximately 1000 kawaraban (tile block prints) of the Edo period (1600–1868) and 400 nishiki-e (color woodblock prints) of the Meiji period (1868–1912).20 The publication that resulted from Ono’s historical research—the already mentioned History of the Development of the Japanese Press published in 1922—was no less remarkable than Salomon’s comprehensive study of the German press and still counted as one of the standard works on the Japanese press up to the postwar period.21

18 For a comprehensive discussion of Japanese historiography’s representation of the ‘Orient’ during the Meiji period one might also refer to Tanaka (1993). 19 Ono’s historical perspective on the development of the Japanese press must be seen in this particular context. In his monograph History of the Development of Japanese Press he emphasized that the Japanese kawaraban (tile block prints) were the only news media having continuously existed in East Asia. According to Ono, even in China, which formerly held a culturally hegemonic position in East Asia, there was no comparable phenomenon. Thus, Ono claimed that the Japanese kawaraban represented a “Japanese cultural asset being unique in Asia” (Ono 1960: 3–4). Although he did not leave the early Chinese court gazettes of the 8th century unmentioned, Ono emphasized that these could not be seen as a continuous development of Chinese newspapers, but were rather a singular phenomenon. With regard to Ono’s culturalist perspective, Yoshimi Shun’ya (1999: 56) remarked that Ono “essentialized Japanese peculiarities by contrasting the findings of his research on kawaraban with [historical] processes in Europe.” However, Yoshimi added that this has been “a popular pattern of historical and cultural studies in Japan after the Meiji Period” (1999: 56). 20 The Ono Collection is one of the most voluminous collections of this kind today. It is available on the websites of the Interfaculty Initiative in Information Studies at the University of Tōkyō via a free database: http://www.iii.u-tokyo.ac.jp. 21 Even in the USA Ono’s book was positively reviewed: “Professor Ono is the oldest and most widely known scholar in the field of mass communication in Japan. His earlier the foundation of newspaper studies 47

Ono’s participation in the Meiji bunka kenkyū-kai (Association for the Study of Meiji Culture) must also be seen in the context of his historicist approach. The association was founded in 1924 as an immediate reaction to the destruction of many historical books and collections of the Meiji era due to the devastating fires in the aftermath of the great earthquake in the Kantō-region around Tōkyō the year before. Besides liberal politician Yoshino Sakuzō (1878–1933), the journalist and ethnographer Miyatake Gaikotsu (1867–1955), who himself had lost large parts of his own collection of newspapers and magazines of the Meiji era, was among the members of this association who dedicated themselves to the conserva- tion and systematic investigation of history and culture of the Meiji era. Accordingly, it was not only Ono’s reputation as a one of the leading press historians of the 1920s, but also his unscathed collection of kawaraban and nishiki-e that provided an important basis for research into the literary and popular culture of the Meiji era. Like other members of the Meiji bunka kenkyū-kai, Ono agreed that “it has to be self-evident to include journals and newspapers when research- ing the culture and history of the Meiji era”22 (Ono 1926b: 9). However, Ono emphasized that popular media such as newspapers and journals should not be considered as equivalent to official sources; Ono proposed to regard to journal and newspaper articles according to their value as historical sources in terms of their content or form. In cases where it was impossible to assess the historical value of the content of an article on the basis of already verified historical sources, it was only allowed to use the respective article as what he called a ‘formal source.’ By that, he meant primarily the possibility to consider the content of the newspaper as a ‘mirror’ of public opinion23 (Ono 1926b: 10–13).

Development of the Japanese Newspaper ( . . .), published in the 1920’s and now unfortunately out of print, is one of the standard works on this subject” (Oyama and Nixon 1961). 22 It is important to add here that the idea of acknowledging popular sources as com- plementing historical sources besides official documents had been adopted even by progressive historians in Germany only in a rather hesitating and sporadic way (cf. vom Bruch 1980). 23 A direct influence on Ono by the two historians Martin Spahn and Willhelm Mommsen who shared this perspective cannot be confirmed. Spahn had emphasized the significance of the press as historical source already on the International Historical Con- gress in Berlin in 1908 (cf. Klutentreter 1975: 802–804), and Mommsen published an article on the use of newspapers as a historical source in 1926 (cf. Mommsen 1926). Nevertheless, Karl d’Ester, who was a close friend of Ono, advocated the necessity of using the press as historical sources as well (cf. d’Ester 1928: 125–126). In the USA, it was historian Lucy 48 chapter three

Nevertheless, Ono—despite retaining some degree of skepticism— started to accept other perspectives on the press besides his purely historical approach at the beginning of the 1930’s. In the first research report of the Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu published in 1931, Ono stated the following: Newspaper studies has discovered for itself a new field of research by referring to the sociological and psychological studies of Karl Bücher, Max Weber, and Erich Everth besides its previous historical, statistical, juridical and political research. [. . .] Recently, the discussions within newspaper studies among such scholars as Martin Mohr, Emil Dovifat, and Karl Jaeger have often been based on the work of the aforementioned thinkers. (Ono 1931: 2) In other words, Ono had by then acknowledged the importance of the study of the press in relation to its readership and not merely as an isolated object of cultural or historical research. Furthermore, he emphasized that the relationship between the press and the reader—which he understood as a “mass-individual who subscribes to a certain newspaper”—went beyond the scope of a merely economic relation between a company pro- viding a commodity and a customer buying it (Ono 1931: 2–3). According to Ono, [. . .] the relations between the press and its readers [. . .] as well as the relations among the readers themselves are both individual-psychological and socio-psychological. The economic relation between the press and its readers mingles with these psychological interactions; furthermore, the former are even complicated by the latter. It is the investigation of these complex relations that must become the basis of a systematical formation of theoretical newspaper studies. (Ono 1931: 4) However, despite emphasizing the importance of psychological and sociological aspects, Ono was at pains to emphasize the difference between his newly established discipline shinbungaku and sociology or psychology. He did this by drawing a sharp distinction between the “problem of

Maynard Salmon who was concerned with the same problem and who, in 1923, published “The Newspaper and the Historian,” a book that is considered by many to be the definitive work on newspapers as reference sources. Her purpose was to discover the limitations and advantages of using newspapers as historical materials, and in the course of its seven hundred pages she analyzed various components of newspapers, such as advertisements and editorials, and then examined how they might be used by historians. Salmon argued that newspapers couldn’t be used to reconstruct factual events but that historians could use them to lend color and vivacity to the past and to create a graphic description of society. Salmon was also one of the first historians to suggest the study of advertisements as a source for social history. the foundation of newspaper studies 49 the relation between public opinion and the press”—being a problem of sociology or psychology—and “the relation between the newspaper and its readers”—which was considered by Ono as the designated subject of shinbungaku. Whereas the latter was usually subordinated under the former, Ono claimed that for shinbungaku “the relation between the press and public opinion is a topic that should be problematized only after the relation between the press and the reader has been clarified” (Ono 1931: 5). Obviously then, Ono’s sharp differentiation between these two closely linked problems aimed primarily at defending shinbungaku against the intrusion of new sociological currents. To Ono, the relationship between press and the readers should be researched from two angles: that of “the mutual relation between the press and the reader” and that of “a mutual relation among the readers mediated through the press” (Ono 1931: 6). He was critical of the approaches to the first relationship that merely problematized it from a sociological perspective and in connection with the formation of public opinion. According to Ono, intellectual discourse on the formation of public opinion was dominated by two perspectives: “Seen from the first perspective, the newspaper is considered merely as a mirror of the thoughts and emotions of the reader. Seen from the second angle, the press is considered to determine the reader’s knowledge and is able to lead the reader at its own will” (Ono 1931: 6). In Ono’s opinion, the two approaches were both right and wrong because they did not take into account the fact that the influence of the press presupposed a certain ‘receptiveness’ on the side of its readers. Ono concluded that the relationship between the press and the reader must be considered rather a ‘mutual’ or ‘circular’ one (Ono 1931: 8–9). Unfortunately, Ono did not go into further detail explaining the nature of this mutual relationship. Most likely he consciously avoided this point because it would bring him to close to the new sociological perspectives within newspaper studies that approached the process of mass communication from the formal-sociological perspective of social interaction (cf. chapter 4). To define his second perspective, the mutual relationship among the newspaper readers themselves, Ono referred mainly to Gabriel Tarde’s book L’opinion et la foule (Opinion and the Crowd). Despite mention- ing other proponents of newer social-psychological perspectives within German newspaper studies—namely Leo Benario (1926), Fritz Giovanoli (1930), and Gerhard Münzner (1928)—Ono (1931: 9) remarked that these scholars were “not trying to go beyond Tarde” and, thus, did “not clearly 50 chapter three understand the function of the press.”24 For Ono, the press has basically two functions: a ‘mediatory function’ (bakai kinō) and a ‘leading function’ (yūdō kinō). The former was closely related to his aforementioned concept of the press as a ‘means of spiritual exchange’ and accordingly represents the ability of the press to rapidly transmit news about current matters over a great distance. The latter—the leading function (yūdō kinō) of the press—refers to the power of the press to evoke a ‘similar consciousness’ among its spatially isolated readers. According to Ono, “the readers, despite being physically separated, represent mass-individuals spiritually related to each other” (Ono 1931: 13). However, Ono admitted that a consciousness based on the current contents mediated by the press was very evanescent and could only refer to “the experience of the most recent past” (Ono 1931: 15). Nevertheless, within the range of this “experience of the most recent past,” the press had an almost sovereign power over its readers based on the fact that most of the people “obtain their knowledge on current matters solely through the press” (Ono 1931: 15–16). It explained the “similar judgments and emotions of the readers of the same newspaper” based on the fact that they were “without any norm to evaluate the judgments and facts reported by the press or any means to investigate these for themselves” (Ono 1931: 15–16). What becomes obvious from Ono’s remarks is that he merely superficially accepted sociological and social-psychological perspectives. The psychological effects of the press on the reader are described only from the perspective of the press, which “infiltrates the consciousness of the reader by means of constant repetition” (Ono 1931: 21). Furthermore, interpersonal communication among the readers is totally blinded out by Ono due to his rejection of the formal-sociological concept of social interaction. Accordingly, the aforementioned ‘mutual relationship’ between the readers does merely exist in the ‘spiritual unification’ through a hypothetical ‘similar consciousness’ among the readers of one and the same newspaper. Particularly with respect to his omission of the reciprocal relations between the readers, Ono seemingly passed over Emil Löbl’s relativization of the then generally accepted dogma of “the almightiness of the press” who considered

24 This, of course, was not true. German sociologist Gerhard Münzner’s (1928) monograph, in particular, overcame Tarde’s perspective in a very sophisticated manner. (cf. Koyama’s reception of Münzner in chapter 4). the foundation of newspaper studies 51 the press not as a leader of opinion, but merely as ‘multiplier’ of already existing opinions (Löbl 1903: 252–254). Moreover, Ono’s image of society was extremely elitist and dichotomous. He divided society into two groups with regard to their motivation to read a certain newspaper. While the smaller group consisted of readers with a ‘conscious interest’ towards the press, the larger share of the readers possesses only an ‘unconscious interest’ in the press. The latter included readers “of relatively low intellect,” whose interest in a certain newspaper was largely coincidental, i.e. people of the ‘lower class,’ ‘the youth,’ or ‘women.’ The former were people who actively chose a certain newspaper based on their “interest into the character of a particular paper” (Ono 1931: 29–30). Ono concluded that the unconscious group “accepts subjective tendencies of the press as they are,” whereas members of the conscious group “were subjects who have an determining influence on the contents of the press” (Ono 1931: 39–40). In doing so, Ono divided society into separate halves: a leading strata of conscious and active leaders (Ono (1925a: 72) (among them journalists besides politicians and intellectuals), and a passive mass of de-individualized people. It was especially these remarks by Ono that reveal that he basically remained within the previously predominant mass-psychological dichotomy of an educated elite versus an uneducated mass. In the 1930s, a number of empirical studies were conducted under the direction of the Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu to verify Ono’s perception of the relationship between the press and its readers. During the first three years from the establishment of the research institute, one content analysis of five of Tōkyō’s major newspapers and a number of surveys on newspaper reading habits were conducted in order to find answers to the following fundamental questions raised by Ono’s remarks: (1) Does the press create a common consciousness among its readers? (2) does the press possess a ‘mediatory function’? and (3) how much does the press influence the reader’s experience of the most recent past (i.e. does the press have a ‘leading function’)? First and foremost, it was particularly important to obtain knowledge on the actual composition of the press. Thus, in 1930, members of the Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu conducted the first ever content analysis of Japanese newspapers on an academic level in Japan. It is important to note in this respect that contemporary content analyses differed from our understanding of content analyses today. These were rather ‘statistics of newspaper content’ (Zeitungsinhalts-Statistiken in contemporary German 52 chapter three terminology) (Averbeck 1999: 288–289). According to Winfried Schulz (1989: 33, 35) about 50 content analyses of the press or radio programs were conducted in the USA in the time period between 1900 and 1930. In Germany, despite already being advocated by sociologist Max Weber in 1910, only six comparable studies were conducted during the same time period (Averbeck 1999: 289–293). Among these studies, one was carried out by Ono’s close friend Karl d’Ester (in 1927), and another conducted by a research team under the direction of German newspaper scholar Gotthard Würfel (in 1930) on the occasion of the international press fair PRESSA in Cologne. Ono, who visited the PRESSA in 1928, was familiar with both studies and presumably took these as inspiring examples for the content analysis conducted by the Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu. In the publication of the findings of the study, however, one merely finds explicit reference to an American content analysis conducted by Glenn Johnson cited in Julien L. Woodward’s book Foreign News in American Morning Newspapers (cf. Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1931: 209; Woodward 1930: 28–29) Five major newspapers were included in the content analysis of the Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu conducted within a period of one month from July 11 to August 10, 1930: the Chūgai kōgyō shinpō, the Miyako shinbun, the Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun, the Tōkyō asahi shinbun, and the Tōkyō maiyū shinbun. The research team took into consideration these five papers because they reflected the contemporary media landscape in Tōkyō According to the editors, they made this choice because “some of the papers are read in the northern parts of the Kantō region, some are provincial papers being read by the middle and lower classes, and some are specialized papers being widely read in the Kantō area” (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1931: 204). The research procedure consisted of three steps. The first was an induc- tive classification of the content of the newspapers, which basically meant to cut out the single articles and sort them in classification tables. The second was to measure the surface of the articles and to add up their total surfaces in each classification table. Lastly, the results were rendered into charts and diagrams. The first step produced fourteen classification tables, which were then combined in the following six larger categories of newspaper content: ‘imperial court,’ ‘politics,’ ‘economics,’ ‘society,’ ‘culture,’ and ‘miscellaneous’ (cf. fig. 1). It is not very surprising that the research team refrained from offer- ing any further interpretation of their findings and merely published the processed charts and diagrams in their article. It was a characteristic flaw of these early content analyses that they were merely superficial and the foundation of newspaper studies 53

Figure 1. Comparison of newspaper content. Counterclockwise, starting with top right: Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun, Tōkyō asahi shinbun, Chūgai kōgyō shinpō, Tōkyō maiyū shinbun, Miyako shinbun. Categories: “imperial court,” “politics,” “economics,” “society,” “culture,” and “miscellaneous” (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1931: 204; reprinted in Koyama 1935: 118). 54 chapter three quantitative ‘dissections’ of the press, which did not allow for any contem- plation of questions concerning the process of selection of certain news or the financial or economic interests behind the publication or omission of certain articles. Accordingly, it was only natural that financial papers like the Chūgai kōgyō shinpō offered more articles of business-related content than other newspapers. Yet despite its superficiality, being criticized especially by Marxist critic Tosaka Jun (cf. chapter 5), the study can be considered an important step towards subsequent empirical studies of media content in postwar Japan. Nevertheless, the members of Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu were aware of the problems encountered in the content analysis—specifically its failure to contextualize the surveys by looking at the newspaper readership. This they quickly moved to remedy. The first of three respective surveys on newspaper reading conducted under Ono’s direction was a comparative study of 1932 among the school children and their parents of Terashima 1st Ordinary Upper Elementary School (located in today’s Sumida district of Tōkyō) and an elementary school affiliated with the Kanagawa Prefectural Normal School (located in Kamakura city) (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937). In the following year, a second survey was conducted among conscripts at Tōkyō’s recruitment offices (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1942a). In 1941, a third study was conducted among the school children of Tōkyō’s 1st Prefectural Middle School and students of the Law and Literature Faculty at Hōsei University (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1942b). The aim of the first survey was basically to investigate the “educational value of the press” and the “interest of children in the press” in the context of their “development process” (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 1). A relatively large number of 1243 families participated in the survey at the school in Terashima and 208 at Kamakura, and the response rate was relatively high at both schools, with 87% in Terashima and 63% in Kamakura. The children who participated in the study were between 8 and 14 years old (children from the first two grades were excluded from the survey due to their lacking reading skills). With regard to the children, the findings of this survey can be briefly summarized as follows: first, two-thirds of the elementary schools boys read newspapers but only about half of the girls did (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 6). Second, there was a strong correlation between the rate of newspaper readership between parents and children. In fact, most of the children replied that they read the same newspaper as their parents (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 7). Lastly, the children tended to be more interested in comic strips (manga) (49% of all boys and girls) and society news (shakai-men) (20% of all boys and girls) than in political the foundation of newspaper studies 55 or business news. However, the older the children got, the higher their interest in political news became (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 9–10) (cf. table 2). Even more interesting were findings regarding the parents, since they could provide causal responses to the research questions. The survey showed that certain newspapers could be linked to certain social milieus, professions and educational levels, i.e. that there was a link between newspapers and a certain class consciousness. According to the survey, families in Terashima (which is a classical working-class neighborhood) more often subscribed to conservative tabloids such as the Tōkyō nichi nichi shinbun (30%) or Yomiuri shinbun (16%), whereas at Kamakura (which is an upper-class suburban area) almost half of the people subscribed to the Tōkyō asahi shinbun (44%)—a paper “aimed at liberal intellectuals”25 (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 18). This assumption can be substantiated if one contextualizes the subscription of a certain newspaper with the professions of its readerships. Except for freelancers and public servants at Terashima and Kamakura as well as artisans in Kamakura (who subscribed to Tōkyō asahi shinbun more often), Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun was the newspaper read the most among the residents of both districts (Shinbun- kenkyūshitsu 1937: 20). Moreover, the intellectual and social milieu apparently corresponded with the reading preferences. In Terashima, people were more noticeably interested in society news (27%) than politics (22%) or business news (7%). In Kamakura, politics (18%) came first, then society (12%) and business news (10%) (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 24–25). Many of the findings of the first survey were substantiated by the second survey among 21,192 conscripts, conducted the following year. Among this sample population, those with a working class background subscribed to Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun or Yomiuri shinbun more often than public servants or freelancers did, who tended to subscribe more to the Asahi shinbun. (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1942a: 3). However, the most interesting finding of the second study can be drawn from the contextualization

25 Complete figures are as follows: Terashima: Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun 30%, Tōkyō asahi shinbun 18%, Yomiuri shinbun (16%), and Hōchi shinbun 15%; Kamakura: Tōkyō asahi shinbun 44%, Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun 31%, Hōchi shinbun 11%, and Jiji shinpō 8%. (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 18, 13, 43) Subscription rates were generally high in both areas: 79.01% in Terashima and 93.89% in Kamakura (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1937: 10, 57). These rates were even exceeded by the figures of the survey conducted 1941, when more than 40% of the people answered that they subscribed to not only one but two papers (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1942b). 56 chapter three

Table 1. Reading habits of Tōkyō’s conscripts in the 1930s.

Educational qualification Newspapers Total No Normal Upper Vocational Middle Specialized University read school Elementary Elementary School School School (in percent) attended

Tōkyō 29.84 8,57 29.09 31.25 26.82 34.09 33.09 22.88 nichinichi Tōkyō asahi 24.38 – 19.42 22.71 14.63 29.92 37.33 49.39 Yomiuri 12.29 2,85 12.22 13.70 14.63 11.99 11.45 10.78 Hōchi 7.66 – 7.71 9.82 19.51 7.95 5.56 3.41 Journals read besides the press (in percent)

Kingu 25.62 19.90 28.90 34.66 24.28 20.36 4.76 3.07 Kaizō 3.77 – 0.99 1.38 – 8.17 13.76 19.15 Chūō kōron 3.38 – 0.94 1.17 6.45 7.40 10.69 17.54

of certain reading habits with the educational qualification of the inter- viewees. As the following table illuminates, graduates from specialized schools and universities tended to subscribe to liberal papers such as the Asahi shinbun and to intellectual journals such as Kaizō and Chūō kōron. On the other hand, people with a lower educational background subscribed to Tōkyō nichinichi or Yomiuri and preferred to read the popular mass magazine Kingu (cf. table 1). The impact of the press on the experience of the most recent past—i.e. its ‘leading function’—was to be tested by asking the people about their primary source of information. According to these surveys, younger children obtained their news mainly through family members or friends and not by means of the mass media. Nevertheless, this drastically changed the older the school children got. Around the age of 10–12 they apparently became ‘socialized’ by their parents to read a certain newspaper (which was often the same one read by their parents). At that age, they were able to gather information independently, without having it filtered through the other members of the family. Here, the press began to function as the primary source of news, with radio broadcasting also playing an increasingly significant role. The following chart taken from the findings of the Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu (1937: 18–19, 38) illustrates this assumption: the foundation of newspaper studies 57

Table 2. Information-seeking behavior of school children in the 1930s. In percent 13–14 12–13 11–12 yrs. yrs. yrs. m f m f m f Terashima Press 37.82 26.30 28.00 23.28 22.13 20.59 Radio 22.27 14.18 13.26 16.85 14.84 17.28 Family members 10.88 18.33 19.41 24.65 20.44 30.86 Kamakura Press 35.29 – 35.29 – 24.52 15.89 Radio 11.76 – 11.76 – 16.03 13.41 Family members 17.64 – 11.76 – 18.86 23.17

In percent 10–11 9–10 8–9 Sub-total Total yrs. yrs. yrs. m f m f m f m f Terashima Press 15.51 13.06 16.18 10.55 8.29 11.26 21.32 18.15 19.71 Radio 12.65 15.58 14.85 18.18 14.28 17.25 14.92 16.38 15.67 Family members 21.63 38.69 22.01 26.97 26.26 32.74 20.37 27.63 24.01 Kamakura Press 22.72 13.33 11.20 16.85 14.28 6.02 18.96 13.05 16.46 Radio 16.66 15.00 21.55 19.10 19.04 15.66 18.03 15.92 17.13 Family members 19.69 30.00 19.82 26.96 27.61 28.91 21.07 27.07 23.61 58 chapter three

Furthermore, the importance of mass media with regard to readers’ consciousness about the most recent past was reflected in the children’s awareness about the most recent political or regional incidents. In Terashima, occurrences mentioned the most often by the children when asked for a ‘recent famous incident’ were the ‘Mukden Incident/Japanese-Chinese Problem,’ ‘the Olympic Games,’ or the ‘Problem of the Acknowledgement of Manchuria;’ while in Kamakura, children mentioned the ‘Lytton Report,’ the ‘Manchurian Problem,’ or the ‘Chinese-Japanese Problem’ (Shinbun- kenkyūshitsu 1937: 26–27, 29). The survey of 1941 among school children of Tōkyō’s 1st Prefectural Middle School substantiated these results. When asked about the rationale behind their reading habits, most children (26.8%) answered that they were interested in reading articles on recent ‘major incidents’ (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1942b: 17–18). However, compared to 1932, the influence of the radio had significantly increased in 1942: 37.1% of the children obtained their news on current incidents from newspapers and the radio, 36.6% merely from the radio and only 13.3% exclusively from the press (Shinbun-kenkyūshitsu 1942b: 24).

Mutual Contacts: Internationalization of Newspaper Studies

In the 1920s, Ono undertook a trip to Europe and the USA, traveling by boat and railroad—a trip that lasted for many months. One can think of many reasons for the enormous exertions undertaken by Ono during these extensive journeys. Though it had been relatively common since the beginning of the Meiji period for Japanese scholars to make research trips to Europe or America for the purpose of investigating the political, economic or intellectual conditions of the respective countries, this situation had changed by the time of Ono’s travels because Japan itself had already arrived at a significant political, cultural, and economic status. In the 1920s, when Ono made his journeys, Japan had averted potential colo- nization by the Western imperialist powers, had proved its military might against China and Russia in two successful wars, and had itself reached the status of a colonial power by annexing colonies in Taiwan, Korea and China. The country possessed a relatively stable political system and a dense network of educational institutions, and had had a constantly growing GDP since the beginning of the 20th century.26 People who lived in the

26 The value of industrial production rose from 796 to 6889 million yen in Japan between 1909 and 1919, i.e. more than eight-fold. In the successive years industrial production grew steadily by twelve percent up to 1929 (Hartmann 1996: 146). the foundation of newspaper studies 59 metropolises such as Tōkyō or Ōsaka considered their everyday lives to be as modern as those of the residents of Paris or Berlin during the ‘roaring twenties.’27 The Japanese press as well had assumed proportions that even astonished German press scholar Karl d’Ester during his stay in Japan in 1929. In an essay on the Japanese press published in the professional journal Zeitungs-Verlag, d’Ester (1930: 590) remarked that he only knew of a few countries “in which the press had become such an important factor of cultural development as in the ‘Empire of the Rising Sun.’ [. . .] Today, Japan’s press marches in the vanguard of the world press, in terms of the circulation figures of individual newspapers as well as technical facilities.” Ono had realized that he might attract international attention to the internationally marginalized Japanese nation by means of presenting the enormous economic and cultural development of the Japanese press on an international level. In two articles published on the occasion of his two research visits to Germany, Ono similarly commented on the size of the Japanese press by comparing it with international standards and with the German press in particular28 (cf. Ono 1923a, 1929a). As well as making remarks like these that were designed to display the ‘equality’ of the Japanese press, Ono made strategic efforts to affili- ate his work with proponents of German newspaper studies. He also felt that through participation in international congresses he could catch up on recent developments within the European academic community. As already mentioned, Ono cultivated a particularly close and long-lasting friendship with German newspaper scholar Karl d’Ester. To understand the particular historical context in which Ono aspired to gain the approval of his academic achievements by German academic circles, it will be necessary to address the internationalizing tendencies within German newspaper studies during the time between the two world wars more closely. Karl d’Ester’s academic standing as one of the most renowned German newspaper scholars of the 1920s was particularly based on two achievements which, in turn, put Ono into the center of the German news paper studies as well. These were the foundation of the academic journal

27 For a comparative view on the perception of ‘everydayness’ and ‘modern life’ in Europe and Japan in the 1920s, see the comprehensive study by Harry Harootunian (2000). 28 In an article published in 1923 Ono (1923a: 977) states that “the Japanese press has adapted to the peculiar Japanese provincial structure and thus developed into a direction which can hardly be compared with any European archetypes. (More than anything else the German press can be assumed as standard here, like the German and Japanese press have substantial similarity in the thoroughness of the content.)” 60 chapter three

Zeitungswissenschaft (“newspaper studies”) co-founded by d’Ester in 1926 and the international press exhibition PRESSA in Cologne and the associated Erster Internationaler Zeitungswissenschaftlicher Kongress (“First International Congress of Newspaper Studies”) in 1928. The academic journal Zeitungswissenschaft was founded simultaneously with Ono’s journal Shinbungaku kenkyū in 1926 by d’Ester and his colleague Walther Heide (1894–1957) as the first genuine academic journal of newspaper studies in Germany. According to their objective to found a Monatsschrift für internationale Zeitungsforschung (“Monthly for International Press Research”), it was originally intended to be named Weltpresse (“World Press”) but was renamed Zeitungswissenschaft owing to controversies with the publisher. The journal had a significant integra- tional function in the initial phase of the young discipline in Germany. It came into being at the suggestion of Heide, who for a long time had been demanding the establishment of an “organ to exchange various views and findings of ongoing research projects” as a “precondition for the continuous development of newspaper studies” (Bohrmann and Kutsch 1975/76: 805). Ono had at least a formal share in the establishment of the journal, as the introductory note in the first issue of the journal illustrates: When in winter 1924 the representative of newspaper studies in Japan, Dr Hideo Ono, visited Germany in order to discuss the further development of newspaper studies, he at first demanded the establishment of an international journal for newspaper research as an auxiliary means for the prosper- ous collaboration of scholars of a field [i.e. journalism, F.S.] on which they had so far combated each other to the man. What at first had been inspired by Dr Ono became true in Germany later on. (Heide and d’Ester 1926: 1) Obviously, it was not only Ono who needed German newspaper studies for legitimizing shinbungaku in Japan on an academic level: the two German newspaper scholars d’Ester and Heide in their turn called upon the foreign researcher Ono to revive their idea of an internationalization of newspaper studies. Thus, it is necessary to reconsider the establishment of the academic journal Zeitungswissenschaft against the historical background of a global desire for an international understanding (then having assumed a particular shape in the League of Nations in 1920) after a period of mutual journalistic warfare during the First World War. In the 1930s, the journal satisfied demand for academic internationalization by incorporating articles from scholars abroad. Ono supported its international ambitions by contributing articles on the Japanese press and regular reports on the state of newspaper studies in Japan. Unfortunately, the foundation of newspaper studies 61

Figure 2. Exhibition grounds of PRESSA (in 1928) on the right bank of the river Rhine in Cologne. Postcard from the estate of Karl d’Ester. In the possession of the Institute for Newspaper Research (Dortmund).

Figure 3. Ono Hideo, his wife Ono Tsuru and Karl d’Ester at the Starnberger See close to Munich (in 1929). Photograph from the estate of Karl d’Ester. In the possession of the Institute for Newspaper Research (Dortmund). 62 chapter three

Figure 4. Article by Karl d’Ester on Ono Hideo, published in the German academic journal Zeitungswissenschaft in 1926. Courtesy of Duncker und Humblot. the foundation of newspaper studies 63 however, with the rise of National Socialism his participation decreased and subsequent information on the Japanese press or press legislation became more and more selective and propagandistic.29 Nevertheless, Ono had already attained his goal by that time. Shinbungaku had not only been institutionalized as an academic discipline in Japan, but had also won recognition from scholars of newspaper studies in Germany (which was much aspired to), as the following remarks by Karl d’Ester on his Japanese colleague in the first issue of the journal Zeitungswissenschaft indicate: In autumn 1923 I was visited by a Japanese scholar from Tōkyō who was on a journey round the world with his spouse in order to learn about the institutions of newspaper studies in various European and American countries. [. . .] Thereby, Japan acted as a shining model. It had acknowledged the significance ideally attached to the theoretical study of the press, what, on the contrary, has not yet been realized in most of the European countries. [. . .] Ono has started his venture to pave the way for the new discipline in Japan with great farsightedness and subtle understanding for the scientific research of the press and its possibilities. (d’Ester 1926: 17) Ono’s newly founded Japanese academic journal Shinbungaku kenkyū was reviewed favorably in the German journal Zeitungswissenschaft as well: Dr Hideo Ono, professor for newspaper studies at the University of Tōkyō, has published a Journal for Scientific Study of Journalism almost simultaneously with the publication of the [. . .] international academic journal Zeitungswissenschaft. [. . .] All articles have been authored by Dr Ono himself and possess a remarkable perspicacity for the major problems of the contemporary press. (N.N. 1926: 64) The second achievement, which helped d’Ester to gain a high reputation within newspaper studies in Germany, can be seen in a similar transnational context. At the request of the then-mayor of Cologne, Konrad Adenauer (1876–1967), d’Ester accepted an offer to head the organization of the ‘Historico-Cultural Division’ (Kulturhistorische Abteilung) at the international press exhibition PRESSA, which was planned to take place in Cologne in 1928. Besides the ‘Historico-Cultural Division,’ which received highest acclaim at least from the visitors of the PRESSA (cf. Bohrmann/ Kutsch 1981: 582), the international ‘House of Nations’ (Staatenhaus), in which 45 nations presented the press of their respective countries,

29 On the issue of German newspaper studies during the time of the National Socialism see Duchkowitsch (2004). 64 chapter three became the main attraction of this gigantic exhibition,30 being visited by more than 40,000 visitors a day. The review of the PRESSA in the local press encompassed nearly everything from high acclaim for bringing the nations of the world together to harsh criticism of the costly exhibition. Thus, the conservative newspaper Kölnische Volkszeitung called the exhibition a ‘tool of peace’ (Werkzeug des Friedens), while the left-leaning newspaper Rheinische Zeitung referred to the bad financial situation of the city of Cologne and compared the costs for the cosmopolitanism propagated by the exhibition against the bad condition of public schools and baths (Klose 1980: 138). However, criticism also came from the scholarly side: the then-assistant at the Deutsches Institut für Zeitungskunde (German Institute for Newspaper Studies) Hans A. Münster (1901–1963) noted critically that “the great chance to seriously tackle both the assets and drawbacks of the international press with regard to the problem of mutual understanding and hostile demagoguery among nations” (Klose 1980: 209) had not been realized by the organizers of the exhibition. All in all, PRESSA took place within a political context characterized by the desire for national self-assertion on the part of the war-debtor Germany, particularly of the French-occupied Rhineland, and the search for a form of international understanding in the time between the two world wars. However, despite all criticism, the international significance of the event did not go unnoticed, and the intention to encourage international understanding of the organizers did yield fruit. The symbolic unification of numerous nations31 that had previously battled each other in World War I within the premises of the House of Nations, the ‘Exhibition of Worldviews’ (Weltanschauungsausstellung), consisting of Catholic, Protestant and Jewish exhibitions, as well as the presence of the League of Nations, were all examples of the successful implementation of the idea of encouraging international understanding and had incontrovertible signal- bearing effects on the rest of the world. Without any doubt, Ono anticipated the global impact of the PRESSA and saw in Japan’s participation in the international House of Nations yet another possibility to draw attention to his country. Due to the fact that the Japanese government was not willing to contribute officially to the PRESSA, Ono’s former employer, the publishing house Ōsaka mainichi, assumed responsibility for Japan’s

30 The costs of the entire exhibition amounted to 80 to 100 million Reichsmark, which constituted a significant sum against the background of Cologne’s municipal debt of 30 million RM and an unemployment rate of 14% in 1927. (cf. Klose 1980: 199) 31 Besides 27 European states, all five continents were present at the PRESSA. Among participating countries were the two belligerent nations—China and Japan—along with the USA and the still-young USSR. the foundation of newspaper studies 65 representation within the international House of Nations, largely at Ono’s request.32 According to Averbeck (1999: 70) the PRESSA exhibition—like the aforementioned academic journal Zeitungswissenschaft—was of particular importance for newspaper studies in Germany because it “enabled newspaper scholars to establish long-term interpersonal and institutional contacts.” On the occasion of the PRESSA and at the invitation of Karl d’Ester, Ono traveled in 1928 to Europe for a second time in order to participate in the First International Congress of Newspaper Studies. This congress, which took place from 8–10 August 1928, occurred in addition to 300 other conferences and congresses around the time of the PRESSA, and had been initiated by d’Ester not only to promote newspaper studies in Germany, but also to provide an international platform for press researchers. Ono, who had been elected secretary of the congress, gave a talk at the conference on the state of press research in Japan.33 He reported that after “three years of efforts the formation of a foundation for the establishment of a Japanese institute for newspaper studies at Tōkyō Imperial University” eventually succeeded (cited in N.N. 1928b: 449). At the conference, d’Ester presented his plan for a future collaboration between newspaper scholars on an international level: First of all, the flow of information between the respective countries should be strengthened by means of exchanging lecturers, students34 and research

32 Accordingly, reviews of the Japanese contribution to the PRESSA in the local press were less positive: “The Japanese group represents itself to the visitor in the House of Nations in a business-like manner. Unfortunately, the Japanese government did not feel the need to contribute officially, which is quite a pity in the face of the idea of the PRESSA to unify the nations. [. . .] Despite the fact that the many charts and various wall diagrams listing the most important figures on business volume, circulation figures, employees, etc. of the [. . .] publishing house (i.e. the Mainichi shinbun publishing house, F.S.) are available in German, the displayed advertising brochures are written in English and thus address the English-speaking visitors at the PRESSA. Without dispute, it would have been interesting to hear full particulars about the current state of the Japanese press.” (N.N. 1928a: 3) 33 Besides Ono, newspaper scholars from Egypt, Latvia, Austria, Poland, Switzerland, the USSR, Czechoslovakia and Greece reported on the institutional and scholarly state of newspaper studies in their respective countries. (cf. N.N. 1928b: 449–467) 34 Between 1925 and 1945, d’Ester supervised two dissertations on the Chinese press besides other dissertations on the Belgian, Bulgarian, Polish, French, British, Italian, Lith- uanian, Czechoslovakian and American presses written for the most part by exchange students studying with d’Ester. Moreover d’Ester dispatched one of his students, Karl Fer- dinand Reichel, to Japan to study with Ono. During his stay, Reichel translated and supplemented the Hayasaka Jirō’s English brochure “Outline of the Japanese Press” into German (cf. Reichel 1943). Erich Everth, professor for newspaper studies at Leipzig since 1926, adopted an attitude contrary to d’Esther’s idea of an internationalization of newspaper studies. In his inaugural lecture in 1926 he emphasized that research on the German press was more urgent than obtaining knowledge about the foreign press (cf. Everth 1927: 11). 66 chapter three

Figure 5. Karl d’Ester together with the editorial staff of the Tōkyō Imperial University’s student newspaper Teikoku daigaku shinbun (in autumn 1929). Photograph from the estate of Karl d’Ester. In the possession of the Institute for Newspaper Research (Dortmund).

materials. The publication of a joint academic journal and an international bibliography of the press35 are thought to coordinate and facilitate scholarly work. The collaboration between representatives of newspaper studies should be intensified by means of regular gatherings and congresses among press researchers on national and international levels. (d’Ester and Heide 1928: 33–34; Klose 1980: 213–214)

The Korean scholar Kim Heun-Chun was one of the few students who wrote a dissertation on the foreign press under the direction of Everth. Kim’s dissertation was published in 1928 and was entitled Die Aufmachung der modernen Zeitung in Ostasien. Japan, China und Korea (The Appearance of the Press in East Asia. Japan, China, and Korea) (cf. Kim 1928). It is important to add that Kim is deemed to be one of the doyens of newspaper studies in Korea. For a detailed discussion of Kim Heun-Chun, see Kim and Westerbarkey (1998). 35 One of the first biographies of this kind was published in 1932 by Karl Bömer, instruc- tor of the division on foreign affairs at the Deutsches Institut für Zeitungskunde (German Institute for Newspaper Studies) (cf. Bömer 1932). the foundation of newspaper studies 67

Figure 6. Karl d’Ester delivering a lecture on the history of the German press in the conference room of the newspaper Kyōto nichinichi (Ōsaka mainichi shinbun: 1929.9.23).

However, in the times to come, a regular exchange of lecturers did not take place. Only d’Ester travelled to Japan in 1929. He also made visits to China (in 1929), the USSR (in 1929) and Africa (in 1936). As Ono’s guest, d’Ester gave lectures about the German press at various institutions and at the opening ceremony of the Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu at Tōkyō Imperial University in 1929. In addition, he assisted the institute with the cataloguing of the German-speaking library collection (d’Ester 1951: 250–275). Nevertheless, the foundation in 1933 of the Deutscher Zeitungswissenschaftlicher Verband—the German Association for Newspaper Studies, (DZV)—did not comply with d’Ester’s and Heide’s demand for an international collaboration of all newspaper scholars. The aim to bring together foreign researchers and institutes could not be fulfilled due to the increasing National-socialist influences in Germany. According to Klose, ideological concepts and policies such as “the ‘journalistic means of persuasion’ (Publizisitische Führungsmittel), ‘propaganda’ and the new ‘editor law’ (Schriftleitergesetz) detached German newspaper studies from its international ambitions” (Klose 1980: 218). Chapter Four

The Social Function of the Press: Education, Public Opinion, Propaganda

Public opinion is nothing but a notional construct, existing only as an abstraction. (Koyama Eizō) It was around the time of the establishment of shinbungaku as an academic discipline that sociologists became more and more interested in the phenomenon of the press and its social function as well. Sociological discourse has a relatively long tradition in Japan, where certain strands of western socio-philosophical thought had already been introduced during the early years of the Meiji period. As early as in the immediate aftermath of the Meiji Restoration (1868), the European political and social philosophies of John Stuart Mill (1806–1873) and Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832) as well as the positivistic philosophy of Auguste Comte (1798–1857) were introduced by representatives of the Meiroku-sha (Meiji 6 Society), and in particular by Fukuzawa Yukichi and Nishi Amane (1829–1897).1 However, the first academic lectures in sociology were not held until Toyama Shōichi (1843–1900) and Ariga Nagao (1860–1920) began to introduce Herbert Spencer’s (1820–1903) organicistic conception of society in their seminars at Tōkyō Imperial University around the end of the 19th century. Sociologist Akimoto Ritsuo describes this early phase of appropriation of Western sociological thought as follows: During this period, [. . .] there was only a limited understanding of the sociology of Comte. However, one cannot overlook the fact that the position taken by Comte, who argued for harmony between ‘progress’ and “order,” coincided with the policies of modernization which the Japanese government adopted after the Meiji Restoration. In this regard, it is important to bear in mind that the introduction of Herbert Spencer’s thought also reflected the problematic of the period, where the government tried to acti- vate and arouse the consciousness of the people towards modernization.

1 For a discussion of the problems regarding early Japanese translations of the idea of ‘society’ see the detailed studies by Yanabu Akira (1982). the social function of the press 69

The interest in Spencer emerged in the latter half of the 1870’s, and it was related to political conflicts surrounding the establishment of the consti- tution (1889). On the one hand, the Jiyū minken undō (the Movement for Liberty and Popular Rights) mainly stressed the liberal theory of Spencer (. . .) In response to this the conservatives, on the other hand, pushed into the forefront Spencer’s theory of the social organism, stressing every effort towards control rather than the stimulation of a popular energy. (Akimoto 2005: 20–21) Sociology in Japan was thus, at its beginnings, strongly related to national policy and embodied the ideology of the Meiji state. According to Akimoto, “social organismic theory was basically utilized as a catalyst for an irrational principle of order, and it served as an ideology for state formation” (Akimoto 2005: 22). Most especially, Toyama’s successor at Tōkyō Imperial University (the first Japanese university to found a department of sociology in 1919), Takebe Tongo (1871–1944), “imbued his sociology with pragmatic implications which reinforced the ideal of national rule, by combining Comte’s sociology with the world view of Confucianism” (Koyano 1976: 8). In general, most sociological theories formulated around the turn of the 19th century embodied an “intentional connection between the theory of [. . .] social organism and the traditional Japanese principle of order.” From these theories also emerged the Japanese concept of the ‘family state’ (kazoku kokka), which later became the “ideological pillar which supported the raison d’état of pre-war Japan” (Akimoto 2005: 22). From around the 1910s theoretical sociology began to take on a different shape. A new generation of sociologists, such as Yoneda Shōtarō (1873–1946) (a professor at Kyōto Imperial University who had studied under F.H. Giddings and Gabriel Tarde in France and the USA) and Endō Ryūkichi (1874–1946) (professor at Waseda University) criticized the organicistic theory of society and advocated an approach that can be described as ‘social-psychological’ (Nagatani 2005: 115). Strongly influenced by the thought of Georg Simmel, Tarde, and Giddings, the proponents of this approach considered society not as an organic body but as something that consists in the social interactions or ‘voluntary associations’ (ishi ketsugō) (Endō 1907: 107–108) among independent individuals. The subsequent decades (1910–1930), which have been characterized by Andrew E. Barshay as a ‘liberal’ or ‘pluralizing’ moment within the history of the social sciences in Japan in general (Barshay 2004: 46–53), produced a wide range of new theoretical positions, accompanied by a boom in Japanese translations of the latest European and American sociological 70 chapter four works.2 Though many sociological approaches by American sociologists were received and translated in Japan in this period as well, we can say that by the 1920s German sociology had become the main influence upon Japanese theoretical sociology.3 The journal Shakaigaku zasshi (“Journal of Sociology”) in particular, organ of the Japanese Sociological Society (Nihon shakaigaku-kai) founded in 1923, introduced its wide academic readership to the contemporary sociological discourses of German sociologists such as Ferdinand Tönnies (1855–1936), Georg Simmel (1858–1918), Werner Sombart (1863–1941), Emil Lederer (1882–1939), Heinrich Rickert (1863– 1936), Max Weber (1864–1920), Max Scheler (1874–1928), Leopold von Wiese (1876–1969), Franz Oppenheimer (1864–1943) and Oswald Spengler (1880–1936). Following the main sociological current in Germany, it was basically formal sociology (formale Soziologie)4—first introduced by the aforementioned scholars Endō and Yoneda—that held central position in Japanese theoretical sociology by the 1920’s. Another important figure in prewar sociological discourse and a distinguished advocate of formal sociology was Takata Yasuma (1883–1972), a disciple of Yoneda.5 Most particularly, his works Shakaigaku genri (“Principles of Sociology,” 1919) and Shakaigaku gairon (“Introduction to Sociology,” 1922) can be described as an important turning point within Japanese sociology that marked the general rejection of organicistic

2 Among these were Georg Simmel’s Grundfragen der Soziologie (“Fundamental Ques- tions of Sociology”) (1921) and Über sociale Differenzierung (“On Social Differentiation”) (1928), J.G. Tarde’s Les lois de l’imitation (“The Laws of Imitation”) (1924) and L’opinion et la foule (“Opinion and the Crowd”) (1928), E. Durkheim’s Sociologie et philosophie (“Sociol- ogy and Philosophy”) (1924) and F.H. Gidding’s The Elements of Sociology (1925) and The Priniciples of Sociology (1929), just to mention a few. 3 Nevertheless, a small number of sociologists were also strongly influenced by French sociology, namely the theories of Emile Durkheim (cf. Akimoto 2005: 28). Furthermore, alongside theoretical sociology, the field of empirical sociology (namely rural, urban, and family sociology) also developed remarkably in the 1920s. Its most renowned representative was Toda Teizō of Tōkyō Imperial University, who became an assistant professor of sociology in 1922. 4 Extracts of the works of two of the most important advocates of formal sociology in the 1920s in Germany had already been translated and published in Japan in the 1920s; for instance Leopold von Wiese: “Die abstrakte Masse” (“The Abstract Mass”), in: Shakaigaku zasshi No. 47, 1928 and Alfred Vierkandt: “Die Grundgedanken meiner Gesellschaftslehre” (“Fundamental Thoughts of my Theory of Society”) in: Shakaigaku zasshi No. 52, 1928. 5 Naturally, it was not only Yoneda who was responsible for the boom of Simmel’s formal sociology in Japan. A great range of books on Simmel’s sociology were published in the 1920’s by various scholars, for instance Hayashi Keikai’s Simmel shakaigaku hōhō- ron no kenkyū (“A Study of Simmel’s Sociological Method”) (1926), Imori Rikuhei’s Keishiki shakaigaku kenkyū (“A Study of Formal Sociology”) (1927), and Shinmei Masamichi’s Kei- shiki shakaigaku-ron (“On Formal Sociology”) (1928). the social function of the press 71 understandings of society within contemporary sociological discourse. In Takata’s view, society was constituted by two complementary categories of desire—a desire for gregariousness (gunkyo no yokubō), based on the principle of homogeneity, and a desire for power (chikara no yokubō), based on the principle of heterogeneity.6 The sociologist Tominaga Ken’ichi has summarized Takata’s theory as follows: There are two complementary categories of desire: the desire for gregariousness as the principle of homogeneity and the desire for power as that of heterogeneity. The desire for gregariousness includes contiguity and communication and as such explains the formation of horizontal cooperation. The desire for power, which means superiority over others, is aroused when the actor wants to monopolize scarce resources exclusively. It presupposes an attitude of hostility and struggle, the common origin of competition and domination, and thus explains the formation of vertical relations: social class. (Tominaga 1975: 34) Though I shall not give a detailed discussion of Takata’s critique of Marxism and the category of class here—see Tominaga (1975: 38) for a precise discussion—it is important to note that Takata’s approach became so influential that by the end of the 1920s formal sociology was almost universally identified with theoretical sociology in Japan. Criticism of this narrow understanding of theoretical sociology and Takata’s formal sociology in particular heightened at the beginning of the 1930s, however, and finally culminated in a movement towards a ‘synthetic sociology,’ in which the sociologists Shinmei Masamichi (1898– 1984) and Matsumoto Junichirō (1893–1947) played a leading role. Most probably inspired by the synthetic views of Karl Mannheim’s book Die Gegenwartsaufgabe der Soziologie (“The Contemporary Task of Sociology”) (1932), Shinmei asserted that sociology should not be understood as a ‘special science’ with a “limited scope and a definite subject-matter, but rather a synthesizing science whose mission is to study the interrelation of the various fields of social life (e.g. the political, economic, religious, moral, or ideological), and in so doing, to become the mediator for the integration of the other social sciences dealing with these fields separately”7 (Odaka 1950: 404).

6 For detailed discussions of Takata Yasuma and formal sociology in Japan please refer to Kawamura (1975: 22–43), Tominaga (1975), Shinmei (1958) and Nagatani (2005). 7 This new current of sociology was harshly criticized by Marxist theorists of society who considered Marxist social science as the unifying approach to the different spheres of society (see chapter 5). 72 chapter four

Two of the aforementioned Meiji sociologists in particular—namely Takebe Tongo and Yoneda Shōtarō—were among the first thinkers who, during the first two decades of the 20th century began to consider the press from the perspective of its social function and relation to the formation of public opinion. The divergent approaches of Takebe and Yoneda to this issue reflect the two aforementioned competing currents of sociology in Japan at the time—namely the ‘organicistic’ view of society inspired by the reception of Comte and Spencer and the ‘psychologistic’ or ‘social- psychological’ view of society influenced by the theories of Tarde and Simmel (Becker 1936: 458–461). At first sight, Takebe Tongo’s perspective seems to reflect that of the newspaper scholar Ono Hideo in that he considered the newspaper to be mainly a means of education (kyōdō). In his monograph Kyōsei-gaku (“Educational and Administrative Studies”) (1921), which parallels the views of some early theorists of the press in Germany such as Albert Schäffle (1831–1903), who examined the development of the press in relation to the process of ‘civilization,’ Takebe described the press as one of the “most important matters of the everyday life of a civilized society.” Moreover, he added, “just as it is with food, water, or air, the people of a society would not be able to survive a single day without it or if it were to be contaminated” (Takebe 1921: 1213). This was also the reason why Takebe regarded “the purity of the press” as the most “important matter for the spiritual hygiene of the public” (Takebe 1921: 1213). However, Takebe’s perspective differed significantly from Ono’s with regard to the way this purity was to be achieved. Ono advocated a purification of the press ‘from within’ through the introduction of professional education for journalists on an academic level, and he emphasized the importance of freedom of the press and advocated appropriately liberal press laws. Takebe, on the other hand, on the basis of a theoretical eclecticism that combined Confucianism and the organicistic view of society, considered strict government control to be the only way to ‘purify’ the press. Like Ono, he advocated the fundamental education of journalists, but the administrative measures he envisaged were strongly interventionist. They included three aspects: ‘formal’ control of the press (i.e. control of the newspaper business by means of issuing government concessions for newspapers); ‘substantial’ control of its contents by means of censorship; and the control of newspaper personnel by means of general guidelines for the employment of journalists (particularly with regard to their education the social function of the press 73 and training).8 He also advocated the submission of individual licenses for journalists, which would be withdrawn in cases of violation of the press law (Takebe 1921: 1200–1208). Yoneda, by contrast, based on his reading of French crowd psychology and German formal sociology, developed a far more analytical and theoretical perspective on this issue. He devoted almost a whole chapter of one of his most important books on sociology—namely Gendai-jin shinri to gendai bunmei (“The Mentality of Modern Man and Modern Civilization”) (1919)—to the relationship between the press and the formation of public opinion (yoron kōsei). His approach was decisive in the introduction of the paradigmatic theoretical differentiation that prevailed among Japanese sociologists from that time onwards between crowds (gunshū) and publics (kōshū) as two—in Weberian terms—ideal-typically distinct societal formations.9 Yoneda basically accepted Gabriel Tarde’s differentiation between crowds and publics (i.e. the physical association of the crowd vs. the spiritual association of the public; the temporariness of the crowd vs. the permanence of the public; and the spatial restriction of a crowd vs. the spatial unrestrictedness of the public) (Yoneda 1919: 76–77). He disagreed, however, with Tarde’s general prediction that modern societies—based on the growing importance of newspapers and journals for the formation of public opinion in contrast to public speeches—were facing a general shift from a pre-modern era of the crowd to a modern era of the public. In particular, Yoneda criticized the implicit conclusion of Tarde’s argument, i.e. that the social force of a physical crowd would be diminished through the intellectual and rational predominance of newspaper-reading publics (Yoneda 1919: 71–75). To Yoneda, crowds and

8 As to the education and training of journalists, Takebe (1921: 1206), borrowing militaristic jargon, suggested the following: “Journalists, just like any other higher profession, need to acquire a scholarly education. Nowadays, the most convenient way is to base this training on higher education. Moreover, in order to get familiar with the practical business of a journalist, journalists need to possess adequate knowledge of the whole newspaper business. To acquire this knowledge, the journalist must work as a lay journalist (tanbō- sha) for a considerable time, similar to military officers, who begin their training from the rank of common soldiers.” 9 In Japan, one of the first comprehensive introductions to Gabriel Tarde’s sociology, entitled Tarde no shakai-gaku genri (“Tarde’s Principles of Sociology”), was published by sociologist Kazahaya Yasoji in 1923. A Japanese version of Tarde’s book L’opinion et la foule (translated by Akasaka Shizuya) appeared in 1928 under the title Yoron to gunshū (“Public Opinion and the Crowd”). 74 chapter four publics were not two social formations that succeeded each other historically. In his view, publics, although being totally different from any other concrete or actual form of social group (shakai dankai), still belong to the sphere of the social (Yoneda 1919: 84–85). He argued that publics and crowds, despite the fact that the latter social phenomenon was actually much older than the former (based on the fact that publics are necessarily based on the technological invention of the printing press), should be considered as two co-existing rather than mutually exclusive social formations. In order to overcome Tarde’s strict crowd-psychological dichotomy between publics and crowds, Yoneda put forward a ‘social-psychological’ approach to the difference between the two. He was of the opinion that publics must be considered as a pre-stage to the formation of a crowd, as in the modern age the formation of crowds was basically the “climax (chōten) of the emotional arousal of a public” (Yoneda 1919: 102). Yoneda argued that “the fact that publics have grown greatly nowadays does not mean that they suppress crowds.” Rather, he suggested, the formation of publics has “increased the chances for the formation of crowds as much as [. . .] as it has increased their influence” (Yoneda 1919: 102). He concluded that public agitation was as important to the formation of public opinion (yoron kōsei) as newspapers were. By introducing the English term ‘platform,’ he hoped to have found an epistemological term to grasp “all the means utilized by a public for winning supporters and to express opinions, emotions, and demands towards the government” (Yoneda 1919: 108). Naturally, this wide definition of the term ‘platform’ included newspapers as much as any other form of agitation such as speeches or rallies.10

10 By the 1920s, these two perspectives had assumed a paradigmatic status in the sociological intellectual discourse in Japan. Sugimori Kōjirō (1881–1963) for instance, a Waseda University professor of sociology, psychology, and several other academic disciplines, paralleled Yoneda’s and Takata’s remarks and considered the press to be basically a remarkable element and agent for the development of modern society by constructing social relationships between elements that society would be unimaginable without. However, he did this based on two different assumptions. Sugimori argued that the press was the most significant provider of information, and associated the news coverage of the press with the ‘production of knowledge’ (chishiki no seisan). According to Sugimori, news was something totally different from original academic theories or inventions because the latter was something uniquely ‘individual’ whereas news was something utterly ‘social’ (which was also the reason why he considered the press in general to be a matter of sociological inquiry in the first place) (Sugimori 1927: 296). Moreover, he added, it is based on this news coverage by the press about certain changes in our world that public opinion can take shape. Accordingly, in one of his earlier books on sociological matters, Sugimori considered the newspaper most notably as an important factor for public debates and described it “one of the [. . .] social facilities standing at the forefront of public opinion the social function of the press 75

Generational Shift: Interdisciplinary Milieu in between Shinbungaku and Sociology

Despite mutual awareness and for some time even support, sociology and shinbungaku developed as two entirely distinct disciplines at Tōkyō Imperial University.11 The latter discipline, as noted in the previous chapter, focused mainly on the historical development of the press as a ‘means of spiritual exchange’ (shin-teki kōtsū kikan) and proposed a historicist and positivistic methodological approach to the press and its readership. The former basically paid attention to the two fundamental ‘social functions’ (shakai-teki kinō) of the press, i.e. its educational meaning and its role in the formation of publics and public opinion. However, in a certain sense paralleling the intellectual development in Germany in the 1920s, it was a new generation of sociologically trained academics or journalists who—drawing from the approaches of both disciplines, sociology and newspaper studies—started to inquire more deeply into what scholars of the sociology of the press at that time in Germany identified as its “(long- term) structural effects on society and its (rather short-term) cognitive effects on the individual” (Averbeck and Kutsch 2004: 58–60). In Japan, sociologist Fujiwara Kanji (1891–1972), journalist Muneo Matsuji (1897– 1945), and sociologist Koyama Eizō (1899–1983) contributed most notably to the development of this interdisciplinary approach to the press. Fujiwara Kanji, born in 1891 in Tōkyō, can be considered the personi- fication of this new interdisciplinary milieu between shinbungaku and sociology that was taking shape in the mid-1920s. Trained in sociology at Tōkyō Imperial University under the aforementioned family sociologist

formation (yoron kōsei)” (Sugimori 1924: 163) among other media such as journals and books or assemblies and lectures. Other than the emotional consciousness of crowds, Sugimori defined public opinion as the constant process of rational criticism of obsolete systems or customs for the sake of an improvement of society consciously expressed and shared by a large number of members of society. (Sugimori 1924: 112–113, 121) Necessarily, the facilities to provide this criticism have to lie outside the system. Thus, according to his organicistic understanding of society, Sugimori considered these means most notably as ‘facilities of social control’ (shakai tōsei kinō) for the purpose of an “unorganized and non-official education, enlightenment, and association” besides official institutions such as the educational system. 11 For instance, Tōkyō Imperial University professor of sociology Toda Teizō advocated the foundation of Ono Hideo’s Shinbungaku kenkyū-shitsu and even became one of its affiliated advisors in 1929 (cf. Yoshimi 2002a: 203); Ono attended various conferences organized by Toda, such as the annual meetings of the Japanese Society of Sociology (cf. Kawai 2003: 107–108). 76 chapter four

Toda Teizō at a time when his mentor12 Ono Hideo was putting all his efforts into the foundation of the Shinbun kenyū-shitsu, Fujiwara developed an approach towards the press that was influenced by contemporary sociological thought as much as by the perspectives put forth by proponents of early newspaper studies in Japan. Having decided on a career as a journalist at the Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun, Fujiwara continued to remain active in academia after graduating from his alma mater with a doctorate in sociology in 1923.13 In the foreword to his book Shinbun-shi to shakai bunka no kensetsu (“The Press and the Construction of Social Culture”) (1923), Fujiwara reviewed the three contemporary perspectives from which the press had been studied until the 1920s. The first of these perspectives concentrated upon the ‘nature of the press’ (shinbun no jittai) (Fujiwara 1923: 2)— namely the publishing business itself or the training of journalists. Naturally, according to Fujiwara, based on the urgent need for practical handbooks, this viewpoint on the press had been the most often adopted in the earlier phase of research on the press in Japan. Though he admitted that these earlier publications had “stimulated and promoted the scientific research of the press at universities and other higher professional schools remarkably,” he criticized publications written from this perspective for being solely concerned with how newspapers “should gather, edit, produce and distribute news” and not with the meaning of the press within ‘social everyday life’14 (Fujiwara 1923: 3). The second perspective (with Ono Hideo’s research being referred to here) dealt with the ‘history of the press’ and was mainly interested in the ‘developmental process’ of the press in conjunction with social and cultural historical develop- ments15 (Fujiwara 1923: 4). The third perspective was the aforementioned

12 Fujiwara referred to Ono Hideo as his senpai (namely a senior student or elder colleague) in the acknowledgements of his book Shinbun-shi to shakai bunka no kensetsu (“The Press and the Construction of Social Culture”) (1923), describing him as one of the few intellectuals, apart from sociologists such as Toda Teizō, Takebe Tongo or Yoneda Shōtarō, to recognize the importance of research on the press (Fujiwara 1923: i–iii). 13 In 1926, for instance, he edited a special edition of Shakaigaku zasshi on family sociology. 14 Under the first perspective, Fujiwara subsumed a number of practical handbooks by American journalists and newspaper entrepreneurs and also publications by prominent German press scholars such as Robert Brunhuber (1907) or Karl Bücher (1893) and Japa- nese authors like journalist Sugimura Sojinkan (1915) or liberal politician Yoshino Sakuzō (1916). 15 Among the proponents of the second perspective were publications by Karl Bücher (1893), press historian Ludwig Salomon (1900–06), and Japanese press historian Asakura the social function of the press 77 sociological perspective of scholars such as Takebe and Yoneda—that is, approaches concerned with the ‘social function’ of the press. In addition to Yoneda and Takebe, Fujiwara regarded the German sociologist Albert Schäffle (1874–78), the German historian Wilhelm Bauer (1914) and the French sociologist Gabriel Tarde as important proponents of this third perspective (Fujiwara 1923: 5). Even though Fujiwara’s own approach to the social function of the press relied heavily upon the thought of Schäffle, Takebe and Yoneda, he expressed the view that “most of them did not put the press itself at the center of their inquiries, but dealt with it only as a part of their research on other political, economic, or religious social phenomena” (Fujiwara 1923: 13). He criticized Takebe’s and Yoneda’s approaches in particular as insufficient (though he had high regard for their important findings in general) because they merely focused upon either one or the other of the two social functions of the press—namely the press as a means of ‘social control’ (shakai tōsei) or as an instrument of education (kyōdō). Thus, according to Fujiwara, Takebe and Yoneda regarded the press simply as an instrument of either expression and formation of public opinion” (yoron no kikan) and its relationship to ‘social control’ or ‘news-coverage’ (hōdō no kikan), i.e. the educational function of the press (Fujiwara 1923: 13). To Fujiwara, these two aspects could not be treated singularly, though they were separate processes. Arguing that the formation of public opinion is necessarily preconditioned by the news coverage of the press as much as news coverage is generally influenced by public opinion, Fujiwara argued that the two functions were interrelated and ‘reciprocal,’ and that only by means of an interdisciplinary approach that reconciled the approach of sociology with that of newspaper studies would it be possible to overcome the insufficient vertical and static understanding of communication advocated by scholars of the older generation such as Ono, Takebe or Yoneda. In parallel with the intellectual discourse in Germany in the 1920s and 30s, Fujiwara recognized that it was necessary to understand the relationship between the press and its readership as a reciprocal ‘process’ (katei) of ‘social exchange’ (Fujiwara 1923: 14). To understand this process and the factors involved, it was important to analyze it from two perspectives, and Fujiwara divided his book in two parts accordingly. In the first part he addressed the ‘nature of the press,’ relying heavily on the findings of

Kamezō (1911) as well as Ono Hideo’s book on the historical development of the Japanese press (Ono 1922). 78 chapter four shinbungaku and German Zeitungswissenschaft. In the second part, with strong references to earlier sociological research in Germany, the USA, and Japan, he dealt mainly with the ‘social function’ of the press. Fujiwara explained the interdisciplinarity of his approach as follows: Research on the function of the press for the most part has focused merely on the consequences and effects of its function. Contrary to these approaches that take the existence of the press for granted and as a given fact, it is my intention to clarify how the potential for the social function of the press ger- minates within the press itself. [. . .] Consequently, the subject of this book consists of two parts. The first is the problem of the nature of the press; the second will deal with the problem of its social function. (Fujiwara 1923: 16) Like Fujiwara, the journalist Muneo Matsuji also realized the importance of both historical and sociological approaches to the press. Muneo had begun working as a journalist at Ōsaka asahi shinbun after dropping out of the prestigious private Dōshisha University in 1917, and in 1922 the Ōsaka asahi dispatched him to the USA to study journalism under Walter Williams, the founder of the world’s first school of journalism at the University of Missouri (Tomizuka 2002: 119). Having been trained also in a international and professional environment and not, like Fujiwara, in a purely academic one, Muneo agreed with the criticism that contemporary newspaper studies would remain an ‘immature science’ (misei kagaku) for as long as it did not incorporate sociological aspects into its approach (Muneo 1930: 1–2). In fact, according to Muneo, it was problematic that most of the research conducted in the field of shinbungaku so far was the work of journalists and newspaper entrepreneurs because the “method and scope of research easily wanders off into practical matters instead of forming an academic theory” (Muneo 1930: 5). In order to be able to become an academic discipline one day, shinbungaku should avoid blindly following the model of American schools of journalism that “mainly conduct research on how to gather, edit, and produce news” (Muneo 1930: 5). Rather, shinbungaku must cover the “phenomenon of the press” as a whole, from “the description and editing of social news as well as the opinions and critiques added to it by the journalists, the distribution of the printed newspaper to its consumers, [. . .] to the spiritual effect that [. . .] its consumption exerts on society” (Muneo 1930: 5–6). As an independent academic field within the ‘social sciences,’ as it was envisaged by Muneo, shinbungaku should consist of two areas: ‘pure newspaper studies’ (junsui shinbungaku) which should deal with research on the ‘essence of the press’ (i.e. its social function), ‘the historical development of the press,’ and ‘research on the freedom of speech and the press,’ and the social function of the press 79

‘applied newspaper studies’ (ōyō shinbungaku) which should comprise research on the ‘processes’ of ‘production,’ ‘consumption,’ or ‘newspaper advertising’ (Muneo 1930: 9–10). The third figure of this interdisciplinary milieu between shinbungaku and sociology in Japan to be introduced here, Koyama Eizō, became a researcher at Ono’s newly founded Shinbun kenyū-shitsu in 1929 upon graduating in sociology and political science from Tōkyō Imperial University. Based on his interdisciplinary training and work experience, Koyama from the beginning expressed a much broader understanding of shinbungaku than his mentor Ono Hideo ever had. He emphasized that newspaper studies as an academic discipline needed to grasp the press as the “interplay of spiritual, economic and technical forces” in order to understand “the nature and the social function of the press” (Koyama 1935: 9). Though he had a high regard for the historiographical research into the press undertaken by his mentor Ono Hideo, Koyama criticized Ono’s historicist viewpoint and argued that shinbungaku should not be confined to historical research. With reference to German newspaper scholar Karl Jaeger, Koyama identified four topics that he believed should guide the epistemological interest of shinbungaku: a) the ‘form of the press’ (shinbun no keitai) (such as handbills, newspaper, journal etc.); b) the ‘people in charge’ (shinbun no tantō-sha) (publishers and editors etc.); c) the ‘nature of the press’ (shinbun no honshitsu) (historical development, economic structure etc.); and, most important, d) the relationship between ‘the press and public opinion’ (shinbun to yoron) (Koyama 1935: 16–17). Koyama’s approach went far beyond Ono’s understanding of shinbungaku in another important aspect. Against the background of the success of other mass media such as broadcasting services or movies, he claimed that shinbungaku—despite being nominally bound to the press as its designated object of research—needed to include these newer forms of modern mass media into its scope of research as well. Like the German newspaper researcher Hans A. Münster, Koyama realized relatively early that it was insufficient to simply compare different forms of media; he believed it was necessary to consider the social function of the mass media in general in order to arrive at consistent models of communication and the formation of public opinion respectively (Koyama 1930/31: 226–227; 1932). Koyama concluded that “shinbungaku cannot limit its own perspective to the press, but must proactively turn to all other expressive forms and means of information associated with public opinion. By merely comparing current phenomena such as radio or film with the press, their influence on the formation of public opinion remains uncertain.” According 80 chapter four to Koyama, “if one puts aside all superficial differences originating in the specific shape of each medium, the insights into the social function of the press will become directly applicable as well to these other forms of media” (Koyama 1935: 20).

The Binding Force of Communication: The Press as a Means of Social Association

Despite using slightly different terminology, Fujiwara, Muneo, and Koyama all basically agreed upon the fundamental assumption of the proponents of newspaper studies of the previous generation (such as Ono, Bücher, and Schäffle) that the most basic social function of the press lay in its significance as an instrument of spiritual communication. Fujiwara (1923: 92) defined the press as a ‘means of communication’ (kōtsū no shudan), following the concept of Communicationsanstalt—a term first coined by the German sociologist Albert Schäffle).16 Koyama defined it in a similar way as a ‘means of spiritual exchange’ (shin-teki kōtsū no shudan), but followed the concept of geistiges Verkehrsmittel—the term adapted from Karl Bücher by Koyama’s mentor Ono. Muneo identified the ‘spiritual effects’ of the press (seishin-teki kinō) on its readership as the ‘social function’ and ‘most prominent essence’ of the modern press in general (Muneo 1930: 7). Moreover, also with regard to a typology of the press that should allow for a conceptual distinction between it and other forms of print media, Fujiwara, Muneo and Koyama referred to the definitions of the earlier generation of press scholars in Germany and Japan (such as Ono, Robert Brunhuber, Emil Löbl and Karl Bücher). All three agreed, to a greater or lesser degree, on four defining characteristics of the press: ‘publicity’ (Publizität, kōkoku-sei), ‘periodicity’ (Periodizität, teiki-sei), ‘topicality/actuality’ (Aktualität, jigi-sei), and ‘universality’ (Universalität/ Allgemeinheit des Interesses, ippan-sei) (Brunhuber 1907; Fujiwara 1923: 33–61; Koyama 1935; Löbl 1903; Ono 1923b: 29–30; Muneo 1930). Nevertheless, the most important achievement of this interdisciplinary milieu in Japan was the theoretical enrichment and fertilization of

16 The term kōtsū is translated here as ‘communication’ because apart from Bücher, who preferred the term Verkehr (a German term meaning both, exchange and traffic), Schäffle was among the first scholars who explicitly used the term communication in this context (Schäffle 1874–78: vol. I, 355). For a comprehensive account of Schäffle’s approach to the meaning of the press please refer to Meyen and Löblich (2006) and Hardt (2001). the social function of the press 81 newspaper studies through the introduction of sociological perspectives. Like a similar generation of German sociologists such as Ernst Manheim (1900–2002) and Alfred Peters (1888–1974),17 Fujiwara, Muneo and Koyama—though they were not familiar with the approaches of their German contemporaries—were among the first press scholars in Japan who attempted to ‘liberate’ previous approaches to the press and public opinion from their normative implications. Unlike their mentors Takebe, Ono, and Yoneda, whose approaches always implied a desired normative outcome from the social function of the press (‘education’ or ‘social control’), Fujiwara, Muneo, and Koyama shifted towards a more functional understanding of the press and its role within society. At the core of this new approach was an understanding of society based on the formal- sociological concept of social interaction. On the one hand, the proponents of the interdisciplinary milieu tried to ‘de-substantialize’ the traditionally normative and elitist concept of public opinion by understanding it more generally as the publicly expressed opinions of a public. On the other hand, paralleling German sociologist Ernst Manheim who, in 1933, coined the term ‘publicistic socialization’ (publizistische Vergesellschaftung) to describe the process of mass-mediated socialization (Averbeck 1999: 428– 431; Manheim 1933: 21), these scholars acknowledged that the press (or public communication in general) had become one of the most important factors in the ‘process’ of ‘social association’ within modern societies. Fujiwara, Muneo, and Koyama used the following conceptually different but epistemologically similar terms to describe the social meaning of the press from a sociological perspective:

Table 3. The sociological meaning of the press. The press as a means of . . . Fujiwara (1923) . . .“social association” (shakai ketsugō) Muneo (1930) . . .“associative unification of society” (shakai no ketsugō tōitsu) Koyama (1935) . . .“socialization” (shakai-ka)

In order to distinguish press-mediated ‘communication’ (kōtsū) from personal interactions, Fujiwara described the former as ‘secondary contacts’ (niji-teki sesshoku) in contrast to the ‘primary contacts’ of the latter (Fujiwara 1923: 116). Implicitly following German sociologist Ferdinand

17 Cf. Averbeck (1999: 263–307, 414–442). 82 chapter four

Tönnies’ distinction between Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft,18 Fujiwara considered ‘secondary contacts’ in the shape of ‘reciprocal exchange of mental contents’ (sōgo no shin-teki naiyō no juju) to be the most important form of ‘social association’ (shakai ketsugō) in urban areas in contrast to the predominance of ‘primary contacts’ on the countryside (Fujiwara 1923: 98). According to Fujiwara, this modern form of press-mediated ‘social association’ exerted an influence upon every sphere of society. Presupposing that the three most important spheres of society were—and here he referred to the Japanese sociologists Takebe and Takata Yasuma— economy, culture, and politics, Fujiwara derived three basic social functions of the press: its economic function, its educational/moral (kyōka) function, and its control (tōsei) function19 (Fujiwara 1923: 88). As the economic function of the press had already been amply covered by a great number of other scholars, newspaper entrepreneurs, and professional journalists, Fujiwara confined his analysis to the latter two of the three basic functions of the press. With reference to Takebe Tongo, Fujiwara defined the educational function of the press as one of ‘moral education’ and ‘vocational training’ in particular (Fujiwara 1923: 124; Takebe 1921: 61). However, unlike regular educational institutions such as schools or universities which were necessarily based on personal interaction, Fujiwara acknowledged that the press was actually unable to comply with the ideal teaching situation of, for instance, schools since the communication between the press and its readership was based on ‘secondary’ or ‘intermediate’ contacts alone

18 Tönnies understood Gemeinschaft—often rendered as ‘community’ in English— as groupings that are based on the feeling of togetherness, whereas Gesellschaft—often translated as ‘society’ or ‘association’—referred to groups that are sustained in terms of a common instrumental goal. According to this distinction, a family or a neighborhood can be considered communities/associoations (Gemeinschaften), wheres a joint-stock company or the state was an association or society (Gesellschaft). A translation of Tönnies’ book Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft: Grundbegriffe der reinen Soziologie (“Association and Society: Basic Concepts of Pure Sociology”) (1887) was published in Japanese translation under the title Kyōdō-shakai to rieki-shakai by Imori Rikuhei in 1912. For a discussion of the reception of the two concepts within Japanese sociology and especially the term ‘gemeinschaftlich’ see Barshay (2004: 202–203). 19 This differentiation was actually taken from the works of Takebe Tongo and Takata Yasuma. Based on an organicistic theory of society, Takebe defined the three ‘administrative’ (un’ei) spheres of society as economics, moral suasion (kyōka), and politics. Similarly, Takata considered the ‘functions’ (kinō) of society from the perspective of ‘social unification’ (shakai ketsugō) to be economics, culture, and control (tōsei). Fujiwara regarded the two perspectives, despite their different theoretical bases, as complementary (91, n. 1). the social function of the press 83

(Fujiwara 1923: 125). Accordingly, the two most basic mechanisms of education (or immediate social interaction in general), ‘suggestion’ and ‘imitation,’ were obviously ineffective with regard to the relationship between the press and its readership. Moreover, other than within the spatially restricted environment of the classroom, the educational function of the press was realized between journalists and a quantitatively larger and qualitatively more diverse newspaper readership (Fujiwara 1923: 126). Nevertheless, despite these theoretical obstructions, and quoting from an article of sociologist Simeon Gilbert published in the American Journal of Sociology more than 20 years before, Fujiwara remained convinced that the press was an educational institution comparable to a “university [that] everybody belongs to and no one graduates from” (Fujiwara 1923: 131; Gilbert 1906: 290). Fujiwara grounded his view in the fact that the aforementioned typology of the press was based on the nature of psychological stimuli. According to the contemporary social-psychological discourse on the nature of ‘suggestions’ as one phenomenon of social association, the intensity of the stimulus (namely if a certain stimulus trig- gers a response) was considered to be based on its ‘frequency,’ ‘vividness,’ ‘recency,’ and ‘coexistence.’ Fujiwara argued that these four characteristics responsible for the intensity of a suggestion could be related to the individual aspects of his aforementioned typology of the press (i.e. frequency = periodicity; vividness/recency = topicality; universality/publicity = coexistence) (Fujiwara 1923: 137–138). He concluded that even though the relationship between the press and its readers obviously lacked the primary personal contact between teachers and students characteristic of regular educational institutions, the press also had an educational function. This educational function was particularly evident in regard to a very specific form of knowledge that modern journalism had ‘monopolized’ by the 1920s and which was not covered by the regular educational system: ‘news’—i.e. facts about the current state of a society20 (Fujiwara 1923: 139). It was in this particular sense that Fujiwara defined the first of the two important social functions of the press—its educational function, that of an ‘organ of news coverage’ (hōdō no kikan). The second social function of the press, and here too Fujiwara’s thought reflected the contemporary sociological discourse, was its importance as a tool for the government to exert ‘social control’ (shakai no tōsei).

20 For Fujiwara’s comprehensive analysis of the ‘social function’ of news see Fujiwara (1927). 84 chapter four

Nevertheless, it is important to note in this regard that, unlike today’s meaning of the term as the control of ‘deviant behavior,’ the contemporary idea of ‘social control’ had a different meaning in the sociological discourse in Japan and the USA at the beginning of the 20th century. American sociologist Joseph S. Roucek has described the ambiguity of the contemporary usage of the term as follows: The concept stems from Comte. But it must be noted that the semantic aspects of the concept are complicated when defined in English and in European languages. In French, German, Russian, and other tongues, ‘control’ implies a much smaller degree of interference than in English. In English ‘control’ means usually power, might, domination, authority; in contrast, in European languages ‘control’ means supervision, inspection, surveillance, controllership. This interpretation, furthermore, complicates the American meaning; since the group headed by E.A. Ross and C.H. Cooley use the term in a sense distinctly closer to the European meaning of inspection, supervision, surveillance and guidance. (Roucek 1959: 107)21 Fujiwara too, based on his reading of Takata Yasuma’s Shakaigaku gairon (“Introduction to Sociology,” 1922), which in turn defines the term in the sense of American sociologist E.A. Ross’ understanding as the conscious dominance of society over the individual in order to maintain social order and integration, understood the term ‘social control’ basically in the aforementioned European semantic sense of the term (Fujiwara 1923: 146; Takata 1922: 229). Basically, the form of social control envisaged by E.A. Ross, Takebe and Fujiwara was control of social consciousness. According to Fujiwara, social consciousness could be classified into religion, jurisprudence, morals, customs, tradition, and public opinion. Naturally, the influence of the press on social consciousness was mainly restricted to the last aspect, namely the formation of public opinion (Fujiwara 1923: 151). With reference to Schäffle yet again, Fujiwara considered the public sphere (Öffentlichkeit, kōkoku), the public (Publikum, kōshū), public opinion (öffentliche Meinung, yoron), and the daily newspaper (Tagespresse, shinbunshi) to be not only related but to be “mutually dependent and corresponding phenomena” (Fujiwara 1923: 153). According to Fujiwara, public opinion was often explained as simply the ‘opinion of the majority’ (Fujiwara 1923: 156). This superficial definition, he argued, was problematic because it did not explain the nature of

21 A Japanese translation of E.A. Ross’ book Social Control (1901) had already been published in 1913 by Dainippon bunmei kyōkai. the social function of the press 85 this majority or “the process through which a majority actually assumes its shape” (Fujiwara 1923: 156). To Fujiwara, it was a mistake to understand the majority of public opinion as a ‘formal’ or mathematical majority (for instance in terms of a percentile distribution such as 51% vs. 49%) since “a merely formal, namely numerical majority does not necessarily represent even the substantial majority” (Fujiwara 1923: 157). In fact, a “substantial” majority can only come into existence “by means of sup- pressing of the minority [that opposes the majority] and forcing it into silence.” Put differently, “for a public opinion to turn into the majority public opinion, it requires [. . .] the consent of a minority” (Fujiwara 1923: 158). Thus, with the exception of Ono Hideo (who identified public opinion as the opinions of a leading strata of politicians or journalists who believed they were totally aware of what was good or bad for the people), Fujiwara was among the first sociologists in Japan who, with reference to the approaches of American sociologists such as Ezra Park or E.A. Ross, hinted at the processual character of public opinion formation. Quoting from Park and Burgess’ book Introduction to the Science of Sociology (1921), Fujiwara agreed that public opinion “[was] just the opinion of individuals plus their differences.” Accordingly, “there [was] no public opinion where there [was] no substantial agreement”; but conversely also, there was also “no public opinion where there [was] no disagreement” (Fujiwara 1923: 162). Consequently, Fujiwara concluded, public opinion, unlike more persistent social consciousnesses such as religion or customs, was subject to constant change in terms of the balance of power or the distribution of opinions. In fact, Fujiwara explained, public opinion [. . .] refers to a temporally limited [. . .] discursive process. Paralleling Takebe Tongo’s translation of the term public opinion as current ideas, [one can say that] public opinion is only related to specific actual facts. In fact, as soon as a public opinion is realized, it forfeits its standing as public opinion. Public opinion is not just passed on in a fixed form. This characteristic clearly differentiates public opinion from other social consciousnesses such as religion, laws, morals, or customs. (Fujiwara 1923: 160) To sum up Fujiwara’s perspective, public opinion can be understood as a constantly changing and reshaping form of social consciousness, which was based (unlike other persistent forms of consciousness such as religion or morals, which are related to emotional phenomena such as ‘instinctive reactions’ and ‘coincidental conformity’) “on an intellectual and discursive process” (Fujiwara 1923: 160). According to Fujiwara, this discursive process was a process of negotiation between society (i.e. conversation 86 chapter four with others, reading of newspapers or listening to the opinions of special- ists) and the individual (personal reflection). To Fujiwara, the daily newspaper played the most important role in this process because reading the same newspaper (or newspapers of a similar content) gave rise to a similar state of mind among the members of its public. However, this ‘mental resemblance’ alone does not establish a social formation that is necessarily based on some kind of reciprocality. According to Fujiwara, although there is no direct contact between the members of a public, its members at least develop the mutual consciousness that the other members of a public share the same information and, thus, may possess the same state of mind (Fujiwara 1923: 172). With reference to Yoneda Shōtarō, Fujiwara claimed that, unlike other social formations such as the ‘state’ or ‘rural communities,’ whose members have a ‘mutual relationship’ by sharing a certain ‘common goal’ (a perspective that necessarily needs to be questioned from today’s point of view), the public, as the conveyor or social group of public opinion, “represent[ed] a social formation which is not restricted through any specific issue. [. . .] A public can come into existence and exist within another established social group, by extending over [. . .] or through other social groups.” Thus, he considered it to be a “positive characteristic of the public” that it “centered on particular actual problems” (Fujiwara 1923: 169). To Fujiwara, this all- embracing character of public opinion was based on the four characteristics of the press he had defined in his typology (‘publicity,’ ‘periodicity,’ ‘topicality/actuality,’ and ‘universality’). In particular, it was its publicity and the universality with regard to content that had turned the press into something that was potentially interesting for all kinds of people.22 In fact, Fujiwara concluded, it was also owing to some mental resemblance between the readers of a newspaper that the press was able to exert a ‘controlling function’ in the aforementioned sense of the term as social control in the first place. According to Fujiwara, for modern societies, to control the public sphere and public opinion has become “an important form of social control” because the public “allows for a mental unification beyond spatial restrictions” (Fujiwara 1923: 176). As we will see, it was propaganda theorist and sociologist Koyama Eizō who further developed this theory into an approach for a propaganda strategy.

22 This perspective was severely criticized by the Marxian philosopher Tosaka Jun, who accused the modern press, on the basis of its capitalist character, of being nothing but an ‘agent’ of the public opinion of one particular class, namely that of the bourgeoisie; cf. chapter 5 for this criticism. the social function of the press 87

Like Fujiwara, Muneo Matsuji also demanded that newspaper studies should place more emphasis on the sociological approaches to social function of the press, arguing that the ‘essence’ of the press can be found in the ‘spiritual effects’ that it exercises on its readers. To study the spiritual effects of the press, it was necessary to focus on its social aspects, i.e. the reception side of communication. In particular, Muneo stated, “research on the social function [of the press] presupposes the clarification of the processes of production as much as the elucidation of the consumption processes of [. . .] newspapers and the respective laws of causality” (Muneo 1930: 7). According to Muneo, the most important aspect of newspaper consumption was related to the power of the press to accomplish an ‘associative unification of society’ (shakai no ketsugō tōitsu) (Muneo 1930: 6). He argued: The press possesses the important function of compensating for the knowledge deficiency of the social masses. Mutual understanding preconditions social unification. It is this understanding that evokes spiritual interactions between the people and initiates an associative unification of society. Without a mutual understanding among the people and without a compen- sation for their knowledge deficiency, the evocation of spiritual interactions and thus the associative unification of society would be impeded. (Muneo 1930: 6) According to Muneo, all society—regardless of the Gemeinschaft/ Gesellschaft distinction—required (borrowing Ono’s translation of Karl Bücher’s concept) ‘instruments of spiritual exchange’ (Verkehrsinstrument, shin-teki kōtsū kikan) to establish and maintain unity through mutual interactions. However, the further a society departed from Gemeinschaft-like social associations (such as those of the family or tribe, all based on relationships of blood or kinship), the more important the immediate means of communication such as the newspaper as an ‘instrument’ of ‘society’s spiritual exchange’ became (Muneo 1930: 17). Like Fujiwara, Muneo claimed that society’s spiritual exchange was the basis of all three fundamental social spheres of modern societies: namely ‘politics,’ ‘economics,’ and ‘education/arts.’ To Muneo, however, the political sphere was the most important with regard to the modern press. Ideally, according to Muneo, it was the press [. . .] that serves as an instrument of spiritual exchange which brings the members of a society closer to politics. Moreover, based on this understanding, it transmits the people’s agreement or discontents, objections and 88 chapter four

demands to the ruling and the ruled classes by means of spiritual exchange. [. . .] The newspaper largely contributed to the development of constitutional politics. One can say that constitutional politics and the press are inseparably connected. (Muneo 1930: 22) In this sense, the newspaper was especially relevant for the ‘formation of [political] public opinion’ (yoron kōsei). However, Muneo admitted, there was not yet an established theory to explain this formation. While some scholars considered public opinion to be the ‘general opinion of the majority’ (tasū-sha no sōgō iken), others saw it as the “general opinion held and advocated by ordinary citizens” (ippan kokumin no hōkaiteishutsu suru sōgō-teki iken) (Muneo 1930: 23). With regard to the obscurity of the existing concepts of public opinion, Muneo argued that something so hard to grasp was in fact nothing but an ‘illusion.’ However, despite the blurriness of public opinion as a sociological concept, its ‘existence’ was of crucial importance to politicians “to anticipate the [. . .] opinions of the citizens,” since they “have no other facts where they can actually build on their administration” (Muneo 1930: 23).

In his book Shinbungaku (“Newspaper Studies,” 1935), Koyama Eizō offered the most precise and sophisticated understanding of the press as an instrument of social association. Like Fujiwara and Muneo, Koyama considered the most fundamental social function of newspapers (or the mass media in general) to be its ‘spiritual function.’ To him, the press was basically a ‘tool’ to ‘publish’ and, thus, to ‘construct’ a shared ‘social reality’ (shakai-teki jijitsu) (Koyama 1935: 12, 47). He argued that [. . .] the knowledge we have of society is not an immediate perception of reality (chokusetsu na jijitsu ninshiki), but for the most part a perception of a reality that is based on concepts constructed through the internal structures of a particular society. We are only endowed by means of the press with reifications (gushō-ka) of these ideational constructs of the world (kannen- teki sekai kōsei). However, since it is impossible to ideationally reify every chronological and spatial change in the world, a selection and idealization of things that are essential and important occurs. (Koyama 1935: 231) Paralleling the perspective of his American contemporary Walter Lippman—who, in his book Public Opinion (1922), used the term ‘pictures in our heads’ for what Koyama describes here as the ‘ideational constructs of the world’—Koyama’s approach to a press-mediated reality can be considered a vanguard of later social-constructivist approaches to the mass media. The press, he argued, must be compared with an ‘eye’ through the social function of the press 89 which we see society (shakai o miru me). In Koyama’s view, the press had already become important to an extent in his times that its loss would result into nothing less than ‘social blindness’ (Koyama 1935: 3). Other passages from his book Shinbungaku underpin this socio- constructivist perspective underlying Koyama’s thought. Elsewhere in his book, Koyama even argues that the press possessed the power to invert the relation of truth and falseness or of reality and unreality respectively. He claimed that, “although we may be aware that the press might tell us lies, this reality leaves an indelible impression upon us because we are without a yardstick with which we could judge its authenticity.” The people, most of the times, “intuitively accept the reality reported by the press as being true.” Accordingly, “the average social being treats the ‘reported world’ (shinbun-ka sareta sekai) as the ‘true world,’ while the ‘true world’ consequently becomes an ‘untrue world’ ” (Koyama 1935: 5). Koyama built this assertion—one that was very similar to Lippmann’s view—on the assumption that people’s ‘ideational constructs of the world’ were actually determined through social relations: Basically, the conscious reality of human beings is a consciousness about meanings that are based on the associated representations of [other] human beings. It is an interpretation or a relational consciousness from which we choose from our present and past experiences only those things being meaningful to ourselves, and therefore a fiction. The phenomenal world as the object of our perception is but a world as interpreted by us, insofar as its contents are experienced and perceived by ourselves. Given that a report, which is already the interpretation of a newspaper, merely conveys a conception as an image or a reconstructed image of a certain actuality, this conception is nothing experienced directly by ourselves; it exists only in our consciousness; it is an untruth or a fiction. Put differently, an actual existence outside our consciousness becomes false, while a fiction existing inside our consciousness becomes true. The social reality gets fixed into our consciousness only through being reported by newspapers, with the result that the world as portrayed by newspapers becomes the truth for us, while the real existence that is left unmentioned by newspapers becomes false instead. (Koyama 1935: 5–6) Koyama concluded that if “even false realities may be turned into the truth by means of the press,” then newspapers, “through their catalytic function,” can actually “transform the nature of reality” (Koyama 1935: 266). Koyama argued that the reason for the almost almighty power of the press to construct a shared social reality lay in the disparate and differentiated structure of modern (especially urban) society itself. Koyama 90 chapter four grounded this assumption (which is similar to the views of other proponents of a sociological approach towards the press) on the Gemeinschaft/ Gesellschaft distinction. Koyama asserted, similarly to Muneo, that within a Gemeinschaft—i.e. in archaic communities like families or clans—there was no substantial necessity for written forms of expression like the press because within these communities “everybody knew everybody and [. . .] everybody knew everybody’s name” and that even “more extensive communities like rural or tribal communities do not necessarily need a newspaper” (Koyama 1935: 227). To him, the emergence of the newspaper originated “in the contact of one community with other external and heterogeneous communities or in internal differentiations within a certain community” (Koyama 1935: 228). In other words, Koyama saw the motive for the need for newspapers either in the demand for knowledge about foreign communities or in the need for news within a society at times when two or more communities came into contact. Koyama thus concluded that the press was an irreplaceable tool for the step from an archaic community-type of society to a modern society. It was a tool of modernization and civilization. Reproducing the aforementioned culturalist perspective of his mentor Ono, Koyama described the press as a ‘cultural product’ (bunka-teki shosan) or ‘cultural instrument’ (bunka yōgu) that “structures reciprocal bonds between structural parts of a differentiated society” and, hence, possesses the proactive function of fulfilling an ‘organic synthesis’ of society (Koyama 1935: 48). Put differently, the press for Koyama was not merely a ‘static mirror of society’ that ‘reflected’ social reality through its news coverage, but also its ‘dynamic motor’ that “brings society into existence” in the first place (Koyama 1935: 49–50). In other words, the press was ‘a means of socialization’ (shakai-ka no shudan) (Koyama 1935: 230) that triggered a process of ‘socialization’ based on the new social formation of the ‘public’ (kōshū). Publics, as described by Koyama, were understood as “perceptively hardly recognizable,” as “spiritual unities of individuals” (kojin no seishin- teki tōitsu) that achieve their ‘spiritual unity’ by means of a group-character that is particular to a given public. This group-character finds its reflection in a ‘group attitude’ (shūdan taidō) shared by the members of that public (Koyama 1935: 226–227). Koyama argued that it was in the reception of a certain newspaper that this idiosyncratic group attitude was achieved: The press substantially [. . .] determines the homogeneous consciousness of the readers. Thus the group formed by a newspaper—the public—gradually approximates a communal unification through the development of a sentiment of affinity—a feeling of group membership (kyōzoku kanjō) or a sense of identification (ittai-kan). (Koyama 1935: 229) the social function of the press 91

For Koyama, publics must be considered a unique form of social formation because their unitary group attitude comes into existence despite there being no—or at least no remarkable—social or physical interactions between members. Metaphorically speaking, Koyama argued that the relationship between the members of a public was comparable to the relationship between “people walking by a newspaper displayed in a showcase.” Like the people passing by a newspaper on display, the members of a public have no direct mutual relationship and are, therefore, nothing but a “disparate crowd touched by the illuminative rays of the press.” Put differently, a public was “a sphere of many independent people who [were] associated merely by means of the press” (Koyama 1935: 239). Koyama clarified this nature of the public by accepting the distinction of German sociologist Leopold von Wiese between ‘abstract masses’ (chōshu- teki shūdan) (publics) and ‘concrete masses’ (gutai-teki shūdan) (crowds).23 Koyama paraphrased von Wiese’s differentiation as follows: [. . .] The public is not a concrete, actual, or perceptible formation. Von Wiese considers the public as an abstract mass, and although he acknowl- edges its formative disposition to [. . .] assume the shape of a concrete mass, he asserts that the public [. . .] can by no means assume this shape itself. At the very moment the public turns into a concrete mass it is not a public any longer, but another, different formation like a crowd (gunshū). For a public to be a public it cannot be concrete. [. . .] When the public assumes the shape of a concrete mass, it necessarily loses all aspects of the public and is no longer a public but a crowd. Accordingly, a public must be considered a disparate [. . .] and non-concrete social formation (shakai-teki kōsei-tai). (Koyama 1935: 241) The fact that abstract masses such as the public are not cohesive as a concrete mass raises the question as to how the aforementioned process of press-mediated socialization could be triggered by the press. In other words, Koyama owed the reader an answer to the question of how the public as a social formation “can become the bearer of a group consciousness (shūdan ishiki)” if not by means of direct interpersonal contacts among its members. In this regard, Koyama argued that even though abstract masses lack the sense of solidarity (wareware ishiki) of a concrete mass that is based on the physical co-presence of its members, the members of publics

23 A Japanese translation of an extract of Leopold von Wiese’s book Allgemeine Soziolo- gie (“General Sociology”) explaining this differentiation was published in 1926 in no. 47 of the sociological journal Shakaigaku zasshi. This translation was central to the introduction of a sociological understanding of the term ‘mass’ in Japan as well as its understanding as ‘cultural mass’ (as in the term taishū bunka) or the ‘psychological’ understanding of the term as gunshū. 92 chapter four attain their consciousness as a group through their shared opinions about more concrete “social formations like the class, crowds, the ethnic nation (minzoku), or the nation-state” to which they belong (Koyama 1935: 242). Koyama explained this thought as follows: A Public means a condition of disparate individuals based on social formations. If one would refer to the public as something detached from any of these social formations one would understand public opinion as a condition of disparate individuals without any opinion, thought, and sensation; public opinion would exist merely as a form without any substantial content. [. . .] In fact, public opinion refers to the opinions of individuals on a reality reported by the press, which is based on [. . .] party-political consciousness, class-concepts and national consciousness. (Koyama 1935: 242) Put differently, Koyama—unlike Fujiwara, who perceived of public opinion merely as a particular form of social consciousness—understood the opinions of the public here as an everyday consciousness that was based on particular social formations such as class or the ethnic nation. The members of a public, that is a disparate readership, become mentally unified into a public through reading the same newspaper, an act that produces a common affection, will, and attitude with regard to their affili- ation to a certain class, ethnic group or nation. In a certain sense, public opinion is therefore the conscious connection between the individual and the surrounding society. In other words, abstract masses such as the public develop a ‘consciousness of a community-like relationship’ (kyōdō shakai kankei-teki ishiki) (Koyama 1935: 244) and thereby “accomplish an inversion of association and community” (Koyama 1935: 229) in the sense of Tönnies’ differentiation between Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft. Needless to say, what Koyama formulated here is similar to what Benedict Anderson calls ‘imagined communities’ that bind together modern societies (Gesellschaft) (such as nation-states) that have lost their communal (gemeinschaftlich) character through the process of modernization. It is the inversion of this process through the construction of new communal formations that Koyama understands here as ‘socialization.’ Based on the imaginative character of the social formation of the public, then, public opinion—though often described as “the most important symbol” of modern civilization and enlightenment—was nothing but a “notional construct, existing only as an abstraction” (shi’i-teki kōsei-butsu, chūshō toshite sonzai suru nomi) for Koyama (1935: 249). That is to say, he understood public opinion not as a “real and objective authoritative phenomenon” (shinjitsu-teki na, kyakkan-teki na, iryoku genshō), as his con- the social function of the press 93 temporaries Ono and Takebe did, but rather as the “conscious expressions of a particular social formation” (Koyama 1935: 249–250). Accordingly, as self-explanatory as it might sound, Koyama emphasized the idea that public opinion is something different from an individual opinion. To Koyama, public opinion, unlike “our [individual] arbitrary opinions” (wareware no nin’i-teki iken), “[was] not related to arbitrary things, [. . .] but to the reality of communal interests and the general common issues of national and social common life.” Accordingly, public opinion for Koyama meant communal interests and attitudes that “crystallize out of the chaos” of individual ideas. In other words, “although our opinions are outwardly individual, their basis is still social” (Koyama 1935: 258). This perspective of Koyama’s on public opinion, strongly influenced by the latest sociological currents in Germany, differed from the perspective put forward by Ono or the older generation of sociologists who regarded public opinion as a form of consciousness that needed to be controlled by the state or well-educated journalists. It was in fact very similar to the functional understanding of public opinion that prevails at the present time—namely an understanding that considers public opinion to be the opinions of a particular social formation (the public) whose membership is defined only by a shared concern for the subject of the opinion(s). However, Koyama stressed that public opinion was always subject to change because it was first and foremost related to the most current (political) topics. It was, in other words, “the expression of a shared opinion with regard to actual reality,” that is an “externalized consciousness [. . .] regarding certain current affairs” (Koyama 1935: 251). Paradoxically, Koyama later in his book differentiates between four forms of public opinion to describe its different layers (or social consciousnesses). Borrowing a model of public opinion formation developed by the German newspaper scholar and sociologist Gerhard Münzner (1928), who himself drew heavily upon assertions made by Ferdinand Tönnies six years earlier in his Critique of Public Opinion (Tönnies 1922), Koyama argued that it was basically the first level of public opinion that was “primarily molded by everyday news-coverage” (cf. fig. 7). However, this form of (political) public opinion was merely a ‘superstructure’ that rested upon deeper strata of shared opinions. Underneath the evanescent, ‘vaporous’ (kitai-teki yoron) level of opinion related to current events (jiji ni kansuru iken) was the ‘fluid’ level of opinion that was based on class-consciousness. While Koyama seemed to emphasize the volatility of the opinions of those upper two levels that created only the 94 chapter four

Figure 7. Koyama’s (1935: 256) model of the four strata of public opinion as adapted from Ferdinand Tönnies. rather loose links of Gesellschaft (association), he also contrasted them to an almost immobile and ‘solid’ stratum of customs and attitudes determined by the ‘ethnic spirit’ and the fundamental ‘social self-awareness’ of humanity as a whole that forms a feeling of Gemeinschaft (community) (Koyama 1935: 258–259). What is already obvious here is that Koyama not only has problems finding a coherent terminology throughout his whole book, but also understood this concept merely as a model of the different shapes of common opinions and consciousnesses existing in a given society. This is unlike Münzner or Tönnies, who saw their model not only as a typology of the different qualitative forms of social consciousnesses but also as a model that describes the formation of public opinion through the shifts between variably consolidated layers. In fact, Koyama’s understanding of public opinion as something that can shape a more persistent set of shared values or consciousnesses became the basis for his later involvement in the study of propaganda and propaganda techniques. Chapter Five

Marxian Intervention: the crisis of philosophy and The Actuality of Journalism

The newspaper [. . .] is nothing but the enormous commodity of a capitalist society. Accordingly, the newspaper became a modern commodity which possesses a particular ( journalistic) ideological use-value (shiyō kachi). (Tosaka Jun) When Theodor W. Adorno was appointed lecturer (Privatdozent) of philosophy at the University of Frankfurt in 1931, he expressed a deep dis- appointment with contemporary philosophy’s lack of engagement with the actual problems of modern society in Germany. His inaugural lecture presented on this occasion bore the laconic title “The Actuality of Philosophy” (Die Aktualität der Philosophie) and questioned philosophy’s general claim to totality, thereby anticipating the famous formula that the whole is always the untrue he developed in his later work Minima Moralia (1950). Besides this, however, he particularly criticized the Neo-Kantianism of the Marburg and Baden Schools, Georg Simmel’s philosophy of life, and the phenomenology of Edmund Husserl and Martin Heidegger for their disengagement with the actuality of social reality. According to Adorno, philosophical knowledge about reality can only be ‘true’ as long as it suc- ceeds to take into account the historical conditions that brought about this particular knowledge. Philosophy, to use his own words, “persistently and with the claim of truth, must proceed interpretively without ever possessing a sure key to interpretation.” Therefore, “it must always begin anew” because “[a]uthentic philosophic interpretation does not meet up with a fixed meaning which lies behind the question, but lights it up sud- denly and momentarily, and consumes it at the same time” (Adorno 2000 [1931]: 31). To Adorno, [. . .] it just is not the task of philosophy [. . .] to portray reality as “meaningful” and thereby justify it. Every such justification of that which exists is prohibited by the fragmentation in being itself. While our images of perceived reality may very well be Gestalten, the world in which we live is not; it is constituted differently than out of mere images of perception. [. . .] [T]he idea of interpretation [of reality] does not mean to suggest a second, 96 chapter five

a secret world which is to be opened up through an analysis of appearances. (Adorno 2000 [1931]: 31)1 To Adorno, ‘truth’ has, in a certain sense, “to bring about itself” (sich zeiti- gen) practically, because “the answer [of the riddle of reality, F.S.] stands in strict antithesis to the riddle, needs to be constructed out of the riddle’s elements, and destroys the riddle [. . .] as soon a answer is decisively given to it” (Adorno 2000 [1931]: 34). For Adorno, only dialectical materialism possessed the necessary ‘earnestness’ (Ernst) to ensure that “the answer does not remain mistakenly in the closed area of knowledge, but that praxis is granted to it.” Put differently, it was only materialism that could enable philosophers to ‘reconstruct’ the questions of existence from actual reality and to convert these interpretations into philosophical practice and thereby comply with Marx’s task ‘to change the world’ instead of merely interpreting it (Adorno 2000 [1931]: 34). In an article first published in 1934 in one of Japan’s largest newspapers, the Yomiuri shinbun, Tosaka demanded of philosophy that it “needs to be quotidian!” (Tosaka 1966 [1934b]). This critique of contemporary academic philosophy in Japan was aiming at what he called the philosophical ‘snobs’ (zokubutsu) (Tosaka 1966 [1934b]: 136) (or “anti-intellectual intellectuals,” as Adorno (1964: 7) called them) of the 1920s—first and foremost Martin Heidegger and his adherents in Japan—who, although dealing in their philosophies with ‘everydayness’ out of dissatisfaction with “the idealism which at that time still dominated the universities” (Adorno 1964: 7), did so merely by describing everyday reality in a negative way in terms of the Verfall ( fallenness) from “authentic everyday life” (honrai no seikatsu) (Tosaka 1966 [1934b]: 136). Similar to Adorno’s critique of 1964, yet almost three decades earlier, Tosaka criticized that this ‘jargon of authenticity,’ which translated everydayness ‘implicitly’ into a ‘theological’ (shin- gakuteki) concept, and thereby postulated the existence of a ‘authentic everydayness’ that transcends the real everydayness of the ‘proletarian masses’ (Tosaka 1966 [1934b]: 136). For a “pure philosophy” of that ilk, which “detaches itself from everydayness by means of abstraction,” philosophical examination of everydayness depraves into a mere “leisure

1 Adorno—explicitly referring to Walter Benjamin—described the most urgent under- taking of contemporary philosophy as “not to search for concealed and manifest intentions of reality, but to interpret unintentional reality, in that, by the power of constructing figures, or images (Bilder), out of the isolated elements of reality it negates (aufhebt) questions, the exact articulation of which is the task of science” (Adorno 2000 [1931]: 32). the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 97 activity,” similar to salarymen “singing No-chants” in their spare time (Tosaka 1966 [1934b]: 136). Accordingly, Tosaka would have agreed with these two most important features of what Adorno’s colleague at the Frankfurt Institute for Social Research Theodor W. Horkheimer later explicitly termed as ‘critical theory’—namely its relatedness to the actual situation and the dialectic relationship of theory and praxis (Horkheimer 1972 [1937]). Tosaka, understanding materialism just like the proponents of the Frankfurt School as the orientation of theory towards revolutionary practice, also realized that not only academic philosophy but ‘academism’ in general had departed from the actual reality by confining itself to the separation of ‘true knowledge’ (i.e. ‘scientific’ knowledge) from ‘common sense’ in the sense of doxa since its very beginnings in the Platonic academy. Through its dis- ciplinization and its narrow focus on ‘true,’ i.e. ‘scientific,’ knowledge, the academy never gained a position from where it “related [itself] to the quotidian and current problems of common society;” instead, it dealt with “more persistent and fundamental problems by trying to solve them one by one through passing them on and on.” To Tosaka, the problems of the academy were thus essentially “not current, but traditional.” Moreover, he argued that research at the academy was not primarily undertaken because “a certain science bears a certain political—socio-historical or practical—value, but because science has a value as such” (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 148–149). Therefore, Tosaka assumed that modern academism has developed into something totally opposed to any preoccupation with worldly matters: The academy separate[d] itself from its immediate relation to the world [. . .], no matter how political or intellectual the respective science itself is. The academy does not treat sciences as a view of the world (sekai-kan), but as a technique (gijutsu). [. . .] It does not consider it necessary any longer to relate the technical specialization [of its single disciplines, F.S.] to a worldview. (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 149)2

2 Maruyama Masao (Maruyama 1996 [1982]: 249–250) describes this ‘arcanization’ (misshitsu-ka) of the Japanese university in detail in his article Kindai Nihon no chishiki-jin (“Intellectuals in Modern Japan”). Like Tosaka, who believed that “the academy had separated itself from its immediate relation to any world-view” and who therefore treated science merely as an apolitical ‘technical’ way of dealing with things (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 149), Ernst Bloch warned that “the university has become the opposite of what it was once founded as” because “ratio itself has retreated into the technical expediency of the single disciplines” (Bloch 2007: 242). 98 chapter five

“Even” philosophy, Tosaka continued, “has resigned itself to the fact that it is not pursued philosophically—worldview-like—any longer” (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 149). In a similar way to Adorno’s critique of phenomenology and Neo-Kantianism, Tosaka aimed this attack particularly towards the purely phenomenological, idealist and otherworldly nature of the ‘bourgeois philosophy’ of the Kyōto School and his mentor Nishida Kitarō, who, in his early thought of Zen no kenkyū and Mu no ronri, merely “system- atized [. . .] the most basic concepts and categories of reality” instead of scrutinizing reality itself. It was, thus, merely “a method to interpret the world” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 239). It belonged to the type of philosophy that Tosaka once described as ‘interpretative philosophy’ (kaishaku no tetsugaku), which had assumed the most peculiar shape of contemporary idealistic philosophy in Japan. In its present stage, metaphysics assumed a shape where it puts forth a systematization of certain meanings or interpretations instead of a systematization of reality. Basically, the existence of reality is in fact actuality per- meated by the principle of actual time. However, interpretative philosophy rids itself from this temporal principle of actuality. A philosophy not based on this principle of time is metaphysics. And metaphysics is naturally nothing but introspection. Philosophy of history, cultural philosophy, philosophy of life or philosophical theology and most literary philosophies and theories all are types of this interpretative philosophy. (Tosaka 1936: Internet)

The Actuality of Journalism

Other than the university in general and academic philosophy in particular that had detached itself from the actual everyday reality, it was particular in journalism that Tosaka believed to have found an intellectual activity that, in its essential form, as he called it somewhere, could fulfill this task. Two articles published in 1934 in the national newspaper Yomiuri shinbun, perfectly represent not only his perspective on the relationship of philosophy to journalism and vice versa, but also his own journalistic activity at that time. Besides the already mentioned article bearing the title “Philosophy needs to be quotidian!” (Tetsugaku wa nichijō-teki dena- kute wa naranu!), Tosaka also published another article in the same year, being entitled “The common sense [understanding] of journalism is [too] narrow!” ( Jōshiki ni yoru jaanarizumu wa semai!). What relates these two articles to each other is Tosaka’s emphasis on the actuality of the everyday and its critique. To him, contemporary idealistic philosophy lost its relatedness to the everyday and thus its actuality. the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 99

In particular, Nishida’s philosophy forfeits its formerly ‘journalistic’ and actual character. Although still being something like an avant-garde philosophy during the Meiji period when it still met the Zeitgeist of the intellectuals of this period, the onward academization not only of Nishida’s philosophy but of contemporary philosophy in general detached it from its “journalistic and progressive appeal” by being “corralled into the academic ivory tower” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 239). In a similar way to the neo-idealist or phenomenologist philosophies in Germany criticized by Adorno, to Tosaka this kind of ‘bourgeois’ philosophy thereby also lost its original mission to “arouse” the people “for the sake of truth” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 235). In this sense, Tosaka concludes, Nishida’s philosophy, though neither being fascist nor feudal, was essentially ‘romantic’ (romantīku) and ‘orthodox’ (seitō-teki) (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 240). According to Nishida specialist Toshiaki Kobayashi, Nishida had (as he found it in the works of Goethe or Novalis) the “typical romantic idea that conception or intuition respectively (chokkan) can be extended into a macro cosmos by means of the Gemüth (gemyūto).” (Kobayashi 2002: 62, Japanese terms added) On the other hand, Tosaka considered the common sense understanding of journalism as too narrow because the term is only related to journalism’s most contemporary form, which is the bourgeois and capitalist mass press. As we will see in the course of these pages, to Tosaka, the most important feature of journalism lies in its actuality and the critique of the everyday. Journalism, Tosaka explained, from the outset had a different social function than academic philosophy since it was based on the “everyday life of the people,” “inhabiting” a world that is “quotidian, social, external and sometimes as well profane.” The interest of the common public into journalism is thus directed by its interest into the current, not the persistent matters (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 147–148). To Tosaka, already the etymological origin of the term ‘journalism’ in the French word ‘jour’ was indicative of this relationship (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 147). Yet again, Tosaka explained the particularity of journalism by comparing it with academism: In contrast to academism, journalism, despite its internal antagonistic moments, is generally based on the principle of [. . .] actuality, a consciousness that origins in the activity of the everyday social-life (nichijō shakai seikatsu katsudō). (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 131) Accordingly, the most distinct difference between journalism and academism can be found in the ways in which they view (and portray) the world. Other than philosophy, journalism “is an immediate expression of 100 chapter five how people see the world. Within journalism, the social circumstances (sesō) appear in a lively way” (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 148). Apparently having in mind the great journalistic accounts of the social problems of the Meiji period, such as Matsuhara Iwagorō’s Saiankoku no Tōkyō (In Darkest Tōkyō) published in 1893 or Yokoyama Gennosuke’s Nihon no kasō shakai (Japan’s Lower Class Society) published in 1899, Tosaka concluded that journalism, based on its relatedness with the actual social circumstances and current matters, is, other than philosophy or the academy in general, essentially related to what he calls the ‘principle of everydayness’ (nichijō- sei no genri).

Journalism and the Principle of Everydayness

Tosaka first developed this principle in an essay entitled “The Principle of Everydayness and Historical Time” (Nichijō-sei no genri to rekishi-teki jikan), first published in 1930 (Tosaka 1966 [1930a]). Behind Tosaka’s philosophical reappraisal of the everyday was the idea to liberate Japanese academic philosophy, basically represented by the idealism or phenomenalism of the Kyōto School, from its dependence on religion, otherworldliness, its celebration of the non-everyday, and engagement with purely metaphysical terms like genjitsu (reality).3 Denying all purely phenomenological, psychological or scientific explanations of time, in an interesting move to combine Heidegger and historical materialism, Tosaka located the logic of time not in individual consciousness, but in history. It was his idea that ‘the present’ (genzai) and ‘the now’ (ima) represented the ‘kernel’ of historical time, because the present as a period (gendai) wasn’t just a historical period like any other, but, to Tosaka, something where “the accent of total historical time” lay (Tosaka 1966 [1930a]: 101). Accordingly, other than any other historical period, the present possessed a particular ‘character’ (seikaku) that was not only based on the “material relations of production or the power of production” of this period, (Tosaka 1966 [1930a]: 99) but also in the “logic of the everyday.” This logic, according to Tosaka, was “theoretically equivalent” to the perspective of the materialist view of history that emphasized material conditions of a period. This was of great importance to Tosaka, because if the kernel of history and the character of present as a period lies in the everyday, namely ‘today’ or

3 See also Harootunian (2000: 142). the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 101 even ‘now,’4 it must be able to change the character of this period through praxis in the present everyday, since “any historical action, and narratives even, must take the present period as the point of origin”5 (Tosaka 1966 [1930a]: 101). If seen from the perspective of this philosophy of everydayness, Tosaka derived, what he calls, the two most fundamental functions of journalism: journalism as an instrument of daily news-coverage (the ‘everydayness’ (nichijō-sei) of the press) and as an instrument of political and social criticism (the ‘politicality’ (seiji-sei) of the press) that could also counteract the negative aspects of contemporary academic philosophy criticized by Tosaka (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 131–134). Regarding the former, Tosaka gave a typological and an etymological explanation of why the press was essentially linked to everydayness. The typological argument consisted basically of a linguistic homonymy between the widely accepted typology of the modern press that defined ‘actuality’ as an essential characteristic of the newspaper business and his own philosophical idea of ‘actuality.”6 According to Tosaka, the ‘actuality’

4 According to Tosaka, the present was “freely expandable and contractible within the bounds of necessity. Depending on the situation, the present period was reducible to ‘today’ or to ‘now’ (Tosaka 1966 [1930a]: 101). Accordingly, the ‘now’ and the ‘today’ bore the quality and reality of the present historical period. Hence, the present had a ‘character’ which was based on the ‘principle of everydayness’ and it was within the bounds of ‘actual’ necessity that people live within the present or live the present: “We said the present is dominated by necessity and reducible to today; but what sort of necessity governs it? The present contracts until it corresponds with the necessities of the practical life. For ‘living persons’ (seikatsu-sha) being extremely calm and speculative, the present (genzai) most likely corresponds with the present period (gendai). This is because they do not necessarily need to get through with things today. [. . .] Opposed to this, in a broad and practical sense, a ‘worker’ (rōdō-sha) must get through with his work today at any means. Under closer scrutiny, to him the today turns into the present. And as long as history is practical, the present draws nearer and nearer until it becomes today. Thus, the principle of today, the principle of everydayness, uniformly dominates historical time” (Tosaka 1966 [1930a]: 101–102). 5 One can argue that it is exactly in this point, where Tosaka’s interpretation of historical materialism from the perspective of a philosophy of the everyday overlaps with Anto- nio Gramsci’s idea of Marxism as philosophy of praxis. As we will see, it was particularly journalism, in which Tosaka saw a form of everyday praxis that could contribute to this project of criticizing and thus changing the character of the present period. This parallel has been drawn also by Harry Harootunian (2002) in his book Overcome by Modernity. 6 Tosaka was well informed about the contemporary discourses of shinbungaku and Zeitungswissenschaft (newspaper studies) in Japan and Germany. Proponents of this new academic field emerging in the 1920s typologized the newspaper by defining its most important features, namely ‘periodicity’ (Periodizität, teikikankō-sei), ‘publicity’ (Publizität, kōgai-sei), ‘topicality/actuality’ (Aktualität, jigi-sei), ‘versatility’ (Vielseitigkeit, tahōmen-sei) and ‘commonality of interest’ (Allgemeinheit des Interesses, kyōtsū-sei) (cf. chapter 3). 102 chapter five of the press and the ‘actuality’ of everydayness determine each other mutually: On the one hand, the experience of everydayness in modern societies depended to a certain degree on the daily frequency of newspapers. On the other, the daily appearance of the press was in principle determined by the succession of days. The second argument—as already mentioned—was etymological: the Japanese term shinbun (literally: “listening to the new”) originally did not convey the contemporary meaning of ‘newspaper,’ but that of ‘news’ (atarashii mono) or ‘novelty’ (shinki naru mono).7 Based on this etymological meaning, Tosaka concluded that the newness of the newspaper was necessarily based on the succession of days, since something can only appear as new if “it wasn’t already there yesterday.” In other words, something could only appear as new if the “the daybreak of another day” changed the perspective on things. Therefore, newness was preconditioned by the experience of everydayness. In other words, only in the context of the “triviality of a mundane everyday life” could news appear as new or unusual and thus draw sensational attention (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 131). The latter fundamental function of the press, its ‘politicality,’ becomes comprehensible against the background of Tosaka’s rather broad idea of politics. He understood politics not only as macropolitics, namely (bourgeois) parliamentary democracy, but in Aristotelian terms—as the most fundamental activity of men as a ‘political animal’ (zoon politikon). To Tosaka politics thus meant the ‘politics of the everyday.’ This understanding enabled him to interpret critical discussion within the contemporary press as its politicality: The press is political in both a narrow meaning—that of so-called politics— and a fundamental meaning—as a fundamental feature of social everyday life. It goes without saying that partisan papers are political in the narrower sense. But the fact that the general press is considered as an instrument of thought, public opinion, and social education represents nothing else but the politicality of the press phenomenon in the latter, fundamental meaning. Actually, notwithstanding how much the modern mass press focuses on news-coverage, political matters in the narrower and fundamental meaning will still remain fundamental for this news-coverage. Moreover, at least

7 In this respect, the etymological development of the term in Japanese is similar to that in German. The term Zeitung (newspaper) originally conveyed the simple meaning of ‘news’ as well. (cf. a quote from Friedrich Schiller (1781): Die Räuber, 2nd act, 2nd scene: „Er bittet, vorgelassen zu werden, er hab’ Euch eine wichtige Zeitung.“) Only towards the end of the 18th century did the term acquire the meaning of ‘newspaper’ in German. the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 103

some people believe that most of the press articles are written from a socio- educational—namely political—perspective. For that reason, the newspaper is not merely an instrument of news-coverage, but must also be considered an instrument of criticism. (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 133) Against this background, Tosaka could consider the political and social criticism of the press not just as a superficial cultural product of liberal- democratic modernity, but rather as something that rooted deeper in the fundamental political character of social life of humanity itself, namely on a level below class antagonisms. Tantamount to the concept of micro- politics, Tosaka asserted that “everyday life, based on everydayness, has always as well possessed a political character” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 132). Accordingly, the representative governments of modern liberal- democratic societies remained nothing but “domains that have detached and alienated” from the “fundamental and distinctive feature of social life” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 132). This definition of the function of modern journalism put forth here by Tosaka is particularly unique against the background of the debates over the role of a proletarian press among Japanese Marxists in the 1920s. At the opposite ends of the debate over the press and the role of a vanguard party were Yamakawa Hitoshi (1880–1958), the ideological leader of the Bolshevik faction of the Japanese Marxist movement, and Fukumoto Kazuo (1894–1983), Leninist and leading member of the Japanese Communist Party since his return from government-sponsored study trip to Germany. On the one hand, Yamakawa, criticizing the anarcho-syndicalist idea of Ōsugi Sakae (1885–1923) of an ‘idealist revolution’ (kan’nen-teki kakumei), proposed “a tactical solution to both the isolation of the vanguard [i.e. the Communist Party or the worker’s unions] from the masses and the political passivity and fickleness of both” in his famous 1922 essay “A Change in Course for the Proletarian Movement” (Musan kaikyū undō no hōkō tenkan). Duus and Scheiner (1998: 195) describe Yamakawa’s position of getting “into the masses” (taishū no naka e) as follows: Even though the “movement must become more practical” in order to bring vanguard and mass together through their mutual struggle, he hoped that the vanguard could raise the demands of the workers and persuade them to expand their goals. “Change of Course” did not signal, Yamakawa insisted, “a fall from the principle of revolution to reformism” but, rather, an accommo- dation to worker demands in order to build a “concrete” movement for the achievement of the final goal. The vanguard must therefore take its ideology to the masses, retain its revolutionary consciousness, and, he insisted, never dissolve within the masses. (Duus and Scheiner 1998: 195) 104 chapter five

On the other hand, despite departing from the idea of a spontaneous socialist revolution proposed by Ōsugi, in the eyes of Yamakawa’s rival Fukumoto, Yamakawa’s “change of course” didn’t reach far enough. Accusing him of being an “economist” (or ‘Kautskyian,’ in Fukumoto’s own words)—i.e. somebody who believes that economic struggle alone could lead to political transformation—Fukumoto criticized Yamakawa’s idea of a ‘united-front party’ (a proletarian party (musan kaikyū seitō) that unites peasants and workers) which should not only organize the various workers’ movements but also “serve the broad democratic interest of the lumpen, all the unorganized, the colonial masses, the outcaste bura- kumin, and even the lower elements of the petty bourgeoisie,” as ‘disas- trous’ and argued that “the proletarian movement must shift from trade union struggles to socialist political struggle.” It was Fukumoto’s opinion that it was only if the Japanese Communist Party, though still lacking an organic cohesion with the masses, would become a “true vanguard party” and “veritable source of socialist consciousness” that a genuine proletarian class-consciousness could be created. This debate over the different ways to create a common class- consciousness and the role of the vanguard reverberated also in the discussion on the role of a proletarian press in the 1920s. While the two ‘Yamakawaists’—Hayasaka Jirō and Aono Suekichi – emphasized that the spontaneous consciousness of the yet unorganized proletarian ‘masses’ should be elevated to a socialist class consciousness through a proletarian mass press, Fukumoto himself (under the pseudonym Hōjō Kazuo) and ‘Fukumotoist’ Kadoya Hiroshi directly attacked Aono’s and Hayasaka’s view, defining the proletarian press as the all-Japanese political organ of the re-founded Japanese Communist Party that should help to foster, by means of agitation, the national unification for class struggle under the exclusive guidance of the vanguard party (Kōuchi 1969; Yamamoto 1969a). It was particularly the latter camp that assimilated Vladimir Lenin’s view on the role of the press. Lenin had already put forth his idea of the press at the beginning of the 20th century, defining the role of an “all-Russian” press in his two famous essays “Where to Begin?” (1901) and “What has to be done?” (1902) as the key instrument of the unification of the proletariat in Russia, namely as that of a ‘collective propagandist,’ ‘agitator,’ and ‘organizer.’ Naturally, this idea put forth by Lenin was related to the problem of how to create a common class-consciousness among the many separated groups of workers, unions, and the Bolshevik party. Kadoya, quoting from Lenin’s article entitled “On Freedom of the Press” published in 1917, claimed that “ ‘freedom of the press’ in bourgeois society means the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 105 freedom for the rich systematically, unremittingly, daily, in millions of copies, to deceive, corrupt and fool the exploited and oppressed mass of the people, the poor” (Lenin 1977 [1917]). Consequently, he envisaged the proletarian press as a necessary antidote to the overwhelming power of the capitalist bourgeois mass press. Yamamoto Takeshi is right to conclude that this “viewpoint originated from an understanding that divided society into two different networks of communication, a bourgeois and a proletarian one” (Yamamoto 1969a: 155). Eventually, this dichotomous perspective meant the climax of the fruitful discussion on the meaning of the proletarian press in the 1920s and defined the Japanese Communist Party’s position on the matter of the press for the time being.8 However, Tosaka, never being an official member of the Communist Party himself, developed a much more refined Marxist theory of the press from outside the exclusive communist theoretical discourse. Based on his idea of the political character of everyday life, Tosaka claims that “basically every human being, in its capability as a human, is necessary a journalist. In this sense, the fact that humans beings are social animals, they are an journalistic existence ( jānaristo-teki sonzai)” (Tosaka 1966 [1935]: 156). Thereby, by endowing the human being with the capability to think critically (which Tosaka had defined as one the most important functions of journalism), form their own consciousness, and get actively involved into the process of communication, he also offered an approach to overcome the problematic dichotomy between the intellectual elite and the unconscious masses of orthodox Marxism that underlay the debate on Proletarian newspapers in the 1920s.9

8 The organ of the Japanese Communist Press, the Musansha shinbun (“Proletarian Newspaper”), had been founded by 1925. Upon being banned temporarily, it was eventually absorbed by the new organ of the Japanese Communist Party, Akahata (“The Red Flag”) in 1932. Though not being comparable to the daily Japanese mass press of that time, the initial issue of the newspaper had a circulation of 25.000 copies (Yamamoto 1969: 146–47). 9 Interestingly, Walter Benjamin, on the other side of the globe, proposed a very similar idea: “With the increasing extension of the press, which kept placing new political, religious, scientific, professional, and local organs before the readers, an increasing number of readers became writers—at first, occasional ones. It began with the daily press opening to its readers’ space for ‘letters to the editor.’ And today there is hardly a gainfully employed European who could not, in principle, find an opportunity to publish somewhere or other comments on his work, grievances, documentary reports, or that sort of thing. Thus, the distinction between author and public is about to lose its basic character. The difference becomes merely functional; it may vary from case to case. At any moment the reader is ready to turn into a writer. As expert, which he had to become willy-nilly in an extremely specialized work process, even if only in some minor respect, the reader gains access to authorship. In the Soviet Union work itself is given a voice. To present it verbally is part 106 chapter five

In this sense, Tosaka’s perspective is thus closer to that of Yamakawa, Aono, and Hayasaka, or even Ōsugi Sakae who, more or less, shared the belief that the masses will rise to a revolutionary consciousness themselves, through the everyday struggle in a capitalist society. This becomes even more obvious in Tosaka’s discussion of the terms minshū (the people) and taishū (the masses).10 Tosaka considered the former, a key concept of bourgeois democratic liberalism, as a “non-reliable scientific concept” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 137). According to Tosaka, the idea of ‘the people’ was something that was merely “imposed on the majority of the people who, in fact, possessed heterogeneous political and cultural tendencies.” It was particularly the ‘popularization’ (minshū-ka) of ‘knowledge’ and ‘opinion’—originally “the exclusive privileges of the rulers or the ruling class”—by means of the bourgeois mass press that the unitary idea of ‘the people’ assumed its shape (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 137). However, implicitly criticizing Ono’s and Takebe’s perspective on the educational function of the press, Tosaka remarked that this superficial ‘popularization’ of knowledge and opinions must be differentiated from a ‘true’ popularization. Tosaka juxtaposed this idea of a passive ‘popularization’ (which, in fact, is merely a ‘vulgarization’ (zokuryū-ka) of knowledge and opinion through bourgeois journalism) that presupposes the existence of an already “accomplished (dekiagatta) minshū,” whose individuals already formed “a unity through their qualification as a minshū,” with the idea of an active or spontaneous cultural and political massification (taishū-ka).11 In this regard, Tosaka’s understanding of ‘massification’ resembles Rosa Luxemburg’s dialectic of spontaneity and organization.12 Tosaka—in a similar way to Luxemburg—described of a man’s ability to perform the work. Literary license is now founded on polytechnic rather than specialized training and thus becomes common property” (Benjamin 1977 [1936]: 29). 10 Baba Shū’ichi has pointed at the uniqueness of Tosaka’s conception of the masses in a number of articles, cf. Baba (1973, 1985). 11 Taishū (the masses) was one of the most disputed terms of the 1920s and 30s. On the one hand, Marxists like Yamakawa Hitoshi or Fukumoto Kazuo were the ones who, in the 1920s, politicized the term in either or the other way by discovering the masses as the potential subjects of a proletarian revolution. On the other hand, the term itself had already deeply penetrated the everyday language to an extend that leftist intellectuals like Takabatake Motoyuki (1886–1928) in a 1928 special issue of Chūō kōron entitled Taishū bungei kenkyū (“Studies on the Art of the Masses”) lamented that since the Great Kantō Earthquake in 1923, the term “started to circulate in a fashionable way and it became trendy to refer to the bargain sale at a shiroko (sweet red-bean soup) restaurant as ‘taishū day’ instead of mass arts and mass performances” (Takabatake 1928). For a comprehensive discussion of the different use of the terms minshū and taishū in connection to the mass media please refer to Ariyama (2004a). 12 Luxemburg (1966 [1918]: 200) described this dialectic most lucidly in the program of the Spartakusbund: “The masses must learn how to use power, by using power. There is no the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 107

‘massification’ as the spontaneous formation and organization of (political) masses: [Massification, F.S.] is true popularization. [. . .] The [idea of ] the mass is not imposed. [. . .] Masses organize themselves—politically—into masses. In accordance with this [political] massification, massification is also the— cultural—introduction of news-coverage and criticism into the already massed and massifying mass. [. . .] If the (cultural) massification of knowledge and opinions does not go hand in hand with a (political) organization of a mass into a mass, this massification [. . .] would not be able to put into effect the instructionary and socio-educational—cultural—side of the social function—the ideological function—of the press. (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 137) Tosaka’s critical differentiation between ‘the people’ (minshū) and ‘the masses’ (taishū) becomes even more comprehensible against the background of contemporary mass-phenomena such as strikes or riots and Tosaka’s criticism of the dominant sociological discourses of that time. On the one hand, Tosaka seems to have had in mind the great spontaneous political mass unrests and demonstrations such as the rice riots of 1918 and mass protests for suffrage at Hibiya park in 1922 when emphasizing the activity and spontaneity of a mass.13 On the other hand, Tosaka’s critical perspective on the mass-psychological differentiation between ‘the mass’ and ‘the public’ that dominated Japanese sociological discourses of the time was also decisive for Tosaka’s differentiation between ‘the people’ and ‘the masses.’ In a short essay entitled “Meditations on Public Opinion” (Yoron no kōsatsu), Tosaka explicitly referred to Gabriel Tarde’s work L’opinion et la foule (“Opinion and the Crowd”). (Tosaka 1966 [1932b]: 211) Here, Tosaka criticized Tarde’s differentiation (which had already acquired

other way. We have, happily, advanced since the days when it was proposed to ‘educate’ the proletariat socialistically. Marxists of Kautsky’s school are, it would seem, still living in those vanished days. To, educate the proletarian masses socialistically meant to deliver lectures to them, to circulate leaflets and pamphlets among them. But it is not by such means that the proletarians will be schooled. The workers, today, will learn in the school of action.” 13 Katō (1974: 230) describes the nature of these upheavals in the following manner: “Deprived of the possibility of participation in politics in the system, the Japanese urban mass had no other choice than desperate revolt or resignation. The former was typical in the case of the ‘Rice Riots,’ which broke out in 1918 when the price of rice went up because of wartime speculation. In one sense the riots were a revolt of the urban masses against authority. They were completely spontaneous, occurring all over the country, violent, utterly unorganized and without any leadership.” Nevertheless, according to the leader of the Dai nihon rōdō sōdōmei yūaikai, Suzuki Bunji, “[t]he rice riots made the people aware of their own power and gave them self-confidence as a proletarian class” (quoted in: Ishida 1984: 102). 108 chapter five a paradigmatic status in Japan) between ‘the crowd’—“a collection of physic connections produced essentially by physical contact”—and ‘the public’—a “purely spiritual collectivity, a dispersion of individuals who are physically separated and whose cohesion is entirely mental” (Tarde 1969: 53). To Tosaka, Tarde thereby introduced and facilitated a normative demarcation between an educated public (the bourgeoisie)—those who were able to enunciate their opinions in the modern press, and a passive and other-directed crowd (i.e. the proletarian mass). In particular, he rejected the inherent assumption of this dichotomization that individuals unable to express or discuss their opinions through the organs of public opinion (the bourgeois press) did not participate in political debate. It was Tosaka’s opinion that the proletarian masses found a unique mode of expressing their opinions exactly through the spatial accumulations (such as mass demonstrations, strikes or rallies) that were disparaged by Tarde’s distinction. By referring to German sociologist Ferdinand Tönnies, who hinted at the necessity to differentiate between a ‘published’ opinion and the ‘public’ opinion in his book Kritik der öffentlichen Meinung (A Critique of Public Opinion, 1922), Tosaka criticized the contemporary pejorative meaning of the mass, which was based on bourgeois sociological concepts that merely equated ‘public opinion’ with ‘published opinions’ and thereby either disparaged or entirely ignored alternative opinions that were not published in the bourgeois mass press (Tosaka 1966 [1932b]: 208–209).14

‘Philosophical/Theoretical Journalism’ and ‘Journalistic Philosophy’

As already mentioned, Tosaka, in a way that was very similar to the proponents of the early Frankfurt School, saw the most fundamental meaning of both, journalism and philosophy, in the critique of the everyday. According to him, “only if we consider the function of criticism as the fundamental issue of journalism, one can problematize and analyze the relationship between journalism and philosophy, namely the philosophi-

14 Much of Tosaka’s argument and ‘scientific’ method was enunciated by socialist Ōyama Ikuo already in the 1920s: “Concepts like ‘people’ (kokumin), ‘public interest’ (kōri kōeki), ‘national morality’ (kokka dōtoku), and ‘national spirit’ (kokumin seishin), which had been so much a part of Ōyama’s analytical vocabulary in the 1910s, he now regarded as inventions of the dominant bourgeoisie to deflect resistance by the working class. In adopting a theory of conflict to explain politics, Ōyama saw himself as trading a sentimental or idealistic position for one that was ‘empirical’ and ‘scientific’ (Duus and Scheiner 1998: 181). For a precise discussion of Ōyama’s viewpoint please refer to Kümmel (1962) and Duus (1971). the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 109 cal meaning of journalism, or the journalistic necessity of philosophy respectively”15 (Tosaka 1966 [1934c]: 146). On the one hand, the similarity between the criticism of journalism and philosophy is based on his entirely unique interpretation of the Japanese term philosophy (tetsugaku). To Tosaka, ‘philosophy,’ which was basically equated with the study of Western thought in prewar Japan, should not restrict its studies to these ‘traditional’ (Tosaka would also say ‘metaphysical’) fields, but has to refer to ‘thought’ in more general terms, namely as “culture as a whole.” Despite what are usually considered as “mere form- less ideas” (katachi no nai tada no kannen) or consistent theoretical frame- works (‘social thought’) respectively, Tosaka understood ‘thought’ as ideas that are based on concrete experiences of social reality.16 The task of philosophy, according to Tosaka, is to deal with these various forms of thought/culture, including everything from literature to sports. He further enunciated this conception of thought and philosophy in his later book Shisō to fūzoku (“Thought and Customs”) published in 1936. In this book that includes many of his journalistic cultural critique published in the most important intellectual journals and daily newspapers of his times, and dealing with topics from literature, film, education, sports to religion, Tosaka understands all customs as a form of thought in the aforementioned manner. Based on this assumption, he states that, “one can sensitively extract the breath and movement of the various strains of thought in a period from the bends, distortions, and wriggles of customs in the world” (Tosaka 1966 [1936]: 271). Moreover, to him, customs, as well as thought/culture/ideas, have to be understood as social phenomena that “symbolize the world view of the period, of generations, and of social class” (Tosaka 1966 [1936]: 271). Critical theory, as it was understood by Horkheimer, was oriented toward radical social change, in contradistinction to ‘traditional theory,’ i.e. theory in the positivistic, scientistic, or purely observational mode. To Tosaka as well, customs cannot be studied from a ‘sociological’ viewpoint that “extracts and presents ordinary shared symptoms and phenomena

15 Tosaka admits that people might object in this regard that philosophical and journalistic critiques do not have exactly the same meaning. Although people might agree with the fact that the critique is the common ground of journalism and philosophy, journalistic critique is ‘critique of current matters’ ( jiji-teki hihyō, jihyō, Zeitkritik), whereas philosophical critique is ‘theoretical’ or ‘based on principles’ (genri-teki). 16 Tosaka writes: “If one tries to think of it more openhearted,” one understands that thought refers to “ideas with a certain tendency, being developed and scrutinized” through the “absorbtion” or “expulsion” of “certain experiences” (Tosaka 1966 [1934c]: 147). 110 chapter five of society as if they were essential elements of society.” (Tosaka explicitly refers to Kon Wajirō’s approach of ‘modernology’ in this regard.) Thought and culture needed to be analyzed from the perspective of the “method of historical materialism”17 (Tosaka 1966 [1936]: 275), because only then, could many of the contemporary customs (thought/culture/ideas) be understood as “highly complex phenomena that bear a kind of secondarily manipulation/operation” ( fukuji-teki sōsa) of something different. To Tosaka, these ideological manipulations were based on the selfish and individualized morals (dōtoku) of modern bourgeois and capitalist society.18 Philosophy, as Tosaka envisaged it, thus needed to turn into a ‘science of thought’ (shisō no kagaku) (Tosaka 1966 [1934c]: 147) that per- forms a ‘scientific critique’ (i.e. based on historical materialism) of these manipulating morals which whitewash actual antagonisms within society. Only then, Tosaka concluded, can philosophy comply with its task to unfold “an effect upon society” by questioning and unveiling the ideological nature of received customs and morals. Tosaka asserts that his conclusion that the “raison d’être of philosophy for society lies in its scientific function,” namely criticism, is also true for journalism (Tosaka 1966 [1934c]: 148). Despite its distortion from its original function of everyday critique due to its contemporary capitalist

17 Tosaka explains the difference between sociology (shakaigaku) and materialist social science (shakai kagaku) as follows: “Let us assume that sociology represents the science to deal with the universal phenomena of society, the preceding materials and theories it uses are nothing else but findings borrowed from the preceding sciences. Rather than claiming a dominant position towards the other sciences on the basis of its universality, sociology ends up being a parasite of these sciences. [. . .] Contrary to sociology, Marxist social science in the sense of a materialist view of history is a unification of all social sciences. But Marxist social science is not a mere unification or synthesis; it is the dialectical unification of all fields. Marxist social science does not depend on the findings and theories of the various social sciences [. . .] that are merely bourgeois sciences. Rather, it offers a theory through which the theories of other fields become valid in the first place. In fact, the materialist view of history and the Marxist social science respectively is a unified science and not the knowledge of a certain field (ichi-bunka no gaku). [. . .] Not to mention that the theory of Marxist social science—contrary to sociology—always implies a political practice [. . .] Marxist social science in the sense of a materialist view of history is not merely a transformation of economics into politics, it is a transformation of political theory into political practice” (Tosaka 1966 [1932c]: 376–378). 18 Similar to the literary criticism of Georg Lukacs, Tosaka claimed that it was the ego- istic and subjective moral presented in modern literature that reflected this morals: “First of all, morality (morality as a literary category) is not separate from the self (the self=self- awakening=self-awareness). When the object becomes a moral problem (which is to say that it becomes literary), that object is of course seen through the eyes of the author or the reader following the author, but the author becomes an increasingly unique ‘self’ or ‘I’ the more the author has eyes that are popular and universal” (Tosaka 1966 [1936]: 300). the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 111 shape (to be discussed below), even in the 1930s Tosaka held journalism in a much higher esteem than contemporary academic philosophy. It was particularly as a result of the so-called ‘fall of the university’ (daigaku no tenraku) when many universities dismissed their professorial staff in large numbers and forced many (mostly leftist or liberal) intellectuals and young unemployed academics to change their jobs and switch to the profession of a journalist that a sphere of ‘theoretical journalism’ or ‘scientific journalism’ – a “theoretical force standing in opposition to the academy”— assumed its shape. Tosaka obviously refers here to a number of incidents at Japanese universities that had triggered a long struggle over academic freedom in the 1920s and 1930s—namely the case of Morito Tetsuo (morito jiken) in 1920 and the case of the ‘three Tarō’s’ (san tarō) at the end of the 1920s—all four professors of economics at Tōkyō Imperial University who were forced to resign from their positions due to their support of Marxist viewpoints.19 The authority and the prestige the academy once possessed are disobeyed and it faces the fate that its achievements are assessed and criticized in length by journalism. Theoretical journalism has assumed an ‘inter- collegiate’ (intākarejji) shape through the [academic] talents within print capital—literally the only driving force within journalism –, having enhanced journalism’s quantitative sphere of influence constantly. Nowadays, the academy is forced to acknowledge theoretic journalism as its quantitative competitor. To the same extent that the academy has lost its theoretical power, journalism has gained new theoretical importance. (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 146) In a certain sense, not only Tosaka himself, but also many of the critical intellectuals of the Frankfurt School can be considered proponents of what Tosaka optimistically termed the ‘inter-collegiate shape’ of a ‘theoretical/scientific journalism’ (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 146). They envisaged the development of a ‘scientific journalism’ whose proponents would penetrate and analyze the actual conditions of everyday existence and, thereby, adopt a task that philosophy had lost through its focus on idealist philosophy. In this sense, they shared the idea that journalism could mean a chance to counteract the crisis of academic philosophy. Walter Benjamin, Siegfried Kracauer, and Ernst Bloch—all leading writers for the most prestigious German left-wing liberal newspaper Frankfurter Zeitung

19 For an insightful discussion of these two and other subsequent cases please refer to Marshall (1992). On the purges of Marxist scholars and left-wing students please refer to Smith (1972). 112 chapter five until their emigration in 1933—basically shared Tosaka’s general belief in journalistic forms of expression.20 Benjamin, like Tosaka, appreciated journalism’s inherent possibility of social criticism. Kracauer also believed in the possibilities of daily journalism, particularly in the prestigious Frankfurter Zeitung, which still provided a forum for critical journalism up to the early 1930s. According to Stalder (2003: 15), Kracauer’s journalistic style can be described as “philosophy in newspaper columns;” his intention was to use the Frankfurter Zeitung “as a place of philosophic debate, as an instrument of social enlightenment and change.” Especially after his embrace of Marxism in the 1920s, Kracauer’s journalistic writings turned into ‘philosophical bombshells’ exploding within the ‘fissures’ of society (Stalder 2003: 15). In a letter to Ernst Bloch, Kracauer described his intellectual production as that of an ‘anarchist’ who “blows up the accustomed images of the everyday” in order “to assemble the images meaningful from the pieces” (quoted in Stalder 2003: 16). He understood his work as a form of political praxis, using the intellect as “an instrument for the destruction of all mythical assets around and within us” (Kracauer 1990 [1931]: 353). Similar to Tosaka, he saw the basis for this approach in “dialectical materialism which takes its aim for action from the analysis of the given situation” (Kracauer 1990 [1931]: 352). One may conclude that Kracauer’s, Tosaka’s and Benjamin’s understanding of the use of journalism was similar in its proposed connectedness to the everyday, as a tool of social criticism based on dialectical/historical materialism and the opinion that journalism could be considered an instrument of social enlightenment and change.

20 Even Adorno regarded more journalistic forms of expression to be adequate to counteract the lacking actuality of philosophy. In his aforementioned essay, he described the ‘philosophical essay,’ which “ties onto the limited, contoured and unsymbolic interpretations of aesthetic essays” (Adorno 2000 [1931]: 38) as the most appropriate form of expression to match his demand for a philosophy related to actual reality and praxis. Not only Adorno but also his close friend Bloch saw in Benjamin’s work an adequate answer to philosophy’s disengagement with the concrete actuality. In particular, Bloch considered the philosophic style of Benjamin’s collection of aphorisms entitled Einbahnstraße (“One Way Street”) (1928) (calling it the ‘revue form of philosophy’ (Bloch 1959: IV, 368–371) to be an immediate consequence of the collapse of the closed schemes and systems of idealistic philosophy, especially Benjamin’s improvisations, sudden changes of perspective, particularizations and fragments. the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 113

Distorted Journalism: Sensationalism and ‘Culinary Criticism’

In Germany and Japan, despite some exemptions such as the Frankfurter Zeitung in Germany or the Japanese semi-academic intellectual journals such as Chūō kōron or Kaizō which supported the formation of an ‘inter-collegiate’ intellectual sphere envisaged by Tosaka, the condition of bourgeois-capitalist societies had already strongly distorted journalism’s and academism’s fundamental nature of criticism and news reporting. In Japan, on the one hand, the contemporary academy lost its ‘fundamental and basic character’ because it was based on the ‘political system’ of the modern university, which had to be considered an “organ of the [yet semi-feudal] state.” On the other hand, journalism had become dis- connected from its critical, actual and quotidian attitude through what Tosaka termed as the influence of the “economic nature of the print capital (shuppan shihon)” (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 150–151).21 With regard to the press, Tosaka remarked that the aforementioned social functions of journalism, i.e. news-coverage and criticism, were actually already mingled with the economic function of profit maximization. He concluded that [. . .] as for contemporary journalism, the newspaper and the press respectively represent nothing but the enormous commodity of a capitalist society. Accordingly, the newspaper became a modern commodity which possesses a particular (journalistic) ideological use-value (shiyō kachi). Bourgeois newspapers and the bourgeois press respectively have become completely subordinated to the economical relations of the capitalist system, for instance free competition and the monopolization of the news-commodity. This, in fact, turned into the most fundamental [. . .] social function of the—contemporary—bourgeois press. (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 138) Put differently, the modern newspaper business turned news—the philosophical ‘actuality’ of journalism proposed by Tosaka—into a mere commodity. For the sake of higher sales, “the news-value became abstracted from its practical use-value, [. . .] just as the exchange-value of commodi- ties became abstracted from its practical use-value” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]:

21 Despite its distortion, however, Tosaka still considered the latter the more promising of the two. For being based on its quotidian nature, it was impossible for journalism to totally lose its political character and connectedness to the everyday life of the people. In addition, he considered the development of so-called ‘proletarian journalism’ as important evidence of the fact that the current (namely bourgeois) form of journalism might still be subject to future change. 114 chapter five

138). Sensationalism, instead of objective and accurate news-coverage, transformed journalism into a modern capitalist enterprise. It was especially during the times when the press “covered the Sino-Japanese War, the Russo-Japanese War and the World War,” which “perfectly matched the evocation of primitive instincts and an underdeveloped national consciousness,” that the publishing houses were able to undergo their rapid economic and technological progress (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 138–139). Tosaka sarcastically concluded that nowadays “criticism is completely suppressed by the sensational and sentimental reports on the Olympics or the arrival of the zeppelin” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 139). Moreover, the sound political and social criticism that once shaped the unique (political) character of a newspaper (particularly the ō-shinbun of the Meiji period) had been replaced by a superficial ‘newspaper personality’ (shinbunshikaku, Zeitungspersönlichkeit) that was merely expressed by the respective selection of news and methods of news-coverage. Tosaka particularly criticized here the ideological function of the motto of the modern press, of ‘impartiality and non-partisanship’ ( fuhen futō), to which modern journalism had subscribed itself in order to sell their products to a greater readership.22 Thereby, he suggested, the modern press finally lost its function to discuss political subjects and degenerated into merely ‘impassive organs of news-coverage’ (reisei na hōdō kikan) (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 135). The intention behind the creation of a ‘newspaper personality’ was purely economic. Somewhat akin to the brand of a commodity, the journalists and publishers hoped that this personality would leave “an

22 For a discussion of the ideological character of fuhen futō please refer to Ariyama (2004b). He argues that it was a fundamental problem of the motto of ‘impartiality and non-partisanship’ that it did not offer certain norms for the journalists to judge their own reporting. Thus, despite claiming to be ‘neutral,’ even the liberal newspaper Ōsaka asahi shinbun declared an anti-revolutionary and pro-Emperor stance since the 1920s. Thereby, the mass media imposed on itself a system of unenforced self-censorship (Ariyama 2004b: 241–242). Historian Carol Gluck (Gluck 1985: 233) describes this process as follows: “At the same time the distinctive editorial stance that still characterizes Japanese journalism emerged more decisively. It combined frequently crusading anti-establishment positions— often as critical of the parties as of the government—with an ever-stronger insistence on ‘impartial and non-partisan’ editorial policy. Even the aggressively progressive Ōsaka asahi shinbun adopted the motto that it had earlier avoided and became fuhen futō in the aftermath of government suppression in 1918. But this combination of conscientious opposition with the sometimes Herculean effort to remain editorially unaligned was not a product of censorship alone. Rather, like the censorship itself, it was a legacy of Meiji politics and ideology: the stance of opposition was inherited from the long popular crusade against the government, and that of non-alignment from the cumulative effects of the identification of party politics with civically unworthy partisanship.” the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 115 immediate impression on the reader” and, thereby, assure a “fixed readership” of subscribers. However, Tosaka complained, since the newspaper was required to adhere to this personality in the times to come, journalism lost its progressivity and adaptability. The press restricted itself to a “moderate social consciousness and political view” in order to avoid disturbing the “indolent social consciousness” of its fixed readership. Tosaka concluded that in such rare cases “when the bourgeois press advocates the interests of farmers or workers [. . .], in nine out of ten cases this advocacy represents nothing else but this stage of a commodified news- coverage” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 139). Similarly, Walter Benjamin had realized as well that the mainstream press had already lost this critical function in the mid-1930s. This was especially true of literary criticism, an important cultural product of journalism, that had degenerated to negative scorchers of literary works or mere superficial summarizations of book contents, which was far from what Tosaka understood as ‘scientific’ critique. In this respect, Benjamin would have agreed with Tosaka that despite “the advertisements for new books [. . .] in the national newspapers are of great importance to the intel- ligent readers,” their “interest in the literary criticism and presentations of new books in the feuilletons (bungei-ran, the literary and arts column) is extremely low” (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 127). Both condemned the ‘commod- ification’ of criticism as much as that of news, which restricted its place to the merely superficial presentation of new books instead of sound literary social criticism. Benjamin, in his note on “False Criticism” (Falsche Kritik), remarked that “it was the aimlessness and non-decisiveness of its review activity by which journalism has bankrupted criticism” (Benjamin 1991: VI, 176). According to his friend, playwright Bertolt Brecht, the individual taste of the journalist had replaced any reflective and strategic concept of criticism (which Brecht thus called ‘culinary criticism’) (Brecht 1988: XXI, 250, 434–435). Criticism had degenerated into ‘mere description,’ in particular through its separation from the so-called ‘belles lettres’ (Brecht 1988: XXI, 403).

The Question of Ideology: Liberalism, Materialism/Socialism, and Fascism

It is an important aspect of Tosaka’s thought that he identified the mass media and academia as the conveyors of, first the liberal, and then the fascist worldview. In this respect, he departed from the original ideas and 116 chapter five perceptions of other contemporary theoreticians of ideology such as Karl Mannheim by proactively developing his own unique approach towards the question of how ideologies or worldviews such nipponism or liberalism could come into existence and transform themselves constantly. In Tosaka’s opinion, it was primarily journalism and academism that were carrying out the function of an ‘agent’ (ējento) of ideology (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 121) in modern societies.23 As agents of ideology, they represented its contemporary form and essential momentum. Taking journalism as an example, Tosaka explained that the former—the contemporary form— represented the fact that mainstream journalism had assumed a specific historical form, namely that of bourgeois journalism (which, however, is not its only imaginable form, as Tosaka remarked). The latter—the essential moment—referred to journalism as an essential moment within the process of distribution of ideologies in general (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 154). By understanding academism and journalism dialectically not only as contemporary form but also a momentum of ideology, Tosaka could consider them as both a potential “impetus or an inhibitor of the respective movements of being (Seinsbewegungen)” (Tosaka 1966 [1931b]: 150). Tosaka, at the beginning of the 1930s, showed great interest in Karl Mannheim’s sociology of knowledge, then being heatedly discussed among intellectuals of various degrees of prominence in Germany.24 The heart of the matter lay in his differentiation between the two meanings of ideology: the particular and the total. The particular was understood by Mannheim as our individual doubts towards the ideas and representations advanced by our opponent. It was more or less a conscious disguise or distortion of the real nature of a situation. According to Mannheim (1995 [1929]: 53), this conception of ideology had “only gradually become differentiated from the common-sense notion of the lie.” On the other

23 It is important to note that Tosaka was the only one in Japan to deal with the problem of journalism and the press from Marxist perspective in the 1920s and 30s. How- ever, Tosaka’s approach must be considered the furthest developed. The others, such as Hayakawa (1926), Aono (1926), Fukumoto (1926), and Kadoya (1927) simply proclaimed the need for proletarian newspapers for the proletariat class. For a comprehensive account of the debate among Japanese Marxists on the meaning of a proletarian press in the 1920s please refer to pp. 103–105. 24 Two of Mannheim’s essays, Das Problem einer Soziologie des Wissens (“The Problem of the Sociology of Knowledge,” 1925) and Ideologie und Utopie (“Ideology and Utopia,” 1929) were translated into Japanese soon after their publication in Germany as early as 1931 and 1932 respectively; for a reprint of the contributions and a detailed discussion of the debate on Mannheim’s sociology of knowledge please refer to Meja and Stehr (1982). the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 117 hand, the notion of a total ideology referred to that of “an age or of a concrete historico-social group, e.g. of a class” or to “the characteristics and composition of the total structure of the mind of this epoch or of this group” (Mannheim 1995 [1929]: 54). Hence, it was not the mind of an individual or association of individuals but the constellation of ideas and their processing that reflected a period or group. Accordingly, the total conception was not concerned with ‘motivations’ or ‘interests’ at a psychological level, but rather sought the relationship between social forces and ‘worldviews.’ However, the uniqueness of Mannheim’s approach did not merely lie in the in a sociological interpretation of the “connectedness” of ideas (ideologies) “to existence” (Seinsgebundenheit) (Mannheim 1995 [1929]: 73)—something perceived by Karl Marx and Max Weber long before Mannheim—but in his ‘relational’ approach to the ‘total situation’ of competing worldviews. According to Mannheim, none of the contemporary dominant ideologies, i.e. Marxism/socialism, conservatism, liberalism or fascism, could claim to possess a transcendental rationale that put it in a dominant position vis-à-vis other ideologies. Thus, Mannheim concluded, every ideology was necessarily ‘relational’ because it reciprocally presupposed a counterpart that could be accused of employing it. Consequently, Mannheim (1995 [1929]: 69) demanded that Marxism (in its contemporary form) needed to be tested for its own ideologicality as well. Mannheim’s perception of Marxism, however, was also problematic because it restricted the Marxian understanding of ideology to the political idea of ‘false consciousness.’ According to Terry Eagleton (1991: 96), a close reading of Marx’s original works reveals at least two definitions of ideology. The first considers it as an idea that has a politically suppres- sive effect (which has later been interpreted as ‘false consciousness’). The second, an epistemological understanding of ideology, defines it as the immediate expression of material interests and therefore a means of class struggle. Accordingly, Mannheim’s partial understanding of Marx’s concept of ideology was severely criticized by contemporary Marxist intellectuals in Germany. Marxian sociologist and sinologist Karl August Wittfogel (1896–1988) even coined the term ‘crypto-Marxists’ in order to describe a group of bourgeois intellectuals (among them A. Weber, M. Weber, Lamprecht, Pöhlmann, and Cunow besides Mannheim) who “not only make every endeavor to disguise their dependence on Marx, but also emphasize that they politically have nothing to do with this condemnable thinker and that they, moreover, scientifically avoid all ‘onesidedness’ 118 chapter five and ‘exaggeration’ of the Marxian conception” (Wittfogel 1982 [1931]: 595, emphasis in original).25 As with Wittfogel, Tosaka considered Mannheim’s sociological approach to the analysis of ideologies as “entirely anti- Marxian in substance” although “appearing as a Marxian critique of ideology in Mannheim’s own terminology” (Tosaka 1966 [1932a]: 193). Thus in similar fashion to Mannheim’s Marxist critics in Germany, Tosaka also disagreed with Mannheim’s “non-evaluative analysis of ideologies” and rejected his approach as the “ideology of a bourgeois intellectual” (Tosaka 1966 [1932a]: 195). Tosaka’s own definition of the term ‘ideology’ remained vague throughout his work. However, one may conclude that he understood ideology basically in the latter sense of Eagleton’s distinction as ‘social consciousness’ or ‘worldview’ in general and only to a lesser extent as ‘false consciousness’ (cf. Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 130, 138). Thus, despite generally accepting Mannheim’s differentiation of the two forms of ideology, Tosaka argued that the same problem of ideology should be studied from two perspectives: namely from the psychological approach to individual consciousness (particular ideology) on the one hand and from the perspective of the connectedness of (total) ideologies to the ‘historico-social existence’ on the other—which is also the perspective of Mannheim’s sociology of knowledge (Tosaka 1966 [1932a]: 112). Tosaka did not accept the vulgar-Marxist viewpoint that the former was merely determined by latter, ‘individual consciousness,’ and ‘historico-social existence’ bore a mutual and dialectical relationship to one another and, thus, needed to be studied as such. To Tosaka, this relationship was simply based on the fact that both progress ‘logically’ in the broadest sense of the word. The mind worked epistemologically in the idealistic sense of Kant or Hegel because “consciousness could only come into effect as consciousness by means of its capability to think logically.” Existence progresses logically as well, because it was based on the (dialectical) ‘logic of existence’ (historical materialism), which represented “existence’s necessary structure.” Hence, Tosaka declared that logic ‘mediates’ between existence and consciousness

25 Wittfogel was a research assistant at the Institute for Social Research in Frankfurt. Mannheim’s ambitious attempt to promote a comprehensive sociological analysis of the structures of knowledge was treated with suspicion by most of the members of the Frank- furt School. They saw in the rising popularity of the sociology of knowledge a neutraliza- tion and a betrayal of the Marxist position. For a reprint of Max Horkheimer’s and Herbert Marcuse’s contribution to the debate on Mannheim’s approach please refer to Meja and Stehr (1982). the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 119

(Tosaka 1966 [1932a]: 113,114). However, Tosaka emphasized, although the determination between the two was mutual, the extent of determination had different qualities. Tosaka explained: “the way in which consciousness determines matter (existence) is partial, fragmentary, and non-cosmological (sekai hōsoku-teki de nai). On the contrary, matter (existence) can formatively determine the contents of consciousness. Only matter determines things in a universal, categorical, and cosmological way” (Tosaka 1966 [1931a]: 313). Moreover, other than Mannheim’s relational approach to ideologies, Tosaka had a clear conception about the constellation of the three main competing ideologies—liberalism, socialism/Marxism and fascism—in contemporary Japan. Basically, to him it was not liberalism but merely materialism (as the designated scientific method of Marxism) which could oppose Japanese fascism. This is based on Tosaka’s well-known assumption that it was only on the basis of cultural liberalism in Japan (and not economic or political liberalism) that Nipponism, which to him was the Japanese version of fascism, was able to evolve in the first place. To Tosaka, it was the “hermeneutic philosophy of liberalism that created a space for philologism, the only ‘scientific’ method of Nipponism” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 28). Accordingly this critique was aimed at not only the most prominent proponents of an outspoken Nipponism in Japan. From this perspective, Tosaka not only attacked thinkers like Watsuji Tetsurō for their ‘literary’ (bungaku-teki) or ‘bibliographical’ (bunkengaku-teki) philosophy that can “easily be turned into a proponent of nipponism” by others, but even Nishida Kitarō, who, according to Tosaka, by taking a non- actual (non-journalistic) and metaphysical/idealistic philosophic position, “consciously or unconsciously supported the fascist ideology” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 235) as well. To Tosaka, Nishida was thus a good example of the ‘cultural liberalism’ (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 97) that wasn’t relating to the actual political and social condition any longer and thereby couldn’t offer a perspective that could have opposed nipponist ideology in Japan. As with the field of academism, Tosaka also didn’t forget to launch a similar attack on contemporary literature and those engaged in literature criticism for their ideological entanglement. Literature, to Tosaka, was another field of cultural production that provided fertile ground for the form of cultural liberalism fiercely attacked by him. Liberals in contemporary Japan, to him, “are not political liberalists, but what one might call literary liberals” (Tosaka 1966 [1936]: 306). First and foremost aiming his attack at Kobayashi Hideo in a well-known dispute between these two intellectuals, Tosaka claimed that literary liberals indirectly support Fascist 120 chapter five ideology, because “when it comes the time to actually perform an action that is related to their personal interest, they consciously or unconsciously come off as opportunistic realists” (Tosaka 1966 [1936]: 306). Accordingly, to Tosaka, from these persons as well there is scarcely expected to come any help against the spread of Fascist ideology in Japan. To Tosaka, it was not only the ‘perverted’ nature of bourgeois-democratic liberalism in Japan but also the defective nature of liberalism as a philosophical system in general that paved the way for the rise of Japanese nipponism. He questioned if liberalism constituted a truly independent philosophical system at all, since it bore the possibility to “assimilate any imaginable content” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 19). In other words, Tosaka doubted that [. . .] liberalism has an active and autonomous structure that is able to consistently preserve itself by means of differentiating itself from other opposing structures. Assuming that a philosophical system of liberalism exists, such a philosophy of “liberalism” is not necessarily true to the structure of liberal thought as a whole. Since it is able to accommodate every imaginable idea, it is not guaranteed that the system that organizes these ideas into a logical philosophical system is it still worthy to bear the name “liberalism.” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 19) In Japan, the general openness of liberalism had led to the fact that real political freedom (the basis of a liberal democracy) was replaced by what Tosaka called ‘cultural freedom’—namely a “liberation from socio-political ideas” and, thus, a detachment from the actual socio-political situation (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 19). According to Tosaka, ‘cultural freedom’ prepared the ground for a ‘religious absolutism’ which had re-interpreted even Buddhism as a particular expression of the ‘Japanese spirit’ (nihon seishin). This religious absolutism based on cultural freedom even accelerated the ‘escape’ of liberalism from the actual social reality: Needless to say, religious freedom means liberation from political freedom, an escape from reality. We know that the primary truth of religion, i.e. its primary use, actually lies in such a flight from reality. In circumstances such as the present, when the real social contradictions can no longer be dis- solved by the mechanisms of liberal thought, one possible way out (though not the only one) lies in a flight from reality. The release lies in a spiritual solution and an ideational disregard or elimination of the contradictions instead of respective actual solutions. (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 20) Accordingly, despite having its origins in economic or political and not philosophical and cultural categories, liberalism in Japan detached from its relationship “to the problem of political freedom” and started to circu- the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 121 late only “in the realms of philosophy and literature.” Thus, liberalism in Japan arrived at a state where “its only resort (furusato) [lay] in cultural liberalism” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 281). To Tosaka, liberalism’s capacity to assimilate any philosophical content whatsoever and its ‘liberation’ from the actual political and social reality by the assumption of the shape of a mere “cultural liberalism” decisively contributed to the rise of Japanese fascism (Nipponism).

‘Eastern’ Marxism and Non-Conformist Intellectuals

It is generally known that the importance of the study of culture for an adequate Marxist understanding of society lies at the core of what has been termed as Western Marxism. Western Marxists have elaborated variations on the theories of ideology and superstructure which are only thinly sketched in the writings of Marx and Engels themselves. According to Douglas Kellner, this intellectual formation that therefore has also been termed as cultural Marxism, “employed the Marxian theory to analyze cultural forms in relation to their production, their imbrications with society and history, and their impact and influences on audiences and social life” (Kellner: Internet). As we have seen, due to the contextualization of critical thinkers in Germany, many features of cultural Marxism developed under comparable conditions in Japan, namely as an antipode to the dawn of fascism in the 1930s. It was particularly Tosaka Jun who realized that this condition in Japan was based on an unprecedented stage of global capitalism, dominated by growing monopolies and increasing governmental intervention in the economy, and developed Marxist theory in a similar direction. In one of his last essays published before he was forced to cease his writing in 1938 due to the pressure of the fascist regime, Tosaka basically acknowledged that Japanese society was based on the logic of global capitalism as much as other capitalist countries in the world, “because the productive forces (seisanryoku) of the world have developed to a level at which almost all productive technologies and productive mechanisms share aspects that are common internationally” (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 59). Moreover, Tosaka also realized that it was tremendously important to analyze the particular cultural/ideological formations that were produced through this capitalist transformation of society. As we have seen, he considered materialism the only legitimate scientific method to analyze these cultural formations. This was particularly true for fascism, because only by applying the 122 chapter five universal theory of Marxism to the particularization and essentializa- tion of Japanese culture by the proponents of Nipponism, would one be enabled to understand this process. If one asserts that Japan was inable to completely digest European civilization, or that that foreigners have never understood Japanese spirit, we need to remember that this is the demagogy of those people who do not know the significance of the translation of logic [of global capitalism, F.S.] and who have the habit of employing the logic of ancient India or China to contemporary Japan without compunction. (Tosaka 1977 [1935/36]: 59) Despite the idea that theory was understood not as the anti-thesis to praxis but as something that is embodied by it—an idea that was described in length here with regard to Tosaka’s comparably critical stance towards the positivistic, scientistic, or purely observational mode of the academia and philosophy or sociology in particular—he launched a similar attack on the rigid understanding of the basis and the superstructure proposed by orthodox Marxists by recognizing ideology (‘superstructure’) as part of the foundations of social structure (morals, aesthetics) and the respective role of the mass media. Tosaka’s critical approach to the mass media in relation to his theoretical development of the concept of ideology is of great importance. In a similar way to the Italian, non-dogmatic, Marxian thinker Antonio Gramsci, whose idea of the ‘integral state’ not only incorporates political society (the sphere of political institutions and legal constitutional control) but also civil society, Tosaka developed a conception of the mass media and institutions of education (Tosaka 1966 [1934a]: 121) as ‘ideological agents’ comparable to French Marxist philosopher Louis Althusser’s theory of ‘ideological state apparatuses’ (excluding Althusser’s concept of interpellation of course). To Tosaka, as well as to Althusser, who based this approach on Gramsci’s thought, the state does not include the repressive state apparatuses such as the military, police, courts, and prisons, but also the ideological state apparatuses such as religion, education, literature, art, sports, and the mass media. This necessarily implied a broadening of the concept of ideology from merely political worldviews to aspects of culture, thought or customs. Moreover, Tosaka’s critical approach to the mass media approaches the problem of capitalist mass media in a similar fashion to critical thinkers in Europe. In general, critical media theory can be divided into two prominent approaches: the ‘mass manipulation paradigm’ (Horkheimer, Adorno, Marcuse, Habermas) and the ‘emancipatory paradigm.’ (Brecht, Benjamin, Enzensberger). Tosaka’s thought combines both approaches. On the one hand, he emphasized the the crisis of philosophy and the actuality of journalism 123 ideological character of bourgeois journalism that was based on the capitalist structure of the newspaper business. On the other hand, however, he also emphasized that journalism potentially can have two positive social functions—namely a critical and an informative (news) function. Similar to his contemporaries of the Frankfurt School in Germany, Tosaka’s critical and anti-academic stance led to social and professional marginalization. However, the reason for this marginalization was not only based on external factors, such as the growing repression by the fascist state, but also on a dissatisfaction with the contemporary university or the role of bourgeois-liberal intellectuals in general. The members of the Yuibutsu-ron kenkyū-kai (Yuiken), the Materialism Research Association of which Tosaka was a leading member, all agreed that the times of neutral and presuppositionless scholarship, as it was supposedly practiced within the modern university and philosophy in particular, had passed. After his dismissal from Hōsei University, Tosaka was unable to find regular employment at a Japanese university. He shared this marginalized academic position with most of the other members of Yuiken. Despite this status, however, he and his comrades remained upbeat—at least in the moderate period of the early 1930s.26 Oka Kunio illustrates: None of the committee members [of Yuiken] had official connections with any academic institutions, and naturally we suffered from lack of funds. We always equally shared the expenses, such as office rent and equipment. [. . .] Despite fascist pressures and our inefficient methods, preparations for the establishment of Yuiken progressed steadily. [. . .] It was clear that, even in difficult times, there were supporters of our movement. From the very beginning, the thought police kept a close watch on our activities. [. . .] But we were not afraid of the authorities, since we had no academic status. (Oka 1973: 151, my emphasis) This ‘non-conformity,’ as Alex Demirović (1999) labeled this distinct feature of the members of the Frankfurt School, resulted into activities in a ‘quasi-academic sphere.’ Tosaka shared this belief in what he termed an ‘inter-collegiate’ sphere between journalism and academism (philosophical journalism/journalistic philosophy) in that he actively participated through his semi-academic journalistic works in Japan as much as the proponents of the Frankfurt School in Germany.

26 For a precise account of the historical development of thought control in prewar Japan please refer to Mitchell (1976). Chapter Six

Latent Publics: Rumors and the Reciprocity of Communication

Groundless rumors have an influence on the people just as much as media coverage and public opinion have. There are even times when groundless rumors are the only force moving the people. (Shimizu Ikutarō) Nowadays, it is common-sensical that communication has to be understood as a dynamic and reciprocal process. Other than earlier stimulus- response-like models of communication, which are based on the mass-psychological dichotomy of an educated elite and an underdeveloped mass (and thus, presuppose a statically and vertical (top-down) understanding of communication), contemporary theories understand communication also as a horizontal (interpersonal) and dynamic (reciprocal) process. Although communication was in fact not explicitly understood and formulized in a respective paradigmatic theory in this way before 1945, the findings of communication scholar Stefanie Averbeck’s dissertation on prewar approaches to communication in Germany suggest that already by the 1920s a small number of scholars trained in sociology or social psychology approached the relationship between the press and its readers as well as among the readers themselves from a process- oriented perspective. According to Averbeck (1999), in the case of the intellectual atmosphere of Weimar Germany, this early process-oriented understanding of communication can be characterized by the following features: a) a micro-analytical focus on the ‘cognitive and emotional aspects of communication’; b) the assumption of a ‘group-oriented attitude of the recipient’; c) a ‘horizontal’ understanding of communication; d) ‘inter-actional reciprocity’ between the press and its readership; and e) a ‘functional’ understanding of the formation of public opinion1 (Averbeck 1999: 23–33, 174). Drawing on these categorizations, Averbeck concludes that the process-oriented sociological approaches to communication of

1 Averbeck (1999: 182) understands the term ‘functional’ here as “the value-free analysis of the social status quo.” rumors and the reciprocity of communication 125

Weimar Germany initiated a shift away from previous approaches that had focused on the means of communication, the communicators (journalists), or ‘public communication’ (öffentliche Kommunikation) towards the meaning of the recipient within a reciprocal process of communication (Averbeck 1999: 27, 34). In Japan, two intellectuals, Sugiyama Sakae (1892–1968), a journalist and sociologist trained in economics and sociology at Waseda University, and Shimizu Ikutarō (1907–1988), a sociologist and well-known postwar intellectual, also started to approach communication from a similar process-oriented perspective in the 1930s.2 Paralleling the proponents of this approach in Germany, they relied for the most part upon their own everyday experiences of communication when they formulated their perspectives. Thus, what Averbeck concluded with regard to the prewar process-oriented understanding of communication in Germany seems also applicable to the approaches of Sugiyama and Shimizu. According to Averbeck, the German proponents of a press-oriented approach were mainly “inspired by everyday life observations,” as opposed to building their approach on “systematic empirical research.” Thus, “[i]t was mostly a deductive framework to reflect communication, but not without looking for the ‘real circumstances’ of communication process. [. . .] Actually, the terminology was highly inventive, sometimes accidental, often audacious; different thinkers labeled the phenomena described in very different ways” (Averbeck 2001: 452). It is important to remark that the approaches of process-oriented scholars in Germany and Japan did not only resem- ble each other on this perceptual or cognitive level, but paralleled each other conceptionally and intellectually as well: both referred more or less to the same reference disciplines, namely French mass psychology (Gustve LeBon, Gabriel de Tarde), experimental psychology (Wilhelm Wundt, Herrman Ebbinghaus), American social psychology/philosophy (John Dewey, Walter Lippmann, William James), German formal sociology (Georg Simmel, Alfred Vierkandt, Leopold von Wiese, Ferdinand Tönnies), or behaviorism (J.B. Watson).

2 Naturally, very similar to the case of Weimar Germany, this understanding was strongly influenced by the experience of a democratic and pluralist society during the period of the so-called Taishō democracy in Japan. 126 chapter six

From Marxism to Formal Sociology and Social Philosophy

Shimizu Ikutarō was one of the most inscrutable figures of modern Japanese intellectual history. Throughout his life, he committed at least three intellectual and political tenkō (ideological conversions). In the beginning, everything looked well for Shimizu to start an academic career in the sociology department of prestigious Tōkyō Imperial University. At the age of 24, Shimizu had already gained a rather positive reputation for his graduation thesis on French sociologist Auguste Comte due to its partial publication in the most renown intellectual journal Shisō (8/1931).3 However, Shimizu parted from academia in 1933 after a two-year employment as an assistant in the department of sociology at Tōkyō Imperial University and became involved in Tosaka Jun’s Yuibutsu-ron kenkyū-kai (“Materialism Research Association”). This step came along with a growing influence of Marxism within Shimizu’s thought, mostly reflected in his book Shakaigaku hihan josetsu (“Introduction to a Critique of Sociology,” 1933)—a Marxian critique of academic (bourgeois) sociology. After parting from academia in 1933—Shimizu was employed as an assistant in the department of sociology at Tōkyō Imperial University for two years—, he did not find regular employment until being appointed as editorial writer of the Yomiuri shinbun in 1941, according to Oguma (2003: 21). Until then, he made his living by contributing articles to various journals in which he “frequently questioned ‘modernity’ and the ‘bourgeois society’ and pronounced the demise of ‘liberalism,’ paralleling the contemporary Marxist argumentation” (Oguma 2003: 22). In 1937, when the persecution of members of the Yuiken was about to reach its peak, Shimizu committed the first of at least three ideological conversions (tenkō) in his lifetime by resigning from the group. This was a completely pragmatic decision, as Oguma (2003: 22) remarks: “One may say that for Shimizu thought was above all a means to make a living. The intention to sacrifice his own life for thought’s sake was weak.” In 1938, he joined Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro’s brain trust Shōwa kenkyū-kai (Shōwa Research Association). Upon this move, the topics of his essays shifted towards subjects such as “state-controlled economy” or the ‘East-Asian community’ and he became a strong advocate of the totalitarian ‘new system’ (shintai-sei) and the

3 The title of Shimizu’s thesis was Auguste Comte ni okeru san-dankai no hōsoku (chishiki- shakaigaku-teki ichi-kōsatsu) (“An Inquiry of Auguste Comte’s law of Three Stages from the Perspective of Sociology of Knowledge”) (Tanaka 2002: 118). rumors and the reciprocity of communication 127

Imperial Rule Assistance Association (Taisei yokusan-kai). However, Oguma (2003: 23) claims that Shimizu did not become a fanatic proponent of war, but rather was interested in the establishment of a ‘new order,’ hoping that it would lead to “rationalization of the everyday life of the people (kokumin)” in general. By that time, Shimizu’s intellectual perspective had already shifted from Marxism to John Dewey’s pragmatism and contemporary pedagogical writing (Tanaka 2002: 118). Consequently, one can hardly find any reference to Marxist vocabulary in his book Ryūgen higo (“Groundless Rumors,” 1937) in which he introduced his early approach to interpersonal communication. This publication, considered by Oguma Eiji (2003: 20) as one of the most “path-breaking works of [. . .] communication studies,” was also representative for Shimizu’s intellectual drift away from the German and French sociological tradition and Marxism and towards the American pragmatic social philosophy, which was also advocated by scholars like Shimizu in the immediate postwar.4 As we will see, despite not explicitly citing Dewey’s works in Groundless Rumors, it was Dewey’s pragmatism that defined the basic tone of the whole book. Sugiyama Sakae, on the other hand, is a much less well-known figure of contemporary sociology in Japan than Shimizu. Born in 1892 in Okayama prefecture, Sugiyama moved to Tōkyō to study politics and economics at the private Waseda University in 1918. Dropping out of his alma mater without graduation after only two years of study while working for several newspapers in the Kansai region and in Okayama prefecture, Sugiyama was appointed permanent member of the editorial board of the newspaper publishing house San’yō shinpō-sha (re-named San’yō shinbun-sha in 1948) in Okayama city in 1921. Besides working as a journalist, Sugiyama continued his sociological research and published two books on social matters written in the prose of a journalistic commentary shortly before he left for a study trip to Germany. In Germany, Sugiyama enrolled for two semes- ters at Berlin’s Friedrich-Wilhelms-University from 1923 to 1924—then one of the most prestigious universities in Europe, if not in the whole world. During his stay, he attended lectures given by luminary academic figures such as politician and ethnologist Heinrich Cunow (1862–1936) on the subject of “Economic History” and “Marxian Materialist Conception of

4 For a very detailed discussion of Shimizu’s political activity and participation in the peace movement and the debates on subjectivity in postwar Japan please refer to Kersten (2006) and Koschmann (1996). For an insight into Shimizu’s postwar interpretation of Dewey, refer to Shimizu (1986: 253–298). 128 chapter six

History,” economist and sociologist Werner Sombart’s lectures on “Theory and History of High Capitalism,” as well as ethnologist and sociologist Alfred Vierkandt’s courses on “Ethnological Sociology” and “Sociology.” Alfred Vierkandt, who along with Leopold von Wiese was one of the most renowned contemporary proponents of formal sociology in Germany, had the most intense impact on Sugiyama’s later thought. In the recollections of his stay in Berlin, Sugiyama remarked that he absorbed much of Georg Simmel’s and Ferdinand Tönnies’ thought through Vierkandt’s personal lectures and by repeatedly reading his monograph Gesellschaftslehre: Hauptprobleme der philosophischen Soziologie (“Sociology: Main Problems of Philosophical Sociology,” 1923) (Sugiyama 1966: 21–22; Hartmann 2003: 132). Upon returning to Japan in 1924, Sugiyama published another two books written from the perspective of formal sociology and Marxism— Shakaigaku jūni-kō (“Twelve Lectures in Sociology”) in 1925 and Shakai- kagaku gairon (“Introduction to the Social Sciences”) in 1929. At the same time, he also continued to work as a journalist at the aforementioned San’yō shinpō-sha. Interestingly, the more theoretical and systematic book of the two—the latter—never became very popular in the contemporary sociological community in Japan, whereas a Chinese translation of his book was published only one year after its Japanese publication by Marxist thinkers Li Da and Qian Tieru. In China, the book went through seven reprints within the course of just one year (Knight 1996: 124–128). Two reasons most likely lay behind this ignorance towards Sugiyama’s book in Japan. On the one hand, Sugiyama was a professional journalist and, thus, not part of the established contemporary Japanese academia. On the other hand, Sugiyama’s book was particularly interesting to Chinese non-orthodox Marxists like Li Da because it was an attempt to supplement or even reconcile Marxist theory with German (‘bourgeois’) formal sociology.

Unveiling the Reciprocity of Communication

Strongly influenced by Simmel’s formal sociology and his historical materialism during his stay in Germany, from the beginning of his intellectual endeavor Sugiyama understood communication between the reader and the newspaper as a reciprocal and dialectical process. This understanding was based on a more general view of society already proposed by Sugiyama in 1929 in his book “Introduction to the Social Sciences” (Shakai kagaku gairon). The most interesting and challenging aspect of Sugiyama’s view lay in his sophisticated attempt to reconcile historical materialism and rumors and the reciprocity of communication 129 formal sociology. In particular, Sugiyama presented a progressive interpretation of the conservative materialist conception of history. He understood the relationship between the economic base and the superstructure in flexible and dialectical (rather than mechanistic economic) terms. He emphasized that despite the fact that the laws that governed the development of society were strongly influenced by society’s productive realm (form, instruments, forces and relations of production), these laws were, with the exception of laws of nature, subject to change and were therefore alterable. Apparently based on a reading of Marx’s Theses on Feuerbach, Sugiyama reminded the reader of the fact that the purpose of Marxian social science was not merely to reveal the laws ruling society, but also to provide knowledge that could change the world. In other words, although apparently perceiving the economic structure of society and the forces of production as “ultimately determining elements in history” (Sugiyama 1929: 130), Sugiyama was, somewhat like Tosaka, keen to demonstrate that politics, law, philosophy, religion, literature, and the arts also had the capacity to influence this economic base. Superstructures thus were not merely passive reflections of the economic base, but played a significant role in social change. Sugiyama’s (1929: 251) In an article written in 1930/31 for the 12-volume series Comprehensive Lectures in Journalism (Sōgō jānarizumu kōza), Sugiyama applied this general dialectical and reciprocal understanding of society to the process of communication. Starting his essay with a review of the predominant (and often antithetical) “perspectives on the process of formation of public opinion,” which basically relied upon Georg Simmel’s and Takata Yasuma’s theoretical approach to the dispersion of fashion in order to describe the formation of public opinion.5 According to this approach, the formation of ‘public opinion’ resembles the diffusion of new fashions and was

5 Most likely, Sugiyama was either referring directly to Simmel’s essays Zur Psycholo- gie der Mode (“On the Psychology of Fashion”) and Philosophie der Mode (“Philosophy of Fashion”) of 1895 and 1905 respectively, to Gabriel Tarde’s theory of imitation described in his book Les lois de l’imitation (The Laws of Imitation, 1890), or to Yoneda Shōtarō’s (1919: 120–154) chapter on fashion in his book Gendaijin shinri to gendai bunmei (“The Psychology of the Modern Man and Modern Civilization,” 1919), who himself also referred to Tarde and Simmel. Accordingly, Sugiyama described the ‘process of fashion’ as the interplay of two ‘volitions’—that for ‘unification’ and that for ‘alienation/ostentation’: “When the fashion of the upper class has penetrated the middle and the lower classes, the upper class is already following a new fashion; when the fashion of the cities enters the villages, a newer fashion is occurring in the cities” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 24). The idea of unification and alienation as fundamental forms of socialization had been formulated in Japan first by Takata Yasuma (cf. chapter 4). Sugiyama assumes that the ‘positive feeling’ of the individual underlying this process origins in the preference of the people for the new. 130 chapter six

“nothing else but the creation of a new model of criticism or demand towards a certain phenomenon as well as the process of its adoration, imitation, and dissemination by the masses” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 7–8). According to Sugiyama, two understandings on the formation of public opinion became dominant in contemporary discourse based on this perception. On the one hand, it resulted in a perspective that considers the “creators of new [cultural or intellectual] role models,” namely journalists, as the “driving force” of public opinion formation: The first perspective considers the creators of new models as the driving force within the formation of public opinion. According to this perspective, public opinion only comes into existence through the creation of new models of criticism and claims by the journalists. That is to say, this perspective has the same origin as “great men history,” which assumes that history is made by great people such as heroes and geniuses. It represents nothing else but a reflection of the feudal relations of society and production that created pyramid-shaped strata like that of daimyō, vassals, and peasants. (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 8) According to Sugiyama, it was this perspective which led to the dominant self-conception among journalists (and also proponents of shinbungaku such as Ono Hideo) to consider journalism an ‘educator of society’ (shakai no bokutaku) and ‘leader of public opinion’ (yoron no shidō-sha). Moreover, Sugiyama added, despite the fact that “the press aims at shaping the social consciousness called public opinion, which undeniably ful- fills this role to a certain extent,” the ‘overestimation’ of this role moves towards the wrong direction, since in fact “the press does not lead public opinion,” but is “led by public opinion” as well (Sugiyama 1927: 57). Implicitly criticizing Gabriel Tarde’s theory of imitation, Sugiyama argues that to overestimate the role of the press in the process of the shaping of public opinion was as wrong as to overestimate the productive and innovative side of any other cultural production. Similar to the process of formation of public opinion, cultural production needs to be understood as the preservative ‘diffusion’ of new cultural ‘models’ through ‘suggestive imitation.’ Thereby, the “absolute cultural values” proposed by a small elite (of journalists or politicians) could become “relativized” through their adoption by the masses (Sugiyama 1927: 57–58). Sugiyama claimed that the problem of this perspective lay in the fact that the action of creating new ‘models’ or ‘absolute values’ (i.e. opinion leadership) was always attached to a higher importance than to the process of the diffusion and relativization of new models and values (i.e. the formation of a public opinion)—this despite the fact that “the processes of diffusion [. . .] comprise[d] the major part of cultural development” (Sugiyama rumors and the reciprocity of communication 131

1927: 58–59). Obviously referring to Spencer’s critique of the Great Man theory, he further substantiated this assertion with the example of the ‘genius,’ who, in his position as potential ‘creator’ of new cultural models and values, could only assert his powerful position in the process of cultural development as long as the masses adopted their new models, and thereby relativized their value. Accordingly, Sugiyama concluded that in fact, “it is not the small number of geniuses but in fact the masses who hold the key to cultural development” (Sugiyama 1927: 59). This was necessarily true for the process of communication as well, since to Sugiyama it was in fact not the newspaper that merely shaped public opinion, but public opinion that had an influence on the contents of the newspaper as well. Sugiyama argued: [T]he relationship between the newspaper and the masses (particularly the readers) within the process of public opinion formation resembles that between the geniuses and the masses within the process of cultural development. That is to say, just like the actions and thoughts of geniuses do not in the slightest contribute to the development of society as long as the masses do not approve and imitate these [. . .], all criticism of the press cannot in the slightest play a role in the formation of public opinion as long as it is not approved, imitated and acclaimed by the readers [. . .]. For that the readers to accept the criticism of the press, a commensurate readiness and tendency must already exist among the mass readers. (Sugiyama 1927: 60–61) It becomes obvious from Sugiyama’s remarks that his critique was particularly aiming at theories and approaches which were influenced by the dichotomy between the leader and the masses of French mass-psychology, which were based on the idea that the press has a strong and immediate effect of on the masses, who “unconditionally imitate any model proposed by the press” (Sugiyama 1927: 60). He concluded that the new ‘models’ of opinion could only disseminate via the process of adoration, imitation, and dissemination by the masses. Thus, Shimizu concluded from a similar dialectical to that of Tosaka Jun, opinions proposed by the press were “necessarily restricted by a selective process being based on the social relations [. . .] of the masses.” That is to say, new opinions can only turn into public opinions “as long as these [were] accepted by the masses” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 8–9). It was this criticism of the first perspective that also led to the second approach to the formation of public opinion. This approach was, according to Sugiyama, in fact an ‘antithesis’ to the first one. Proponents of the second approach therefore “consider the creators of new models (the journalists) merely as clowns with their strings pulled by the masses.” From this perspective—which might be called the ‘materialist’ or ‘economist’ 132 chapter six as opposed to the ‘idealist’ perspective of the first approach, the social relations of the masses themselves turn into the ‘driving force’ of public opinion formation. Consequently, this approach “disregards the individuality [. . .] of the creators of new models” and was thus, just as any ‘antithetical’ position, as much impartial as the first perspective. To Sugiyama, this approach was a product of early French materialism and hence, nothing but “an ideology reflecting the bourgeois relations of production” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 9). Sugiyama concluded that these two approaches—the one focusing on the individuality of a leading strata, the other on social associations such as the masses—were in fact not opposing each other at all, but were rather two sides to the same coin, i.e. two ‘sub-processes’ of public opinion formation. In accordance with one of the most basic assumptions of formal sociology, Sugiyama asserted that “the degree of development of individuality is directly proportional to the degree of density of social unification. [. . .] Thus, [. . .] the higher the concentration of societal unification within a society, the higher the individuality of its constitutional members” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 10). Furthermore, Sugiyama emphasized that individuality was an important factor for the developmental processes within societies in general, since “the peculiarity of a few excellent people” always “had played an extremely important role for the creation and discovery of new role models” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 11). Hence, only a dialectical and reciprocal approach to communication could mutually com- pensate for the shortcomings of both approaches and thereby reconcile the two diverging perspectives into a third perspective, which was actually a ‘synthesis’ of the first (thetic) and the second (antithetic) approach. In other words, it was important to consider the formation of public opinion a ‘process’ (katei) and to understand the relationship between the creators of new models and the masses who adore, imitate, and disseminate these as one of ‘mutual interaction’ (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 12). According to Sugiyama, a synthetic approach “takes up the position that both the creators of new models and the masses are dynamic forces” within the process of public opinion formation. He also felt that “public opinion is formed by means of mutual effects and restrictions” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 12). Nevertheless, Sugiyama was keen to emphasize that the relationship between the two was not an equitable one, since “the mutual interactions between the journalists and the masses are naturally restricted by class relations” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 12). On the one hand, despite journalists playing the role of ‘mediator’ (baikai-sha) of public opinion, they were in rumors and the reciprocity of communication 133 fact restricted internally and externally by class relations. Besides external restrictions such as the general political discussion, journalists were particularly restricted by the class interests of the bourgeois newspaper entrepreneurs. On the other hand, the masses, as ‘medium’ (baikai-tai) of public opinion, were also governed by class relations because they did not merely submissively accept new opinions proposed by the journalists, but might also be prompted to create alternative role models based on their own class interests, by taking a distant stance towards the presentation of bourgeois role models (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 12–13). Thus, public opinion was necessarily bound to certain classes, which finally led to the existence of two distinct public opinions—a ‘bourgeois’ and a ‘proletarian’ one. He concluded that the only reason why “these two antagonistic public opinions based on class differences remained concealed until now,” lay in the fact that “based on the immaturity of the relations of production, the class antagonism was still blurred” (Sugiyama 1930/31a: 14).

Cognitive and Emotional Aspects of Communication

Based on the emphasis on the reciprocal nature of communication of the social-psychological approach and thus, the shift of interest towards the recipients within the process of communication, Sugiyama tried to illuminate—though in a very superficial way—also the psychological6 effects

6 Modern scientific psychology was introduced to Japan in 1888 by Motora Yūjirō (1958–1912), when he gave the first lectures in psychophysics at Tōkyō Imperial University. It was also Yūjirō who founded the first laboratory of psychology in 1903 and a respective department in 1904 in collaboration with his disciple Matsumoto Matatarō (1865–1943) at Tōkyō Imperial University. Motora, who earned his doctorate in 1888 at John Hopkins University under the supervision of G. Stanley Hall, was also a former student of Willhelm Wundt in Leipzig. Matsumoto was awarded a PhD from Yale in 1897 under the supervision of Edward W. Scripture (who himself had earned his PhD at Leipzig) and studied under Wundt in Leipzig from 1898–1900 as well. Accordingly, the main stream of studies by psychologists in Japan until the 1920s “was experimental psychology under the influence of W. Wundt, Stanley Hall, W. James, E.B. Titchner (. . .)” (Azuma and Imada 1994: 709). One of the main theoretical and experimental topics of Motora through his academic life was the study of “attention,” often from the perspective of psychophysics (Oyama, Sato, Suzuki 2001: 398). Matsumoto—Motora’s successor at the chair for psychology in Tōkyō since his death in 1912—focused in his studies on ‘psychocinematics’ (understanding this as the “objective study of purposive bodily movements” (Iwahara and Fujita 1963: 59) and auditory perception. In 1914 and 1915 respectively, he published two important books of the founding phase of psychology in Japan: Seishin-teki dōsaku (“Psychocinematics”) and Jik- ken shinrigaku jūgi (“Ten Lectures in Experimental Psychology”) respectively. Behaviorism, established by John B. Watson in 1913 and based on the assumption that psychology needs to reject its traditional definition as the science of mind and consciousness and redefine 134 chapter six of interpersonal or mass communication on the individual. Arguing that despite the fact that “the supremacy of journalism penetrated modern life already down to the smallest detail” and that various parts of “modern society [. . .] could not exist without journalism” any longer, Sugiyama (1930/31b: 7) considered the “scientific research of journalism” to be extremely underdeveloped. To Sugiyama, it was particularly the psychological aspects of communication, whether interpersonal or public, that were under-researched. Thus, Sugiyama proposed a unique approach that he described as the ‘psychology of journalism’ ( jānarizumu shinrigaku), whose task would be to ‘illuminate’ journalism, which he defined as “descriptive activity (kijutsu kōi) transmitted (dentatsu) to the masses,” by means of so-called ‘devices of description’ (kijutsu bukken), (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 9) “in the light of psychology” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 8). The contemporary psychological discourse differentiated four “elemental” mental processes that, according to Sugiyama, could be associated with the workings of journalism and the process of communication: ‘apperception’ (kankaku), ‘representation’ (hyōshō), ‘emotions’ (kanjō) and ‘volition’ (ishi) (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 9). He described the first mental process—apperception—as “an elemental and primitive mental process, induced by the stimuli of phenomena inside or outside the body” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 14). According to Sugiyama, the so-called ‘Weber’s Law’ and ‘hebetude’ could be considered important apperceptual phenomena with regard to the transmission of news. The former, a theory coined by German physician Ernst Heinrich Weber (1795–1878), basically described the relationship between the physical magnitude of a stimuli and its perceived intensity. Weber found that an individual could only detect a difference in a specified modality of sensory input if the input exceeded a certain saturation point (called the ‘just noticeable difference’ (diffe rentielle Wahrnehmbarkeitsschwelle) in contemporary ‘psychophysics’).

itself as a science of behavior (Watson 1913), was first introduced to Japanese psychologists by Narasaki Asatarō in 1914. Narasaki, trained in the objective method of Matsumoto’s psychocinematics, was of the opinion that behaviorist studies belong to the same category as psychocinematics. (Iwahara and Fujita 1963: 59) However, many Japanese psychologists of that time criticized Watsonian behaviorism for its mechanistic and reductionist view and therefore opted for an integration of introspective and behaviorist psychology (among them Hayami Hiroshi (1876–1943), Imada Megumi and Masuda Kōichi) (Iwahara and Fujita 1963: 59–60). Especially during the 1930s, behaviorism was often discussed in relation to Gestalt theory and animal psychology (Oyama, Sato, and Suzuki 2001: 401–402). Two fields of study become representative for Japanese experimental psychology in this time were perception and learning (cf. Sato and Sato 2005; Oyama, Torii, and Mochizuki 2005). rumors and the reciprocity of communication 135

The latter, hebetude, mainly described the fact that the sensitivity of our senses declines if we are constantly exposed to a stimulus of the same quality and quantity (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 13). To Sugiyama, these findings of psychology can explain the sensationalism of journalism in the following manner: Weber’s Law and the hebetude of apperception play an important role for journalism. [. . .] In the present day, the people receive strong stimuli from the intricacy of social life to an extent that it already reaches the saturation point of their apperception. Accordingly, if journalism provides stimuli in geometrical progression, the perceptual process of the people still progresses only arithmetically. In other words, the stimulus of journalism and its effect are disproportional. Hence, journalism has to provide an extremely intense stimulus if it wants to raise [. . .] the effects of its transmissions. Furthermore, based on the fact that the senses can hebetate, the appealing stimuli must constantly alter its quality and quantity. (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 13) According to Sugiyama, these two psychological laws could explain, “why contemporary journalism has taken such a bizarre, intense, cruel, and bru- tal shape” and why it ended up in the dilemma of needing to constantly raise the intension of its stimuli (reporting) while risking the supersatura- tion of its readership. The second of the abovementioned mental processes—representation—is understood by Sugiyama as the fundamental ability of humans “to reproduce things perceived”: The representational process refers to the process of mentally reproducing the results (kekka) of our perception. [. . .] It is a result of these representational processes that our cognition (ninshiki) can cover the past, the present, and the future, and moreover, that we are able to understand phenomena not directly perceived by us. By these representational processes we are not only able to create an image of a phenomenon; we can also store and reproduce this image. In other words, our so-called memory is nothing but reproductions of stored and structured images and associations are nothing but serialized reproduction of these images. (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 14) In addition to the importance of the mental process of representation, created by what Lippman called the ‘images in our heads,’ Sugiyama also noted the importance of the mental process of representation with regard to the everyday work of journalists. Since memory and associations are preconditioned by the personal ‘degree of attention,’ the ‘intensity of related emotions,’ and ‘simultaneously occurring mental processes,’ Sugiyama concluded, journalists in particular needed to have an ‘excellent memory’ and had to learn to make “free and unobstructed associations” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 15). 136 chapter six

Closely connected to the perceptual and representational processes was the third mental process—emotions. According to Sugiyama, these shouldn’t be understood merely as a ‘collateral’ or ‘subsequent’ process but rather as the ‘mutually dependent predicate’ (Prädikat, hinji) of the apperceptual and representational process (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 17). Implicitly referring to the three dimensions of emotion proposed by Wilhelm Wundt in his book Grundzüge der Psychologie (“Principles of Psychology”) published in 1896,7 Sugiyama basically differentiated between ‘positive emotions’ (pleasure, excitement and tension) and ‘negative emotions’ (displeasure, depression, and relaxation) which occur simultaneously with the apperception of any external stimuli.8 Essentially, Sugiyama noted, these emotions reflected the ‘evaluative’ device of the human being to differentiate harmful and harmless phenomena: Human beings relate to internal and external phenomena through their sensory organs. Nevertheless, the apperceptional process does not evaluate these phenomena. [. . .] It is the emotional process initiated by an apperception that functions as an evaluative process by evaluating the phenomena perceived through the apperceptional process. If a phenomenon is relevant for the preservation of the human organism, it will trigger a positive feeling of pleasure, excitement and tension and the phenomenon will be accommodated. On the contrary, if a phenomenon is harmful to the human organism, the reaction will be a negative feeling of displeasure, depression, and relaxation and the phenomenon will be repudiated. (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 19) To Sugiyama, research on these evaluative or emotional processes could explain much of the reactions of the people to newspaper reporting. It is arguable that journalism thus had to “take into consideration the emotions [. . .] of the masses, since this is probably the most deep-rooted process which put the instinctive commands of the human organism into practice” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 20). Particularly with regard to the abovementioned Weber’s Law and the hebetude of emotions, journalists in Suguyama’s opinion needed to pay further attention to the often sensationalist nature of their reporting.

7 Willhelm Wundt’s approach was introduced to the Japanese psychological audience as early as two years after its publication in Germany by Motora Yūjirō in his book Seishin butsurigaku kōgi (“Lectures on Psychophysics”). 8 Wundt’s theory was not widely accepted in Japan until around the 1910s. Until then, it was opposed by most of the Japanese psychologists. The main influence of Japanese psychologists such as aforementioned Motora was Alexander Bain and Spencer who argued that emotions were derived from the senses. Moreover, it was believed that emotions could only have two-dimensions: pleasure and displeasure (cf. Arakawa 2005: 107–108). rumors and the reciprocity of communication 137

With implicit reference to German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus (1850–1909), Sugiyama described the last of the four mental processes— volition—as a ‘drive that has turned anticipatory’ (vorausschauend gewordener Trieb),9 meaning that although volitions had their roots in human instincts such as the instinct of self-preservation or preservation of the own species, these did not belong to the elemental phenomena of mental life, but actually stood above them. According to Sugiyama, it was the volition of an individual that “restrict[ed] emotions, instincts and actions” and “harmonize[d] these with the external social life” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 22). When perceiving things, the ‘attention’ (Aufmerksamkeit, chū’i) of the individual “select[ed]” certain stimuli by focusing the perception (Sugiyama referred here to the idea of the so-called ‘narrowness of consciousness’ (Bewußtseinsenge). This phenomenon was first observed by philosopher John Locke, but was also taken up by proponents of German experimental psychology such as Wilhelm Wundt, concerning things that either “accrue positive emotions,” “are related to our current mental condition” or “things that are strange” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 22–23). Sugiyama concluded that it was the “attention” that played an important role for both sides of the communication process, namely the “editing of the contents to be transmitted” by the journalists on the one hand, and for “the desires and tendencies of the masses who are the objects of these transmissions” on the other (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 23). Thus, Sugiyama argued, the more journalism was able to “attract the attention of the people, the greater are the effects it is able to exert” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 24).10 Although Suigyama’s psychological approach did not go beyond a mere outline for further research, his attempt to apply the findings of contemporary psychology to journalism and the process of communication must

9 Ebbinghaus described his understanding of volition in the first volume of his book Grundzüge der Psychologie (“Principles of Psychology”), published in 1905: “Er enthält zunächst das, was den Trieb charakterisiert, eine irgend welchen Ursachen entstam- mende Lust oder Unlust nebst den sie begleitenden Tätigkeitsempfindungen, außerdem aber noch ein Drittes, beide Verbindendes: die geistige Vorwegnahme eines Endgliedes der empfundenen Tätigkeiten, das zugleich als lustvolle Beendigung der gegenwärtigen Unlust oder als lustvolle Aufrechterhaltung der gegenwärtigen Lust vorgestellt wird” (Ebbinghaus 1902: 563). 10 To Sugiyama, the following aspects must be considered important cognitive and emotional aspects of interpersonal or public communication from a psychological perspective. As for journalism, being the sender of a transmissions (dentatsu), the following psychological relationships required further research (1930/31b: 34–35): – Despite the fact that one can generally assume the effects of a transmission to grow proportionally with its quantity of transmission, the aforementioned Weber’s Law still 138 chapter six be considered unique. What was particularly important about Sugiyama’s approach was that, by putting the focus on individual cognitive and emotional aspects of the relationship between journalism and the readership, he was able to transcend the most of the other understandings of communication that were still based on the dichotomous mass- psychological relationship between an educated elite and the passive masses. Most importantly, he acknowledged the fact that individuals could have different attitudes towards the contents of the press based on their personal ‘degree of attention,’ so-called “simultaneously occurring mental processes” (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 15) and the desire for ‘positive emotions’ these might bring into existence, or the relation of the contents

applies, meaning that if transmissions reach a certain saturation point, their effects decline and might even evoke negative emotions among the masses. – For transmissions to have an effect at all, the people must be exposed to them for a certain period of time. However, if the people are exposed to a transmission of identical quality and quantity over a longer time, their apperception will hebetate. – The quality of the contents of a transmission and its effects are closely interlinked because the effect of a transmission is larger if its content appeals to the apperception and emotions of the people. Consequently, the effect of news that does not correspond with the volitions, expectations and tendencies of the masses remains low. Moreover, the more simple the contents of a transmission, the higher are also its effects. With regard to ‘effects’ (kōka) of journalism, i.e. the effects towards the recipients of a transmission, Sugiyama (1930/31b: 35–37) concluded the following: – Gregarious animals (such as human beings) accept messages more easily than rogues. This is also the reason why women, enjoying social intercourse more than men, are more receptive for the contents of a message (such as news coverage or rumors) than ‘learned men’ who are rather interested in protecting their (intellectual and social) isolation. – With implicit reference to Gabriel Tarde’s differentiation between publics and crowds and Leopold von Wiese’s differentiation between abstract and concrete masses, Sugiyama suggested that the spatially close members of a mass accept messages more easily than separated publics or abstract masses. – Paralleling the findings of Wilhelm Wundt’s Völkerpsychologie, the study into the social basis of higher (cultural) mentalities, Sugiyama concluded that the effect of a message can vary according to the Volk (minzoku) the recipients belong to. – Under high temperatures the effect of a message is higher because the mind is relaxed and open to suggestions. – As for age of the recipient of news, Sugiyama argued that girls above the age of six accept messages more easily. – Hot-tempered and nervous people accept messages more easily. On the other hand, people with a strong desire for self-assertion are not so. The latter are contra-suggestive and sometimes even assert things or act in a way totally opposite to the content of a transmission. – Homogenous societies are more receptive to messages than heterogeneous societies because, based on mutual imitation, the member of a homogenous society often react to a transmission in the same way. For example, people living in rural areas are more receptive to the contents of a message than those living in urban areas because the former remained in the status of homogenous societies. rumors and the reciprocity of communication 139 of journalistic messages to the predisposition of the “current mental condition” of the recipients (Sugiyama 1930/31b: 22–23). In a certain sense, Sugiyama’s approach thereby foreshadowed what was later to be known as the Uses and Gratification approach proposed by J.G. Blumler and Elihu Katz, which emphasized that people are not helpless victims of all powerful media, but use media to fulfill their various needs which then, in return, serve as motivations (gratifications sought) for using media.

Interpersonal Communication and the Formation of ‘latent’ Public Opinions

Other than Sugiyama’s purely theoretical remarks on the reciprocity of public opinion formation and psychological aspects of communication, Shimizu Ikutarō built his approach to an interpersonal understanding of communication on his own perceptions of a very particular event in Japanese history—namely the revolt of young soldiers on February 26, 1936.11 This coup d’état, which kept the city of Tōkyō in a state of suspense for four days, had immense consequences on the subsequent media and information policy of the state. The crisis was so serious, that by the end of its second day, the government had already declared martial law in Tōkyō for the first time since the great earthquake in 1923. Despite this, which entailed a total news blackout, rumors about the revolt already spread quickly among the superficially informed population of Tōkyō. Historian George Kasza described official censorship and press coverage of the event by the mass media as follows: During the 2/26 Incident [. . .] NHK sent people only to the UNA [United News Agency (Dōmei tsūshin-sha)] and Metropolitan Police headquarters to

11 In the early morning of 26 February 1936, approximately 1400 troops of Imperial Japa- nese Army’s 1st Division seized key government buildings, Army Ministry headquarters and the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters. The rebels, for the most part young officers, achieved most of their goals: The Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal, Admiral Saitō Makoto, the inspector general of the military education, General Watanabe Jōtarō, and Finance Minister Takahashi Korekiyo were killed, Prime Minister Okada Keisuke was pronounced dead, although he was able to escape when the rebels killed his brother-in-law by mistake. Backed from within the military by high-ranking officers of the extremist Imperial Way Faction (Kōdō-ha), most aims of the coup d’état were proposed by Kita Ikki in his revolutionary essay entitled Nihon kaizō hōan taikō (“An Outline Plan for the Reorganization of Japan,” 1919). An excerpt of it is reprinted in English translation in De Bary, Gluck, and Tiedemann (2006: 959–975). For a comprehensive account of the so-called 2/26 Incident please refer to Shillony (1973). 140 chapter six

gather news. Rumors abounded during the first day, but no one was sent to the site of the action. The news reports occupying every minute of airtime on 26 February were all official state announcements read verbatim. Only at 2:50 a.m. on 27 February did NHK send two men around Tokyo, and their report that all was quiet was NHK’s sole contribution to news of the event. With press coverage limited by official constraints, radio was the country’s principal source of information until the end of February, but the only real news source was the state. (Kasza 1988: 157) Paralleling Kasza’s remarks, Shimizu recollected in his biographical notes that “the babbled information offered by the press and the radio [. . .] did not provide us, being in a state of shock and fear, with what we were looking for” (Shimizu 1992 [1975]: 123). Thus, he noted, it was basically the inadequate supply of information by the government on the one hand and the people’s strong demand for information on the other that resulted in the extraordinarily fast and wide-reaching spread of groundless rumors after the incident (Shimizu 1992 [1975]). On the occasion of this revolt, Shimizu—already a well-known intellectual—was asked by the editors of two renowned contemporary intellectual journals—Bungei shunjū and Chūō kōron—to contribute articles on the incident. These contributions were the original starting point for Shimizu to conduct his research on groundless rumors that was subsequently published in 1937—a year after the revolt—in the aforementioned book Ryūgen higo (“Groundless Rumors”). The basic research question that inspired Shimizu’s interest in rumors was how people would react in situations when they forfeit the sources of information like the press or radio, which they were already dependent upon—a situation obviously similar to the incident of February 26. Nevertheless, despite the apparent urgency to conduct sociological research on the spread of rumors, Shimizu still felt the necessity to justify the ‘non-academic’ subject of his research in the foreword of his book: Groundless rumors have an influence on the people just as much as media coverage and public opinion have. There are even times when groundless rumors are the only force moving the people. Despite the fact that they present a distorted face (kao) to society, rumors are deeply related to the fundamental reality of social everyday life. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 5) Unlike the empirico-historical, sociological or Marxist approach—all of which focus on mass communication and its influence on the formation of a general public opinion—Shimizu’s approach was unique because he considered rumors both an important source of information within people’s everyday lives and also as communication on a level subordinated to mass communication. In doing so, Shimizu shifted interest away from the rumors and the reciprocity of communication 141 almost exclusive focus of early theories of media and communication on the social function of the mass media and towards the social meaning of interpersonal communication.

The Mass Media and the Origin of Groundless Rumors

To Shimizu, personal communication was an important part of people’s social everyday lives as much as mass communication, as both facilitated people’s ‘adaptation’ (teki’ō) to ‘environment’ (kankyō).12 Without making it explicit, Shimizu obviously built this perception on one of the most fundamental assumptions of contemporary social psychology and behaviorism, as the two following quotes substantiate: In order for human beings to survive, it is necessary that they adapt to the environment surrounding their own everyday life. It is a characteristic of their existence to adapt to their environment. [. . .] Animals often adapt to their environment by means of their innate instincts. Their complex and subtle instincts are able to execute much of their activity with regard to adapt to environment. However, the instincts of human beings are not as complex and subtle. [. . .] A human being relying only on its instincts would not be able to live in this world for a single day. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 13–14) As soon as a couple of friends gather, rumors about other friends come up, which is basically an exchange of news and an expression of the need to adapt to the environment. [. . .] Friends are also part of the environment surrounding people’s everyday life. [. . .] Nevertheless, the fact that this is an adaptation to environment as well remains hidden at the bottom of our consciousness (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 16). In the modern era, people had come to rely more and more on the ‘news- coverage’ (hōdō) of the mass media instead of personal communication to adapt to their environment. This change took place because the environment of modern societies was no longer “limited to what each person [was] able to see with his own eyes, hear with his own ears and

12 Shimizu was the son of a rather poor family. His father, a bamboo trader, was forced to give up his business in 1919, due to harsh business competition. The family had to move from Nihonbashi to Honjo, a part of Tōkyō known as poor working class quarter. In his recollections, Shimizu often used the word ‘slum’ to describe this new living environment. According to Oguma Eiji (2003: 9–10), the “behavioral pattern of ‘adapting to an environment’ ‘in order to survive’ thus became the fundamental view of man in Shimizu’s books and was decisive for his own life path.” 142 chapter six to touch with his own hands. In addition, that the environment [was] not seen firsthand determine[d] the people’s fate” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 14). This extension of the everyday space of the people was caused by a number of drastic changes common to all modern societies. Shimizu mentioned four important developments responsible for this process: First, “the nations of the world bec[a]me tightly affiliated” (a process that we would nowadays call globalization). Second, “even within one country the relations have become so complex that to understand the full picture one would must be in the possession of something like the eyes of a god” (the growing complexity of modern societies). Third, “capitalist societies [were] essentially societies in motion. [. . .] Societies in motion are societies that necessarily require news-coverage” (the growing intensity of changes and movements of society). Fourth, “every man is the architect of his own fortune. [. . .] To live on one’s own requires one to adapt to and learn about your environment by oneself ” (the growing individualism among the members of a society) (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 14–15). For all these reasons, Shimizu concluded, human beings started to rely upon ‘extensions’ to mediate between their ‘environment’ or their ‘outside world’ and themselves by utilizing a “means which allow[ed] them to see things invisible and things inaudible” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 14). Paralleling Marshall McLuhan’s (1964)13 postwar perception of the mass media as ‘the extensions of man,’ Shimizu further explained that for people living in modern societies, the various components of the mass media even turned unconsciously into “extensions and supplements to our sensory organs” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 17). He argued: In order to know and learn about the affairs of our outside world, our bod- ies are equipped with eyes and ears. With regard to our most simple social everyday life, these eyes and ears are thoroughly sufficient. [. . .] However, today affairs having effects on people’s everyday lives occur in remote areas that happen to be out of reach of their eyes and ears. In present times, eyes, ears, and sensory organs of man in their natural shape are no longer able to solve their purpose to adapt to environment. The sensory organs need to be supplemented and extended. [. . .] Things like telegraphs, telephones, radios and newspapers are extensions and supplements to our sensory organs. Furthermore, one might possibly say that nowadays they have already turned into sensory organs themselves. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 16–17)

13 McLuhan (1964: 46) described the unconscious relationship between men and its extensions as follows: “To behold, use or perceive any extension of ourselves in technological form is necessarily to embrace it. To listen to radio or to read the printed page is to accept these extensions of ourselves into our personal system and to undergo the ‘closure’ or displacement of perception that follows automatically.” rumors and the reciprocity of communication 143

Consequently, Shimizu added, the people became aware of the importance of these new organs—once accepted into our personal system, as McLuhan put it—only in times when they became dysfunctional. To Shimizu, this was what actually happened in the aftermath of the revolt of February 26, when people lost their ‘sensory organs’ (the mass media) due to state censorship and, thus, where forced to rely upon the most fundamental form of communication (interpersonal communication = rumors) in order to fulfill the task of ‘adaptation’ to a drastically changing and totally unknown ‘environment.’ Hence, he argued, it was the dysfunctionality of the mass media as our assimilated sensory organs that led to the increasing emergence of groundless rumors about the revolt. One can say so because people reacted to this dysfunctionality in precisely the same way as they would react to the loss of one of our own natural sensory organs. Shimizu remarked: To have functioning eyes and ears means that we generally lack the particular consciousness that we possess eyes and ears. We become aware of them only if they malfunction. Similarly, the fact that the press is delivered every morning and that the radio is chattering from morning to night has already become part of our ordinary everyday life. This is something, which we do not necessarily become particularly aware of. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 17) Thus, people reacted to the interrupted flow of information provided by the mass media like they would react to an abruptly impaired vision: the sudden loss of the press as the people’s primary sensory organ results in fear, which limits the ability to act. Shimizu asserted that it was basically the hunger for information provoked by the fear of losing contact with the remote environment, which was “the basis [. . .] for the emergence of groundless rumors” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 20). However, Shimizu added, since groundless rumors often referred to actual events, “the anxiety that people feel if the extensions of their eyes and ears forfeit their function is not merely a fear to forfeit the means to know about the condition of their surroundings.” People are frightened even more of the extraordinary incident that causes a failure of the sensory organs. Thus, lacking precise information on their surrounding, people are frightened the most by their very own “expectations and premonitions about the significant changes within their environment” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 19).

The Metamorphic Structure of Rumors

According to Shimizu, news about an extraordinary incident such as a revolt could reach the people by two sources: via an observer who had 144 chapter six eye-witnessed an event or by means of the news coverage by the mass media. Either way, information about that event had to be imprecise or unreliable for rumors about that event to start to circulate. Based on this gap or a paradox “between one fragment and another of an information,” a rumor would come into existence in order to fill this gap or solve the paradox between two inconsistent fragments of information about an event (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 21). Put differently, rumors emerge when news coverage by the press lacks reliable sources about events, so that it is impossible to provide substantial information about a given event (which was actually the case on the first day of the incident of February 26, when the government declared a total embargo on information). This also occurs if the news-coverage of an incident was incomplete or paradoxical with regard to its content (which was the case the following days of February revolt when state organizations merely repeated the same information over and over again).14 Thus, Shimizu added, the structure of rumors could be explained by the following formula: Given that we are provided with [information] a and c. Now that we have a and c, we are in a desperate need to find [information] b between the two. Only if we have b, will we be able to produce a totality in the manner of a–b–c. [. . .] [Now] it is an operation of our imagination that fabricates b to construct consistency. Nevertheless, there is not merely one b, there is b,’ b,” and b’ ” and so on. Howsoever, b is not written in the newspaper and b is also not reported by the radio. It is the words of the individual that narrate b. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 22) It is important to note that Shimizu’s perception of communication was a very unique one within the contemporary discursive space on media and communication in the 1930s. By perceiving rumors as a form of interpersonal communication Shimizu had developed a non-hierarchical and horizontal understanding of communication. To him, communication was something that not only took place between two given entities (the press and the public), but also occurred on a social level ‘below’ the ‘public’ communication based on the mass media. From this perspective, he could emphasize the active participation of an individual within the shap-

14 Shimizu implicitly criticizes the news policy of the state on occasion of the February 26 revolt: “The announcements of authorities are often extremely abstract and unarticu- lated. Although the masses desire to know in particular the details about the effects of an incident on their own everyday lives, most of the announcements of authorities do not satisfy this desire and on the contrary, adopt an distant attitude through their reserved and scarcely comprehensible style” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 22). rumors and the reciprocity of communication 145 ing of his opinion. This participation is actually represented by the fact that people participate in the ‘decoding’ process of a given information by fabricating information b “to conjoin a and c.” Thus, Shimizu’s approach departed from an understanding that would become known in the 1940s and 50s as the so-called ‘hypodermic needle theory,’ which implied that the mass media had a direct, immediate and powerful effect on its audiences, and therefore had a powerful influence on behavior change. Instead, Shimizu, argued that the fabricated fragment b “can have various directions and meanings,” proposing that from one and the same information a great variety of rumors (or opinions) might occur. Moreover, he considered the different ‘understanding’ and ‘experience’ of ‘social reality’ by certain ‘social strata’ (shakaisō) and their varying ‘interests’ towards one and the same incident that causes different series of rumors a–b’–c, a–b”–c, or a–b’ ”–c etc. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 23) as a proof for the fact that personal communication between individuals or groups of individuals necessarily altered the meaning of given information, particularly with regard to the lacking or inconsistent parts which were supplemented by the people in order to attain consistency of an information.

Truth, Belief and the Images of our Outside World

Shimizu concluded that both rumors and the information in the mass media had to be defined as one form of ‘news coverage,’ because they eventually fulfilled a similar function. However, to differentiate both conceptually, he tentatively defined rumors as ‘abnormal’ (abunōrumaru) and the news coverage of the press as the ‘normal’ form of news (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 13). At first sight, a differentiation between news-coverage and rumors can then be easily made on the basis of their respective truthfulness: It seems that it is their truthfulness, which divides groundless rumors and news-coverage. It was because of the lacking truthfulness [. . .] of news- coverage that groundless rumors are granted such an exceptional acceptance. It seems easy to determine whether some news is a groundless rumor or true news-coverage. We only have to consider whether the news corresponds to reality or not. If it does so, it is news-coverage; if it does not, it is detested a groundless rumor. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 40–41) However, Shimizu admitted, in reality such a clear distinction between the two was not so easy to make. In fact, the people were usually incapable of determining if reported news (either rumor or newspaper reporting) actually corresponded to reality. Therefore, it was necessary to differentiate 146 chapter six between three types of reality: one that was “easy to perceive by the people” themselves, one that lay outside the people’s reach and was therefore “hard to obtain,” and a third type, which lay between the two others and meant “something that [was] easy to obtain, but impossible to understand with one sweep of the eyes” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 40). Put differently, the first type of reality relates to things that are part of our immediate surroundings, like other people, objects, or our own limbs. The second type relates to things that we are unable to recognize because of certain obstructions, such as things in a great distance from us, or the individual feelings of another person. By the third type of reality Shimizu meant things that we are not able to understand in their entirety or totality on the spur of the moment, such as a great quantity of single parts or complex phenomena such as a political coup d’état. According to this differentiation, only in the first case it was possible for people to decide whether something they perceive was true. Other than this ‘subjective’ reality provided by our own sensory organs, realities of the second and third type were mediated and therefore socially constructed realities—Shimizu used the term shakai-teki jijitsu (social reality) here—either based on hearsay or press reports (and therefore based on the so-called ‘extensions’ of our sensory organs) (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 41). Thus, Shimizu concluded, if both rumors and news reporting belonged to the same realms of reality (the second and third one), a differentiation between ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’ was nonsensical: It is impossible to differentiate real news-coverage and groundless rumors. Maybe this is a sad conclusion, but it is a conclusion which we naturally arrive at. People may argue that if time has passed by, one can clearly differentiate the two. But if a long time has passed, both news-coverage and groundless rumors will forfeit their pragmatic significance and lose their meaning to serve the purpose of the people to adapt to their environment. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 43) Nevertheless, people, he noted, still seemed to make a difference between news and groundless rumors, if not on the basis of objective truth. According to Shimizu, they did so on the basis of the external appearance of news and rumors, rather than with regard to their actual content. People identify information as news if: a) it mentioned its source—a guarantor for the information provided (this is the case with official announcements and the press in general and naturally not with groundless rumors) and b) if it was available in a material (and therefore printed) rather than verbal form. The latter characteristic was particularly important because printed material was supposedly checkable, enhancing its reliability and rumors and the reciprocity of communication 147 endowing it with a greater aura of veracity. Shimizu concluded, therefore, that the difference between news and rumor could not be solved epistemologically, but needed to be considered a question of the people’s ‘belief’ (shinkō) in a certain reality (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 45–47). Referring explicitly to the perspective of Walter Lippmann—a perspective that today would be called social-constructivist—Shimizu concluded that basically both normal and abnormal news were actually nothing but ‘images’ of reality. Reminding us that for people living in modern societies “events which have an influence on our everyday life gradually shifted from the first to the second and third type of reality” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 41–42), he argued that the people became more and more incapable of obtaining sound knowledge about the details of things that, despite happening in great remoteness, potentially had a significant influence on their lives. Since “it would render people’s existence impossible if they needed to get an idea of everything for themselves,” they could not help but ‘adopt’ and ‘belief’15 in the ‘given images’ by the press or rumors (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 60). Thus, based on the complexity of the modern world and modern societies, people necessarily had to believe in the socially constructed images provided by others: Human beings, unable to adapt and subsist without an accurate knowledge of their own environment, require reflections (utsushi) of their environment. These reflections present a certain idea (kan’nen) or image (imēji) of the environment. [Thus,] the relationship between human beings and their environment does not exist directly between the two as such, but between human beings and the images of their environment. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 51) As socially constructed realities, Shimizu emphasized that these images were not exact reflections of the environment but, because of the complexity of society or the environment respectively, were inevitably distortions or reductions of this complexity. Shimizu illustrated this difference between the ‘real’ environment and its ‘reflected’ image by quoting an anecdote published in the foreword of Walter Lippmann’s book on public opinion, in which Lippman tried to describe this difference through the temporal delay that might come about between the occurrence of an event and its subsequent conveyance by the mass media:

15 For Shimizu, ‘belief ’ was therefore a stabilizing factor of society. Other than ‘knowledge,’ which he considered a dynamic principle for the constant progress of society, belief was a static principle which maintained social order (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 60). 148 chapter six

There is an island in the ocean where in 1914 a few Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Germans lived. No cable reaches the island, and the British mail steamer came but once in sixty days. In September it had not yet come, and the islanders were still talking about the latest newspaper which told about the approaching trial of Madame Caillaux for the shooting of Gaston Calmette. It was, therefore, with more than usual eagerness that the whole colony assembled at the quay on a day in mid-September to hear from the captain what the verdict had been. They learned that for over six weeks now those of them who were English and those who were French had been fighting on behalf of the sanctity of treaties against those of them who were Germans. For six strange weeks they had acted as if they were friends, when in fact they were enemies. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 52; Lippmann 1997: 3) In this anecdote, an obsolete image of society obviously had strong consequences on the behavior of the people who were understanding this image as their actual environment. Despite their own countries being already at war, these people still behaved towards their co-inhabitants of that remote island as if they lived in peace. Based on this fictitious but certainly imaginable example, Shimizu concluded that it was actually not ‘real’ reality (which we are not able to comprehend anyways) but the images of this reality (from which we ‘construct’ our environment) upon which our behavior is actually based. Moreover, one can say that “with regard to the [threefold] relationship between environment, image, and human beings, these images do not only determine the action of the people, but bring our environment into existence” at all (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 53). Thus, it is the totality of images of our own society which provides us with an idea of “the existence of a certain society” in the first place (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 54). Shimizu explained this with anther historical example: If the greater part of the members of French society would have known the truth about the economic and political condition of the society they were living in, in the century previous to the French revolution and, thus, would have possessed a notion of society that faithfully depicted their environment, French society undoubtedly would have collapsed [already] at that time. It is not uncommon that a society can exist over a relatively long period of time due to the fact that the greater part of its members possess an image of their society that differs from the [actual] reality of their social environment. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 55)

Groundless Rumors and the Formation of Public Opinion

To Shimizu it was important to emphasize that the consciousness of human beings, unlike that of animals, was determined by two outside rumors and the reciprocity of communication 149 worlds (or environments): nature and society. The cognitive creation of “society” was understood by Shimizu as a mutually constructive process, formed not only from above by society or their social environment (shakai-teki kankyō), but also from below, through humans’ various attempts to give shape to these things through the images and ideas they created for them. In other words, human beings differed from animals because they did not merely react to external influences by means of adapting (teki’ō) their behavior (kōdō) in response to a changing environment, but also had the power to perform certain actions (kō’i) aimed at influencing and changing their environment (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 49–50). With regard to the structure of groundless rumors, Shimizu asserted that a different understanding of information based on the different interests of certain social groups necessarily also led to different reactions and behaviors within the respective social groups. Shimizu described this process by adding the variable d to the aforementioned formula. According to Shimizu, an understanding b’ necessarily led to an action or behavior d,’ whereas a different understanding b” would necessarily lead to a different action d” (a–b’–c–d,’ a–b”–c–d” and so on) (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 24). One important action that people were able to perform based on information related to an alteration of their environment was the formation of public opinion (yoron) towards such developments. Thus, to Shimizu, the formation of a certain public opinion should be understood as nothing but a human behavior in response to certain changes of the social environment: Assuming that news-coverage transmits information from an external reality to the human being, one can regard public opinion as something that emanates from the human being and is directed towards the exterior. Apparently, [however,] there is a gradual or a sequential difference between news-coverage and public opinion. Whereas news-coverage proceeds unhampered irrespective of public opinion, public opinion, in general, can’t come into existence without news-coverage. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 71) However, on an issue that was very similar to the problematic definition of what is ‘normal’ and what is ‘abnormal’ news, Shimizu remarked that the concept of public opinion was not easy to define. Naturally, the opinion of a single individual cannot be considered a public opinion. In order to become a ‘public’ opinion, it had to be “shared by a great number of members of a society” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 70). Thus, the ‘basis’ (kisō) for public opinion lay in the ‘consensus’ (itchi) among this group of members of society (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 70). However, Shimizu 150 chapter six added, if this ‘consensus’ would comprise all members of a society, one should not speak of a ‘public opinion,’ because, for instance, nobody would call “the confidence of the Japanese that Japan is an island country” or the fact that “the sun rises in the east and sets in the west” a public opinion (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 70). Shimizu elaborated: If a consensus is all-embracing and established among all members of a society, would public opinion come to existence? Of course not! Most notably, if a consensus is all-embracing and extensive to this extent, an opinion which builds on such a [wide] basis cannot appear as a public opinion. For a shared opinion to appear as a public opinion, it rather requires opposing opinions. Only if one opinion is opposed by another opinion, one that can be expected to compete with this opinion, public opinion can assume the concrete form of a public opinion. Public opinion can neither emerge within a [state of ] absolute non-consensus nor one of absolute consensus. One has to say that public opinion can only emerge in the interstice between consensus and non-consensus. In other words, although public opinion seems to be understood as an opinion familiar to all members of a society, it must in fact be referred to as the opinion of one part of the members of a society. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 71) One can conclude that, unlike the proponents of shinbungaku discussed earlier, Shimizu understood public opinion here not as the abstract idea of a general will (i.e. a vox populi or Volksmeinung), but, to speak in the language of modern sociology, as the various opinions proposed publicly by different sociological ‘groups.’ Moreover, he saw right through the paradox of the term ‘public opinion’ by hinting at the fact that, despite apparently assuming a concrete shape, the formation of public opinion is in fact a fluxionary social process of oscillation and negotiation between a consensus and non-consensus of opinions. In addition, it was not only that various public opinions can exist within society; Shimizu also introduced two notions of it, differentiating between a ‘latent’ (senzai-teki) public opinion that distinguished the interpersonal communication of rumors from the ‘manifest’ (kenzai-teki) public opinion, created by public communication of the mass media (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 73).16 In particular, the former was understood by Shimizu as

16 Interestingly, the term ‘latent’ public opinion was used by the two US-American political scientists V.O. Key and James Rosenau in the 1960s to describe long-term public opinion in the context of their research on elections and voting behavior and foreign policy respectively (Rosenau 1961; Key 1961). Similarly, latent implies public opinion that has not yet formed or solidified. Rosenau argues that policy makers sometimes respond to perceived latent public opinion, independent of the usual process by which opinions are rumors and the reciprocity of communication 151 what “people generally have in mind when they talk about public opinion.” Hence, ‘manifest’ public opinions were those that evoked a certain reaction (i.e. opinion) towards certain news being shared by a number of individuals that formed a ‘social group’ (shakai shūdan). Consequently, Shimizu described this type of public opinion also as ‘realized’ (genjitsu- teki to natta) public opinion, since it found a social group which acted as a conveyor (tanka-sha) and turned it thereby into a ‘public’ opinion (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 73). Thus, Shimizu concluded his remarks on manifest public opinions: “it is only through the mediation (baikai) of human actions (ningen kō’i) that latent public opinions can turn into manifest public opinions” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 74). Contrary to the manifest ones, latent public opinions did not assume a concrete shape, remaining in a state of possibility by finding a social group that publicly supported it. In other words, latent public opinion actually lacked a social group to act as its conveyor. According to Shimizu, latent public opinions did “not exist publicly, but privately” and lacked the “power” of manifest public opinions “that exist[ed] between the people,” caused by the social cohesion among the members of social groups (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 73). However, Shimizu added, despite the fact “that all manifest public opinions were formerly latent public opinions [. . .],” “not every latent public opinion develops into a manifest public opinion” because societies “possess certain orders which protect their existence” and thus, “necessarily restrict the actions of their members” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 74). Whether a latent public opinion could actually turn into a manifest public opinion depended on the social and political openness of a certain society towards opposite views. Thus, Shimizu argued, based on the political system, latent and manifest public opinions could be understood as one of two different ‘types’ (shurui) or ‘stages’ (dankai). Shimizu explained the difference in the following manner: [O]ne can say that latency and manifestation are both, two stages traversed by a public opinion or two of its types. Countries where public opinion plays a crucial part within social everyday life, i.e. countries with a developed democracy, have the facilities to develop almost any latent public opinions into a manifest public opinion. In this respect, latency and manifestation must be understood as two stages of public opinion. On the contrary, in

‘submitted’ to policy makers. Key, in turn, argues that politicians must attempt to discern how and when latent opinion will be activated, and in what form (pro or con, weak or strong). In Japan the concept was used, with regard to the public opinion of social movements, by scholars of political communication like Ōishi Yutaka (cf.: Ōishi 1998). 152 chapter six

countries where the democracy is underdeveloped only very few latent public opinions can develop into manifest public opinions. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 74) Thus, one can conclude that Shimizu’s perspective on the formation of public opinion actually paralleled Walter Lippmann’s perspective not only with respect to his socio-constructivist notion of reality as ‘pictures in our heads,’ (Lippmann 1997) but also with regard to a rather utopian idea of an egalitarian and pluralistic democracy, particularly when seen against the background of the political situation in the late 1930s in Japan. This becomes even more obvious if we understand Shimizu’s remarks as an implicit criticism of the contemporary Japanese political system. It is important to remember in this respect that Shimizu’s book was published in 1937—the year of the outbreak of a full-scale expansionist war on the Chinese continent. It was therefore a time that witnessed the growing influence of militaristic forces within the Japanese government, an intensification of the censorship of the press and the demise of the last vestiges of a short period of liberal democracy in Japan. The discussions of the Diet sessions following the attempted coup d’état of February 26 are particularly noteworthy here, as they illustrate the importance that conservative politicians and bureaucrats attached to the danger of interpersonal communication in the shape of circulating rumors during the aftermath of disturbing events such as the Great Kantō Earthquake in 1923 or the attempted revolt on February 26. In the year of the putsch attempt, conservative Diet members introduced the draft of a law that would control the circulation of illegal radical contents to the diet. This draft called for up to three years’ imprisonment for any- one spreading rumors bound to disturb public order by means other than publications. Despite its eventual rejection by the Diet, it was not forgotten. Five years after the revolt, in December 1941, the “Law for Emergency Control of Speech, Publications, Assemblies, and Associations” (Genron, Shuppan, Shūkai, Kessha nado rinji torishimari hō) finally passed, provid- ing up to two years in prison for spreading lies or rumors about a so-called ‘situation’ (reprinted in: Uchikawa 1975: 403–407).

The Structure of Rumor Language and the “spiral of silence”

Shimizu continued his study of the formation of public opinion with an analysis of the fundamental linguistic structure of news and public opinion. Other than ‘abnormal’ and ‘normal’ news, which did not differ on a grammatical level because they were both composed in third-person-form rumors and the reciprocity of communication 153 and past tense (which Shimizu considered as another piece of evidence for the above statement that both actually bear the quality of ‘news coverage’), ‘manifest’ and ‘latent’ public opinions made use of distinct grammatical patterns. According to Shimizu, manifest public opinions were formed not only by their location in a social group, but also in the way they were enunciated. Manifest public opinions were mostly expressed in the first-person-form (either plural or singular), in present tense, and openly articulated the demands of the social group that supported it. Thus, due to their present tense and first-person-form, the actuality and necessity of the demand behind a manifest public opinion was expressed frankly (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 75–76) (cf. table 4). So-called latent public opinions, however, which were often based on rumors were hardly ever enunciated in the first-person-form and often had the form of an objective, rather than a subjective, statement. Despite their latency, however, these opinions could actually comprise ‘hidden’ demands. He exemplified this by the statement of a child saying: “those sweets seem to be tasty.” Despite the fact that this statement at first sight does not include any demand at all, it actually implies that the child does not merely want to express his opinion about the tastiness of the sweets, but in fact also desires to eat them as well. Due to the passive grammatical form of such a statement (or a latent public opinion), the enunciator is obviously able to hide his demand by avoiding the usage of the first- person-form (cf. table 4).

Table 4. Shimizu Ikutarō’s linguistic analysis of ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’ forms of news and public opinion. News ‘normal’ ‘abnormal’ peculiarities Subject: third-person Subject: third- Do not differ Tense: past person linguistically, merely Tense: past with regard to their relation to reality (a–b’–c) Public ‘manifest’ ‘latent’ peculiarities opinion Subject: first-person, Subject: avoids Enunciation includes often plural first-person a hidden demand Tense: present; statements and tries to hide the Includes frank Tense: present; originator of that demand in the form Includes hidden demand by avoiding of “we demand, . . .” demand the first-person 154 chapter six

Accordingly, Shimizu concluded that the linguistic ambiguousness of latent public opinions had its origin in the avoidance of punishment or public exposure (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 77) (which German political scien- tist Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann (1993: 37–57) termed the ‘fear of isolation’) because the conveyor of that public opinion camouflages his or her true intentions (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 79).17 This was particularly true if the enunciator of a latent public opinion that was based on abnormal news (or rumors) wasn’t sure whether this opinion had the potential to evolve into a manifest public opinion if he would express it publicly and frankly: Let us assume that the content of a demand was A and that the result which this demand should produce was B. Whereas in the case of a public opinion that is believed to become manifest, the form “I demand A” will be used, in the case of a public opinion which is not expected to become manifest, the form “B has happened” will be used. This is subject to a very simple logic. If the form “B has happened” was used, this expression is nothing but news. [. . .] People who place their demands in the latter way are able to express a demand without assuming responsibility for it. Despite the diminishing intensity of the demand, this loss of intensity is still tolerable compared to the [expected] punishment of an explicit demand or its [total] retention and concealment. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 80–81) Thus, Shimizu argued, latent public opinions seemed to lie in between ‘speech’ (gengo)—in the sense of an explicit articulation of a demand or opinion—and ‘silence’ (chinmoku)—as the total suppression of a demand or opinion. Implicitly criticizing the political circumstances in Japan yet again, Shimizu added that ‘silent obedience’ was actually an important factor for the continuity of absolutistic and feudalist societies and, whereas ‘speech’—namely the free expression of individual public opinions, has to be considered an important element of modern democratic societies (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 119–127). One must “hint at the anachronism,” he added, that within “certain” modern societies “a disdain of speech which is typical of feudal societies is stipulated politically” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 126). Needless to say, this was as far as Shimizu’s criticism of the restriction of free speech in Japan could go at that time.

17 This was, in fact, also perceived by other intellectuals of the contemporary discourse on public opinion in Japan. Please refer to Kōhara (1933) and Ōta (1934). rumors and the reciprocity of communication 155

The “Latent Public” (senzai-teki kōshū)

The conveyor of latent public opinion (or rumors) was defined by Shimizu as the ‘latent public’ (senzai-teki kōshū). In a similar way to the other proponents of early approaches to media and communication, this definition referred to Gabriel Tarde’s paradigmatic distinction in his book L’opinion et la foule (1901), in which he differentiated between ‘the crowd’—“a collection of physic connections produced essentially by physical contact”— and “the public,” that is conceived as a “purely spiritual collectivity, a dispersion of individuals who are physically separated and whose cohesion is entirely mental” (Clark 1969: 53). Against the background of Tarde’s definition, Shimizu explained the concept of the ‘latent public’ in the following manner: Groundless rumors are primarily transmitted verbally. In this respect, they reflect the fact that the spiritual communication within a crowd is verbal. [. . .] I have already hinted at the fact that it is the functional suspension of the means of news-coverage and communication that provides a condition for groundless rumors to arise. [. . .] If people forfeit these means, the only means to serve the purpose of spiritual traffic is the human language. Even worse, it is only spoken language. [. . .] This, however, is not spoken language in the form of a public speech. [. . .] Despite rumors being verbal, it is impossible that many people will receive the same message simultaneously as in the case of a crowd. The words do not spread simultaneously from one center to each single individual or to a whole group. [. . .] The common form of groundless rumors is that they are transmitted form one individual to another. (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 103–104) A number of important perspectives on interpersonal communication can be drawn form this short quote from Shimizu’s writing. First and foremost, with regard to Tarde’s differentiation between a crowd and a public, Shimizu concluded that the latent public must be something that is conceptually located in between the two. On the one hand, the personal communication among the latent public was necessarily based on language and psychical contact similar to that within a crowd. On the other hand, latent publics could reach the extension of a public, because the information could reach a much larger audience than that of spatially and temporarily restricted crowd. However, the latent public also differed from a newspaper public in one very important aspect: the members of a latent public (or conveyors of groundless rumors) could not be “mutually aware of the fact that they convey the same groundless rumor” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 106). This, however, was considered by Tarde one of the most 156 chapter six important preconditions for the emergence of a newspaper public because it was only in the imagination of the people that they happened to experience themselves as the members of one and the same public. One can conclude that Shimizu was one among a few contemporary thinkers who attached great value to interpersonal dimension of communication. By considering not only the press but also spoken language as, to use the terminology of other thinkers, as a ‘means of spiritual exchange’ (shin-teki kōtsū kikan), he overcame the then-paradigmatic understanding of contemporary sociologists and scholar of the press for whom the concept of ‘spiritual exchange’ was exclusively linked to ‘public’ communication of the mass media or the press in particular. Put differently, Shimizu had realized that opinion formation and the dissemination of information was something involving complex processes that go beyond the relationship between the press and its publics. He hinted at the fact that communication was occurring also between single individuals—a process, which he tried to understand through his observations of the structure of groundless rumors and the formation of latent publics. Formations of manifest and latent publics, Shimizu noted, did not necessarily exclude each other, since “despite the fact that people can only belong to one crowd, they simultaneously belong to many different publics” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 107). Moreover, within the process of interpersonal communication, Shimizu emphasized, individuals have the possibility to develop freely. Within a latent public, people did not “drown” as they would in a crowd. Rather they were able “to exert an influence in their qualification as individuals,” since they could make the choice themselves to actively alter, omit or supplement the contents of the groundless rumors submitted from person to person. Accordingly, Shimizu considered the latent public as a possibility for the individual to actively take part in the formation of a public opinion. It is “totally unimaginable,” Shimizu argued, that “the power of the individual could so influential” within a crowd or a newspaper public (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 107). For the most part, these rather restricted or suppressed any individuality through the one-sided direction of public communication. Basically, latent public opinions and groundless rumors seemed to contain an inherent ‘spirit’—a spirit “that wants to, but is not allowed to elude” (Shimizu 1992 [1937]: 109). Conclusion

Driven by the massively growing newspaper and magazine business in Japan—daily newspapers like the Tōkyō-based Mainichi or Asahi shinbun already had circulations of more than one million copies in the 1920s, and the inaugural issue of Kōdansha’s mass-magazine Kingu (founded in 1925) sold 750,000 copies—Ono Hideo, scholar of German literature had, by 1929, managed to establish the Newspaper Research Seminar (Shinbun kenkyū-shitsu) against the harsh resistance of conservative scholars against this new type of practical knowledge. As well as being a pivotal step for the establishment of shinbungaku as an academic forerunner of today’s media and communication studies, the establishment of the research seminar also led to a shift in the meaning of the term shinbungaku. From the establishment of the institute in the late 1920s onwards, shinbungaku was no longer understood as practical training for journalists but as a field of academic research into the phenomenon of the press. However, as we have seen, in order to grasp the greater picture of contemporary theorizations of the press and public opinion, one needed to go beyond the borders of the academic discipline shinbungaku. Unlike the approach of the historiography of academic disciplines (Disziplingeschichte), the aim of this book has not been to describe merely the cumulative accumulation of knowledge within the borders of the newly found discipline, but to include non-academic, or academically marginalized, approaches as well. It was, first and foremost, also from within the academic discipline of sociology that the press and its social function have been studied. Yoneda Shōtarō (1873–1945) was among the first sociologists to recognize the significance of the press and public opinion as social phenomena. Strongly influenced by Georg Simmel’s formal sociology and Gabriel Tarde’s mass psychology, Yoneda dedicated a whole chapter of his book Gendai-jin shinri to gendaibunmei (“The Mentality of Modern Man and Modern Civilization,” 1919) to the newspaper and the formation of its readership. Drawing heavily on Tarde’s differentiation between ‘the public’ and ‘the masses,’ Yoneda described the press basically as a new ‘platform’ for the expression and formation of public opinion. Furthermore, in 1923, journalist Fujiwara Kanji—one of the first graduates in sociology at Tōkyō Imperial University—wrote a frequently cited book entitled Shinbun-shi to shakai bunka no kensetsu (“Newspapers and the Structure of Social Culture”). His approach to the 158 conclusion phenomenon was explicitly sociological, and his goal was thus to “identify the press as a means of spiritual exchange and to conduct sociological analyses of its social function” (Fujiwara 1923: 16). Many important works followed, such as the book Shinbungaku gairon (“Introduction to Newspaper Studies”) published in 1930 by Journalist Muneo Matsuji or the 12-volume series Sōgō jānarizumu kōza (“Comprehensive Lecture Series on Journalism”) published by the publishing house Naigai-sha in the same year. In summary, one can say that the intellectual discourse on newspapers and public opinion in the mid-1920s was characterized by an intellectual shift towards functionalist approaches. This shift accompanied a change of generation: while the academics of the first period—men like Ono or Yoneda—were academically socialized within the intellectual environment of the Meiji period, scholars of the second period gained their university education in the more liberal climate of the Taishō period. In particular, the intellectual shift within the discourse on media and communication consisted of a shift from the idea of the press as an instrument of enlightenment, education or modernization (which had resulted in the publication of a large number of practical handbooks and statistical yearbooks for journalists and newspaper-publishers) to approaches towards the social functions and effects of the press. Accordingly, with regard to the notion of ‘public opinion,’ one can observe a shift from crowd-psychological and educational perspectives towards a plurality of sociological (Fujiwara Kanji, Koyama Eizō, Muneo Matsuji), socio- psychological (Sugiyama Sakae, Shimizu Ikutarō), and Marxist approaches (Tosaka Jun). Michel Foucault called such a set of various statements transcending a single academic discipline, but which are still coalescing around identical objects and concepts, a ‘discursive formation.’ Thus, by avoiding terms like ‘science,’ ‘ideology,’ ‘theory,’ or ‘domain of objectivity’ to describe formations of knowledge which were, in fact, “already overladen with conditions and consequences” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 41), Foucault was able, in his own research, to take into consideration statements of non-academic participants originally excluded from a disciplinized field of knowledge. Contrary to the narrowness of the approaches of intellectual or discipline history, Foucault argued that discourse analysis, [. . .] does not describe disciplines. At most, such disciplines may, in their manifest deployment, serve as starting-points for the description of positivi- ties; but they do not fix the limits: they do not impose definitive divisions upon it; at the end of the analysis they do not re-emerge in the same state in which they entered it. (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 197) conclusion 159

One is “dealing with a discursive formation,” according to (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 41, emphasis in original), “whenever one can describe, between a number of statements [. . .] a system of dispersion, whenever, between objects, types of statements, concepts, or thematic choices, one can define a regularity (an order, correlations, positions and functionings, transformations).”1 To Foucault—and this is extremely important—there is no a priori object of a discourse, which “does not await in limbo the order that will free it and enable it to become embodied in a visible and prolix objectivity; it does not pre-exist itself, held back by some obstacle at the first edges of light” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 49). Rather, according to Foucault (2004 [1969]: 35), a discursive object is “constituted by all that was said in all the statements that named it, divided it up, described it, explained it, traced its developments, indicated its various correlations, judged it [. . .].” Hence, discourse does not merely describe and define objects and, it brings its own objects into being in the first place. Discourses are “practices that systematically form the objects of which they speak” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 54). This explains why discourse on media and

1 What unites a particular discourse is defined by Foucault as the dispersive regularity of an ‘archive.’ To Foucault, an archive is, so to speak, a ‘virtual storage’ of all the possibilities for saying something at a particular historical moment and within a “limited space of communication” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 142). To Foucault, a discursive archive should not be mistaken for a physical collection of records from the past. Hence, an archive is never the “sum of all texts” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 145), but rather a metaphor for a virtual storage of all the possibilities for saying something at a particular historical moment and within a limited space of communication. Therefore, the archive (and its rules of formation) not only restricts the shape of a discourse, but also opens up what Foucault called “subject positions,” which facilitate participation within a discourse; the archive is both defined by, and defines the laws of what can be said in order to be receivable for others. Accordingly, the archive of statements on media and communication to be presented here is necessarily a discursive construct of the researcher, because, according to Foucault, an archive can never “be described exhaustively” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 146). Necessarily, based on the scope of this book on the two concepts ‘the press’ and ‘public opinion,’ certain contemporary thinkers were excluded from this selection. For instance, Nakai Masakazu’s media theory is not discussed in these pages. For an account of Nakai’s approach please refer to Kitada (2004). Accordingly, there is no such thing as a ‘neutral’ position of the discourse analyst. Even the modern term ‘media and communication studies,’ which has been used here occasionally to circumscribe this archive, is, strictly speaking, nothing but a discursive denomination of the discourse analyst. Nevertheless, despite the ahistorical and a posteriori use of the term in this context, it will be occasionally applied here as an auxiliary means to describe the discourse under study. This is basically because the term shinbungaku (newspaper studies), although in fact representing the name of an academic discipline that can be considered to be the forerunner of postwar media and communication studies in Japan, does not, based on the exclusivist character of academic disciplines, include the various perspectives from which mass media and mass communication were actually intellectually approached. 160 conclusion communication in prewar Japan could coalesce around identical objects (‘the press’ (shinbun, shinbun-shi) and ‘public opinion’ (yoron)), but still could be attributed with different (mostly opposing) concepts according to the individual ideological and academic background and perspective of its respective proponent. On the one hand, ‘the press’ was either “described,” “explained,” or “judged” as a ‘means of spiritual exchange’ (shin-teki kōtsū kikan) and ‘educator of society’ (shakai no bokutaku) (in the liberal perspective of Fukuzawa Yukichi or Ono Hideo), as the ‘eye through which we see society’ (shakai o miru me) (in the socio-constructivist perspective of Koyama Eizō), as an ‘agent of ideology’ (ideorogī no ējento) (in the Marxian perspective of Tosaka Jun), or as the ‘extension of the sensory organs’ (kankaku kikan no enchō) (in the socio-psychologically inspired perspective of Shimizu Ikutarō). ‘Public opinion,’ on the other hand, was treated from contrasting perspectives as well. For Ono, public opinion was only brought into being by means of the ‘leading function’ (yūdō kinō) of the press and was conveyed by the leading strata of society—namely politicians, intellectuals, and journalists. Sociologists like Koyama, Yoneda Shōtarō, Sugiyama Sakae, and Fujiwara Kanji focused on the ‘formation of public opinion’ (yoron no kōsei) or ‘propaganda’ (senden) and emphasized the social function (shakai-teki kinō) of the press, whereas Tosaka compared public opinion to a ‘force field’ that ‘compels’ (sokushin) people to behave in accordance to certain (bourgeois) norms. Shimizu defined ‘manifest’ (kenzai) public opinions conveyed by the mass media in a way quite similar to Noelle-Neumann’s concept of the spiral of silence—by differentiating them from the ‘latent public opinions’ (senzai yoron) of rumors.

1937–1945: Imploding Knowledge

In July 1937, the so-called Marco Polo Bridge Incident (Rokōkyō jiken) marked the outbreak of full-scale warfare on the Asian continent, which was the result of a decades-lasting Japanese pursuit of imperialist ambitions to dominate Chinese territories and secure their material and economic resources. As a result, Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro (1891–1945) legislated the National Mobilization Law (Kokka sōdō’in-ho) a year after the event, endowing the government with the authority to orchestrate the mobilization of the nation for a total war. Already in October 1937, Konoe had initiated the so-called National Spiritual Mobilization Movement (Kokumin seishin sōdō’in undō) as part of the controls on civilian organi- conclusion 161 zations. The aim of this movement was to increase patriotism among the Japanese and prepare them spiritually for a total war. These events had remarkable impact on the contemporary discourse on the press and public opinion. The hitherto manifold discourse of the politically relatively liberal prewar period “imploded.”2 Michel Foucault calls this the ‘rarefaction’ (1981 [1970]: 67) of a discourse. To him, despite the theoretical consistency of each approach—not “all the possible alter- natives are [. . .] in fact realized” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 74). It is based on the (ideological, intellectual, or scientific) ‘incompatibility’ of discursive ‘sub-groups’ that they “appear [. . .] in the form of ‘either . . . or’ ”3 (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 73). That leaves knowledge “so exposed in certain cases to political manipulation, [that] it is legitimate in the first instance to sup- pose that a certain thematic is capable of linking, and animating a group of discourses” (Foucault 2004 [1969]: 39). Starting in the second half of the 1930s, the discourse on the mass media and public opinion was gradually “linked” to, and “animated” by, ideological concepts such as ‘Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere’ (Dai tōa kyōeiken), ‘Volk’ (minzoku), ‘Japanese spirit’ (nihon seishin) or ‘thought war’ (shisō-sen). The situation in Japan after 1937 can therefore be compared to the contemporary academic situation in Germany, particularly for the case of newspaper studies. Historian Horst Pöttker proposed seven—in Weberian terms—‘ideal-typical’ behavioral patterns of German scholars of the field during the Nazi regime, ranging from ‘total conformity’ (totale Konformität), ‘ideological conformity’ (ideologische Konformität), ‘opportunism’ (Opportunismus), retreat into ‘normal everyday behavior’ (nor- males Alltagshandeln), ‘opposition’ (Opposition), ‘emigration’ (Emigration),

2 I borrowed the concept of the ‘implosion’ of knowledge from Yoshimi Shun’ya (2000), whose edited book is entitled Naiha suru chi: shintai, kotoba, kenryoku wo aminaosu (“Imploding Knowledge: Interweaving the Body, Language and Power”). 3 In a certain sense, this perspective is similar to Thomas Kuhn’s idea of the paradigm shift in the natural sciences. The most important aspect of Kuhn’s understanding of para- digms was that he considered them incommensurable; a new paradigm that replaced an older one was not necessarily better, since the criteria of judgment depended on the paradigm itself. If a certain theory emerged that combined the social and intellectual power to replace an accepted paradigm (here we would have to include the political power as well), a period of ‘normal science’—i.e. the relatively routine work of scientists experimenting within a the given paradigm—was interrupted by a ‘crisis’ that could lead, in a revolutionary act, to the rejection of the previous paradigm. If the new paradigm became broadly accepted within the scientific community (which was called a ‘paradigm shift’ by Kuhn) the discipline would again return to the state of ‘normal science.’ 162 conclusion and ‘internal emigration’ (Innere Emigration),—patterns which can also be applied to the key figures of prewar discourse in Japan4 (Pöttker 2004).

Ideological Conformity: Koyama Eizō For Pöttker (2004: 42–44), a substantial intellectual identification with the ideology of the regime is ‘constitutive’ for a scholar to belong to the category of ‘ideological conformity.’ Despite scholars belonging to this category differing from a ‘total conformity’ with regard to their willingness or unwillingness to personally commit crimes to support the regime, “the regime propagated and took advantage of this behavior” and rewarded it in return. Based on his writings and his direct involvement in various organizations of the wartime government, Koyama Eizō has to be considered to belong to this category.5 Almost from the beginning of his career, Koyama did not only work as an academic but also served as a bureau-

4 This multifold typology might also be helpful to overcome the highly ideologized dichotomy between converts and non-converts (tenkō-sha/hi-tenkō-sha) in Japanese intellectual history. This debate was initiated particularly by the postwar research project on tenkō (ideological conversion) headed by Tsurumi Shunsuke (cf. Shisōnokagaku-kenkyū- kai 1959–1962). For an English account of the problem of tenkō you can refer to Steinhoff (1991). For a critical discussion of tenkō as an ideologized perspective of intellectual history please refer to Yoshimi (2002b). 5 Muneo Matsuji is another important figure who belongs to this category. In the year after the outbreak of the war with the USA, he was transferred by order of the Japanese Imperial Navy to Makassar, in occupied Indonesia, and became the head of the branch office of the Borneo shinbun—a Japanese and Malayan language newspaper published by the Asahi shinbun publishing house. Muneo’s contributions to the intellectual discourse can be roughly divided into three groups of publications: the first group dealt with his personal experiences as a journalist in Manchuria and Indonesia during the Japanese occupation (Muneo 1921a, 1921b; Rikugei-sha 1941–43). The second set included books on the American armed forces and their fighting strengths (Muneo 1941a, 1941b). In the third group, Muneo published on journalism, American newspaper enterprises and thought war (Muneo 1925, 1930, 1942). Despite their diversity with regard to content, a clear division can be made between Muneo’s books published in the 1920s and 30s and those in the 1940s in terms of their political standpoint and world-view. While one can agree with Tomizuka’s appraisal that Muneo was a ‘liberal journalist’ (Tomizuka 2002: 118) with regard to his earlier writing, the basic tone of his later work can only be described as opportunistic, sometimes even ideologically conformist. The rather positive appraisal of the American university system and schools of journalism or the newspaper business in his earlier books made way for an anti-American and even anti-Semitic tone in his publications on the financial and military strength of the USA in the 1940s. Moreover, Muneo’s ideological involvement in the Fascist Japanese state becomes even more obvious if one takes also into consideration his collaboration with the Japanese military in propaganda publications such as a series entitled “Diary of the Greater East-Asian War” (Daitōa-sen no nisshi) of 1941–43 which were edited by the Rikugei-sha publishing house and written collabora- tively by Muneo with military officers of the Imperial General Headquarters’ (Dai-hon’ei) information departments. conclusion 163 crat in the Japanese government during the war years. Koyama became a researcher in the Ministry of Health and Welfare’s Population Problems Research Center ( Jinkō mondai kenkyū-sho) in 1939 and section chief of the planning board of the Ministry of Education’s Ethnic Research Center (Minzoku kenkyū-sho) in 1942 (Yoshimi 2002a: 204). It was at that time that Koyama published not only his works on propaganda strategies (Koyama 1937, 1942) but also a book on race (Koyama 1939). In 1943, the Ethnic Research Center completed the confidential study Yamato minzoku wo chūkaku to suru sekai seisaku no kentō (“An Investigation of Global Policy with the Yamato Race as Nucleus”)6 when Koyama was already section chief of the institute’s planning board. Whereas his own book on race was ‘merely’ the ‘scientific’ basis for the Japanese expansionism on the Asian continent, this second publication on the ‘Yamato race’—which was most likely co-authored by Koyama—was in fact a race-ideological ‘analysis’ of the Japanese ‘master race’ in East Asia. Having concluded that public opinion was the ‘shared concerns’ of a common subjectivity in the form of a shared consciousness of ‘social formations’ such as the state, race or class (in other words, a conscious self-perception of a social formation and its members), Koyama argued already in his first book entitled Shinbungaku that public opinion, particularly its deeper and more persistent strata, has an influence on people’s behavior in the long run. Thus in an indirect way it was the mass media, endowed by Koyama with the power to construct social realities, that would canalize and organize opinion over time and thereby “determine the opinions of the majority into a homogenous direction” (Koyama 1935: 260). Borrowing a term that was used by the German Nazi propagandists of his times as well, Koyama described the press—among other media such as public speeches, film or radio broadcasting—as the most ‘powerful means of persuasion’ (shidō shudan, Führungsmittel) and as “an external constituent for a collective thought and popular will”7 (Koyama 1935: 272). Moreover, the press has the power to “suppress the intellect and

6 For an account of this secret report please refer to Oguma (1995) and Dower (1986). 7 According to Koyama, there had been incidents in the past when this important role of the press had become evident. One such incident was the Great Kantō Earthquake in 1923, when society was without the persuasive power of the press and Japan had sunk into a state of ‘anarchist chaos’ (Koyama 1935: 276). Koyama explains that “at the time of the Great Kantō Earthquake all sorts of groundless rumors (ryūgen higo) circulated because of the cessation of accurate press coverage. To a man, people’s minds were in a state of unrest and furthermore public order descended into great chaos. In the end, it was necessary to proclaim martial law” (Koyama 1935: 276). 164 conclusion emphasizes an impulsive uplifting sentiment” (Koyama 1935: 272). Koyama concluded that the absence of interpersonal contact among the members of a public and the power of the press to construct a shared group identity and its almost magical power to turn falseness into truth were ‘crucial aspects’ of the press “that one could take advantage of when the press was used as a means of propaganda” (Koyama 1935: 47). Accordingly, Koyama’s appraisal of the press and its integrative function of triggering a ‘process of association’ (Vergemeinschaftung) became even more manifest in his later treatises on propaganda published two years after his book on newspaper studies, particularly under the influence of the invasion taking place on the Chinese mainland. In his 1937 book entitled Senden gijutsu- ron (“On Propaganda Techniques”), Koyama argued that “in spite of the fact that individuals are significantly different from each other, and separated from each other by wide expanses of space, these individuals, so long as propaganda is at work, always take on a collective appearance as a mass of people united in similar units across space and time” (Koyama 1937: 5–7). Koyama even went a step further in his 1942 book Senji senden-ron (“On Wartime Propaganda”) when he denounced the “spec- ter of liberalism in the past with its advocacy of profit-seeking ways of life” and asserted that in order to prosecute the war, it was indispensable to “endow an internally coherent, powerful and bright opinion with the role of leading the public opinion of the nation as whole” (Koyama 1942: 3–4). Barak Kushner, (2006: 33), who has studied Koyama’s approach to propaganda in greater detail, arrives at the conclusion that for Koyama, “[p]ropaganda should be understood as a way to mold the minds of men [. . .] It must bring the people together under a unified concept of society and goals.” Japanese propaganda was, for Koyama, something totally different than (Chinese) agitation against Japan, since it “is merely destruc- tive and does not serve to motivate” (Kushner 2006: 34). Koyama, who also participated in a symposium on thought war organized by the Cabinet Information Department in 1940, argued that a general mobilization of the people was only possible through propaganda from the ‘bottom up.’ To him, “propaganda is not merely handed down from above. It must also come from the people themselves, through local public organizations such as Youth Groups, Women’s Groups, Local Assemblies, schools and so forth. This kind of propaganda, coming from communal social institutions, is the most effective” (Quoted in Satō 1998: 306). In this sense, media historian Satō Takumi is therefore right absolutely right to conclude that what Koyama envisaged here was an “organization of surveillance powers and subjective mobilization” (Satō 1998: 306). conclusion 165

One can conclude that Koyama’s earlier thought-provoking constructivist understanding of the press is finally converted here into a theory of propaganda with the press as its most important means. As a result of prewar studies of news media and public opinion that were world class in their sophistication regarding the interactive and sometimes ‘bottom up’ generation of public opinion, Japan’s wartime approach to propaganda was also relatively sophisticated, at least in theory. It might be important to note that this move resembles the twisted constructivism of Japanese historical revisionists in contemporary Japan, who emphasized historical constructivism in producing textbooks that were legitimized by the assertion that history is always a social construct. Accordingly, Koyama’s theoretical ‘conversion’ was not an abrupt one but had had its origins in the crucial alterations that he had made to Gerhard Münzner’s model of public opinion. While Münzner described the third level of public opinion with the neutral term ‘basic attitudes,’ Koyama provided this ‘relatively immovable’ stratum with the rather questionable term ‘ethnic spirit.’ Moreover, as we can tell from his other writings on race and ethnicity, Koyama understood minzoku, a term that had a very wide meaning and could refer either to the idea of ‘race,’ ‘ethnic group’ or even ‘nation,’ not simply as socio-historical formations, but as mental “communities of character born from a community of fate” in which the “various cultural forms and spiritual characteristics have their own ethnic peculiarities” (Koyama 1942: 267, 289). They were, so to speak, “cultures and values that [were] born from the ties of blood and soil” (Koyama 1942: 16). This view was deeply embedded in the anti-imperialist imperialist view of the regimes Panasianist ideology. For Koyama, Japan’s war in Asia was clearly a war of liberation from Western imperialism. To Koyama, this was particularly the case for those Japanese colonies that were inhabited by populations of other ethnicities. Thus, it was Koyama’s opinion (particularly in his later writing) that propaganda was important not only for molding the minds of the Japanese or conveying the Japanese government’s version of wartime events to a worldwide audience, but—potentially even more importantly—for ‘restructuring’ social relationships among the various ethnic groups (minzoku) of the Japanese empire. In Koyama’s view, the empire needed a thorough understanding of the nature of the ethnic spirit not only of the Japanese but more especially of the colonized peoples. Asserting that, “before we can get them to understand us, we must understand them,” Koyama was ultimately envisaging what historian Tessa Morris-Suzuki has called a “finely tuned strategy” of ethnic engineering based on “scientific research surveys, 166 conclusion accompanied by the creation of propaganda institutions” (Morris-Suzuki 1999; 2000: 511).

Opportunism: Ono Hideo According to Pöttker (2004: 45), an opportunistic behavior is aiming at the achievement of “personal goals, namely economic benefits, professional success, or influence and so forth.” Although the opportunistic scholar’s relation to the regime is merely “secondary,” the underlying motivation behind this behavior is to “comply with the provisions of the regime as far as it is considered necessary with regard to the achievement of personal goals.” One can consider Ono to belong to this category, since, despite his personal involvement in wartime organizations, his social and intellectual position differed significantly from that of his disciple Koyama. As in the case of German Zeitungswissenschaft, which shifted towards the ideology of the Nazi regime because its proponents expected official support for their still marginalized discipline, (Averbeck and Kutsch 2004: 62–63) Ono believed that his participation in government organization would accelerate the establishment of shinbungaku as an academic discipline in Japan. Yoshimi Shun’ya evaluates this move of Ono in the following way: [. . .] Ono and other pioneers of shinbungaku who were trying to establish it as a bona fide academic discipline during the 1930s were sandwiched between two very different perspectives. On the one hand, intellectual projects such as shinbungaku, directly concerned with practical issues of modern society, were marginalized in the universities. On the other hand, in the government-led campaign to mobilize intellectual resources, it was exactly these practical and directly applicable intellectual undertakings that were most ardently sought after. Newspaper studies, propaganda studies and public opinion surveys were useful for the total war regime of the time, and as such, were always in danger of being integrated into state-led policy processes. In this awkward situation, Ono chose to make use of the government’s enthusiasm for shinbungaku in his campaign to establish the fledgling discipline as a branch of university-based academism. (Yoshimi 2002a: 204) Nevertheless, Ono always insisted on the freedom of the press and never lost his faith in the professional education of journalists as a means for an ethical self-recovery of the press. This was particularly reflected in a blue- print for an “Outline for the Regulation on the so-called Immoral Press” (Iwayuru Akutoku Shinbun-shi Seiri Yōkō), penned by Ono on the occasion of the enactment of the National Mobilization Law (Kokka sōdōin-hō) in 1938 by the cabinet of Konoe Fumimaro, which also directly affected the freedom of the press (Ono 1971: 263–264). conclusion 167

On the occasion of a symposium on thought war organized by the Cabinet Information Bureau in 1938, Ono stated that “contemporary control of newspapers should not take the form of passive pressure, in the manner of newspaper policy in feudal times. It should correct their distorted substance and use them to unify the spirit of the people” (Quoted in Satō 1998: 305). According to Satō, Ono still believed that “[i]f the newspapers are given the freedom and made to control themselves and respect their mission, the newspapers will, of their own accord, move to the masses spontaneously, since (the power of newspapers) isn’t a power applied from the outside, like authority or a threat, but is sense of power established within a universal interest” (Satō 1998: 305). Ono concluded his paper by remarking that “[t]he drain of power from newspapers is a drain of power from the spirit of the people, and will therefore detract from the National Spiritual Mobilization” (Satō 1998: 306). In this regard, other than Koyama’s constructivist perspective, Ono’s ethico-historicistic approach was apparently far less applicable to the current situation and the needs of government propaganda organizations. Despite an “internal distance” to the ideology and actions of the regime, Pöttker (2004: 45) writes, an opportunistic behavior often included entertaining good relations to the state and “the production of regime- conformist texts.” In 1937, Ono Hideo became a part-time researcher in the Cabinet Information Department (Naikaku jōhō-bu) (cf. Tsuganesawa and Satō 1994), and he described this participation in the Department in his personal memoirs as follows: I was transferred by the foreign ministry into the newly founded Cabinet Information Bureau. Among my tasks [was the] participation in research symposia [. . .] and the acquisition and translation of materials on the Gleichschaltung of the press in Italy and Germany. In addition, I presented papers at seminars on ideological thought war organized by the Cabinet Information Bureau. (Ono 1971: 262) In this regard it is important to note that it was the translations and collections of the Cabinet Information Department—published in the series Jōhō senden kenkyū shiryō (“Research Sources on Information and Propaganda”—reprinted in: Tsuganesawa and Satō 1994) that were crucial for the application of the theories and policies of Nazi propaganda in Japan during the war (Satō 1998; Yoshimi 2000: 203). Among the books translated by Ono Hideo were Emil Dovifat’s Zeitungslehre (“Newspaper Studies”) (1937) and Zeitung und Politik. Eine Einführung in die Zeitungswissenschaft (“Newspapers and Politics. An Introduction into Newspaper Studies”) (1935) by Hans Amandus Münster—both, according to Pöttker, belonging 168 conclusion more or less to the category of ‘ideological conformists’ in the 1930s (Pöttker 2004: 45–46). Along with the reorganization into a much larger Cabinet Information Bureau (Naikaku jōhō kyoku) in 1940 (the number of staff members rose from 23 to 600), Ono became member of a newly formed Cabinet Committee (Yoshimi 2002a: 203), which was founded “by order of Tōjō Hideki who wanted to be informed at conferences about the current public opinion by representatives of the press” (Ono 1971: 266).

Opposition: Tosaka Jun Pöttker (2004: 48) defines ‘opposition’ as a behavior that “aims at the deconstruction of the regime, accepting the risk of being sanctified to greater or lesser extent,” even “to the point of physical extinction.” In these terms, Tosaka Jun surely belongs to this category. Upon being dismissed from his position at Hōsei University in 1934 for being alleged to be a proponent of so-called ‘dangerous thought,’ Tosaka remained entirely outside mainstream academia, devoting himself to academic and journalistic writing. In 1937, when he and his associates at the Yuibutsu-ron kenkyū-kai were eventually ordered by the government to curtail their writing, he was denied even this last possibility to make a living and feed his family. In November 1938, the so-called Yuiken Incident resulted in the arrest of the main members of the study group for their anti-government stance, all of whom were charged with violation of the Peace Preservation Law (chian iji hō). Despite being freed on bail in 1940, Tosaka was sentenced to four years in prison one year later. In mid-1942 the trial was reopened and the court of appeal commuted his sentence to three years in prison. Although he won the appeal and was given conditional freedom on a temporarily release from Sugamo Prison, the Supreme Court of Justice eventually rejected his appeal. Most likely, this was due to the fact that in early February 1941, the Peace Preservation Law of 1925 had been completely rewritten. Terms for people suspected of communist sympathies became more severe. In addition, the appeal court for thought crimes was abolished, and the Ministry of Justice given the right to appoint defense attorneys in cases of thought crime. In May 1945 Tosaka was transferred to Nagano Prison due to the intensifying air raids on Tōkyō . There he started to suffer from acute nephritis. Tosaka Jun died on August 9th 1945, only six days before the official Japanese declaration of surrender. conclusion 169

Collective Amnesia: Koyama and Tosaka in the Postwar Period

If we were to take literally the titles of two special issues of one of the most renowned Japanese mass communication journal Shinbungaku hyōron (its title was changed to Masu komyunikēshon kenkyū in 1992), neither the pluralization of discourse in 1918–1937, nor its ideologization in the period of 1937–1945 ever occurred. In an attempt to circumscribe the discipline shinbungaku historically, the first of these two special issues from 1981 was entitled “Thirty Years of Mass Communication Studies: Prospect and Retrospect,” the second issue, published about a decade later in 1990, was called “The Genealogy of Mass Communication Studies in Japan, 1951– 1990.” Based on the titles and contents of these special issues commemorating the foundation of communication studies in Japan, one might conclude that thought about the mass media or communication did not exist in prewar and wartime Japan. Moreover, demands and attempts to reconstruct the prewar discourse on the press and public opinion in the early postwar period went unheard (cf. Yamamoto 1969b; Yamamoto 1969c). “One would rather get the impression,” Yoshimi Shun’ya added in 2000, “that media studies in Japan in the past several decades have grown steadily more oblivious to their own origins” (Yoshimi 2002a: 200). According to Yoshimi Shun’ya, it was particularly due to the global dominance of American positivistic mass communication research after 1945 that the (mostly theoretical or philosophical) prewar discourse on media and communication in prewar Japan was suppressed8 (Yoshimi 2002a: 213). In fact, however, it was also the ideologization of the discourse after 1937 that has to be considered another important reason for the diverse approaches of the prewar time to vanish into oblivion after WWII. After the war, the proponents of newspaper studies tacitly agreed on something like a ‘zero hour’ for the discipline, mostly in order to cover up their own involvement in wartime propaganda institutions. This becomes most obvious in the case of Koyama Eizō, who, despite (or rather because of) being deeply involved into war-time research on propaganda, Koyama ironically was made (supported by the GHQ) director of the National Public Opinion Research Institute (Kokuritsu yoron chōsa-jo) founded in

8 A similar situation can be described for the case of Germany, where a shift from theoretical newspaper studies towards the positivistic approaches of American mass communication research occurred in two waves, one in the 1950s and another one in the 60s (cf. Kutsch and Pöttker 1997: 11; Löblich and Pfaff-Rüdiger 2009). 170 conclusion

1949 and turned—according to the Japan Who’s Who of 1988—into “the leading figure in establishing the contemporary foundations” of Japanese opinion research (quoted in Morris-Suzuki 2000: 504). Surprisingly, it was not only the wartime period of shinbungaku that had been deleted from history, but also Tosaka Jun, who had sunken into oblivion. Historian Harry Harootunian, one of the very few Western scholars dealing with Tosaka’s thought, is absolutely right in stating that with the regard to Tosaka, who was “incarcerated in circumstances that explicitly prohibited him from reading and writing” (Harootunian 2007: 155) and did not leave any last testament of his prison years as his friend Miki Kiyoshi (1897–1945), who suffered the same fate as him, there is “an interesting symmetry between the prewar state’s desire to silence Tosaka permanently” by putting him into jail, and “the erasure of his memory” in the postwar. Harootunian explains: This act of silencing worked to actually eliminate Tosaka’s powerful presence in the 1930s—his brilliant rethinking of Marxism as a philosophy of the everyday, his scorching critique of the complicity of liberalism and fascism, his fearless assessments of the contemporary situation, and his tireless leadership of the Yuibutsuron kenkyūkai (Materialism Study Group). While the prewar state sought to still his denunciation of “Japanism” and “archaism” as the forms of fascism that prevailed in Japan, the postwar order succeeded in repressing his account of how liberalism had been implicated and even complicit in producing prewar fascism. If the former managed to finally silence him, the latter destroyed the memory of his critique so thoroughly that it was literally forgotten and resulted in removing his absent presence from all subsequent discussions. (Harootunian 2007: 156) In a certain sense, the twofold subjugation of Tosaka’s thought can thus be considered the other side of the coin of Koyama Eizō’s twofold successful adaptation to the political situation in the wartime period and postwar liberal democracy. Hence, the most important aim of this publication was not only to criticize the proponents of shinbungaku for their successful ideological adap- tations, but also to “restor[e] the power of speech” (Foucault 1981 [1970]: 67) of the “subjugated knowledges” (Foucault 1980 [1976]: 81) of thinkers such as Tosaka, being suppressed by the fascist regime in the prewar time on the one hand, and the dominance of democratic liberalism and positivistic American communication research in the postwar period on the other. Despite the fact that the positivistic approach of mainstream American communication research was subjected to critical re-examination by conclusion 171 proponents of critical cultural and media studies already in the 1970s, it was not before the introduction of British Cultural Studies to Japan in the 1990s that the basic texts of a local legacy of critical theory on media and culture in Japan were widely re-read and reappraised. In essence, this took place because in Cultural Studies, according to American proponent of Cultural Studies Lawrence Grossberg, “theory [. . .] is measured by its relation to, its enablement of, strategic interventions into the specific practices, structures, and struggles characterizing its place in the contemporary world.” Consequently, “cultural studies begins to grapple with and analyze difficult political situations using the [local] resources and experiences at hand” (Grossberg 1989: 415). It was Yoshimi Shun’ya in particular who hinted at the meaning of these “resources and experiences at hand” by emphasizing that the development of Cultural Studies in Japan must not be limited to the adoption of American and British theories. Yoshimi remarked that only if “we pay attention to the transformations and changes of knowledge about culture dating back to the 1920s and 30s” will we be able to “find within Japan’s historical and social context the origins constituting the core of contemporary media, pop-cultural, and technological culture”9 (Yoshimi 1998: 159). One can even argue that scholars like Etō Fumio (1972) or Yoshimi Shun’ya are therefore absolutely right in reassuming the necessity to re-evaluate the early approaches towards the press and public opinion of the 1920s and 1930s “as having possibly marked the beginning of mass communication studies in Japan” (Yoshimi 2002a: 199–200). In particular, the perspectives of the Marxist critic Tosaka Jun (along with philosopher Tsurumi Shunsuke in the postwar time) could be considered as examples of a historical formation of critical cultural and media studies that might turn into a ‘toolbox’ of critical theories as important reference points for critical media and cultural studies in Japan.

9 For a critical analysis of the re-articulation of Cultural Studies in Japan please refer to Schäfer (2009).

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INDEX academy 27, 97, 99–100, 111, 113, 116, 119, confucianism 20n6, 96, 72 123, 166 control, social (shakai tōsei) 5, 22, 74n10, as an ‘organ of the state’ 113 77, 83–84, 86 actuality ( jiji-sei) 42, 80, 89, 95, 97–102, criticism (hihyō) 109n15 153 culinary 115 Adenauer, Konrad 63 literary 115 Adorno, Theodor W. 95–99, 112, 122 crowds (gunshū) 22, 31, 73–75, 91–92, 138 Aono Suekichi 24n10, 25, 104, 106, 116n23 as climax (chōten) of public arousal 74 Ariga Nagao 68 Cunow, Heinrich 117, 127 Asahi shinbun (newspaper) 4–5, 12–15, customs (fūzoku) 23, 75, 85, 94, 109–110, 40, 52–53, 55–56, 78, 114, 157, 162 122 bakufu shogunate 8–9 d’Ester, Karl 8, 28–29, 33, 40, 47, 52, behaviorism 31, 125, 133–134 59–63, 65–67 Benjamin, Walter 96n1, 105n9, 111–115 demonstrations 13, 74, 107–108 Bentham, Jeremy 68 Dewey, John 125, 127 Bloch, Ernst 97n2, 111–112 Dovifat, Emil 48, 167 Bourdieu, Pierre 20 Brunhuber, Robert 42–45, 76, 80 Ebbinghaus, Hermann 125, 137 Bücher, Karl 21, 26, 32, 40, 43, 45, 48, economics 1, 17, 21, 41–42, 52–53, 82, 87, 76n14, 80, 87 110–111, 125, 127 Bysow, L.A. 29–30, 33 empiricism 21, 51, 54, 70, 108, 125, 140 Endō Ryūkichi 69 Cabinet Information Department (Naikaku Engels, Friedrich 1, 16, 18, 121 jōhō-bu) (renamed into Cabinet enlightenment 1–2, 10, 75, 92, 112, 158 Information Bureau (Naikaku jōhō Europe 1–3, 8, 10, 17–18, 20, 22, 34–39, 46, kyoku) in 1940) 164, 166–168 58–59, 63–65, 68–69, 84, 105, 122, 127 China 1, 4, 12, 46, 58, 64–65, 66, 67, 122, Everth, Erich 40n11, 48, 65n34 128, 152, 160, 164, 176–179 everydayness (nichijō-sei) 28, 59, 96, Chōya shinbun (newspaper) 10 100–103 Chūgai shinbun (newspaper) 8, 37, 52–54 principle of (nichijō-sei no genri) Chūō kōron (journal) 24n10, 56, 113, 140 100–101 civilization 1–2, 10, 21, 42, 72–73, 90, 92, exchange, means of spiritual 122, 129, 157 (Verkehrsinstrument, geistiges; shin-teki class (kaikyū) 123–13, 23–26, 51–52, 55, kōtsū kikan) 21, 42, 75, 80, 87, 156, 160 71, 86n, 88, 92–93, 100–109, 116–117, 129–133, 141, 163, 165 fascism (also see nipponism) 6, 99, 115, colonialism (and postcolonialism) 18, 117, 119–123, 162, 170 58, 104 February 26 Incident (Ni-niroku jiken) communication 30–31, 139–140, 143–144 as a reciprocal process 124–125 feudalism 24, 32, 99, 113, 130, 154, 167 cognitive and emotional aspects of feuilleton (bungei-ran) 115 133–139 Frankfurt School 95–98, 108, 111, 123 communism 1, 16, 18, 24, 103–105, 168 Frankfurter Zeitung (newspaper) 111–113 Comprehensive Lectures in Journalism Fujiwara Kanji 7, 22, 75–88, 92, 157–158, (Sōgō jānarizumu kōza) 23–24, 129, 158 160 Comte, Auguste 22, 68–69, 72, 84, 126 Fukuchi Gen’ichirō 2–3, 9 188 index

Fukumoto Kazuo 24–25, 103–106, 116 distorted 113–115 Fukuzawa Yukichi 1–2, 12, 68, 160 ‘psychology of ’ (jānarizumu shinrigaku) 134–139 Gemeinschaft (community) 23, 82, 87, 90, philosophical/theoretical 108–112 92, 94, 164 journalists (kisha, jānarisuto) 2–4, 8–11, Germany 1, 3, 5, 8, 10–12, 17, 18, 20–23, 13, 20–21, 34–42, 44–45, 51, 72–78, 82–85, 28–29, 32–35, 39–52, 59–67, 70–84, 93, 114, 130–137, 158, 160, 166 91, 93, 95, 99–103, 108, 111, 113, 116–118, as educators see newspaper 121–128, 134–137, 148, 154, 157, 161, 163, as ‘leaders of public opinion’ (yoron no 166–169 shidō-sha) 130 Gesellschaft (association) 23, 70, 81–82, as ‘mediators’ (baikai-sha) 132–133 87, 90, 92, 94, 128 goyō shinbun (official government Kadoya Hiroshi 25, 104, 116n23 newspaper) 10 Kaizō (journal) 24n10, 56, 113 Gramsci, Antonio 18, 19, 26, 27, 101, 122 kanken-ha (conservative, pro-government Great Britain 2, 11, 30, 65, 148 papers) 9 Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere kawaraban (tile block prints) 46–47 (Dai tōa kyōeiken) 6, 161 family state (kazoku kokka) 69 group, social (shakai dankai, shakai Keiō press 8 shūdan) 74, 86, 151, 153 Kingu (magazine) 15, 56, 157 attitude (shūdan taidō) 90–91 ko-shinbun (tabloid) 14, 15, 42, 101 Kobayashi Hideo 119–120 Hasegawa Nyozekan 4, 24n10 Kōdansha (publisher) 15 Hayasaka Jirō 24, 65n34, 104, 106 Kōko shinbun (newspaper) 9 hegemony, intellectual 18, 20, 32 Konoe Fumimaro 126, 160, 166 Heide, Walter 29, 39, 60, 66–67 Kōtoku Shusui 14, 37 Heidegger, Martin 95–96, 100 Koyama Eizō 5–7, 21–23, 31, 50, 53, 68, historicism 21, 45–47, 75, 167 75, 80–81, 86–94, 100, 158–170 Hōchi shinbun (newspaper) 10, 11, 15, Kracauer, Siegfried 111–112 55–56 Kuroiwa Ruikō 13, 14 Horkheimer, Theodor W. 97, 109, 118, 122 Kyōto Imperial University 20n7, 69 Kyōto School 98, 100 ideology 3, 6, 24–29, 31, 33, 42, 67–69, 71, 95, 103, 107, 110–123, 126, 132, 158, Lenin, Vladimir 24–25, 103–105 160–163 liberal democracy 106, 120, 152, 170 as false consciousness 117 liberalism 20, 106, 115, 117, 119–121, 126, as individual consciousness and 164, 170 connection to ‘historico-social as a philosophical system 120–121 existence’ 118 cultural 119–120 particular and total 116–117 Lippmann, Walter 89, 125, 147–148, 152 impartiality and non-partisan (fuhen literature 119–121 futō) 4, 114 Löbl, Emil 42–45, 50–51, 80, 169 intellectual history 24, 126. 162 Locke, John 137 Luxemburg, Rosa 106–107 Jaeger, Karl 48, 79 Japanese Communist Party (Nihon Mainichi shinbun (newspaper) 12, 13, 15, kyōsan-tō) 24, 103–105 36, 37, 40, 64, 65n32, 67, 157 Japanese spirit (nihon seishin) 6, 120, Manchuria 14, 162n3, 23, 58 122, 161 Manchurian Incident 23, 58 Jiji shinpō (newspaper) 12, 36, 55 Manheim, Ernst 81 Jiyū shinbun (newspaper) 10–11 Mannheim, Karl 71, 116–119 journalism (jānarizumu) Marco Polo Bridge Incident (Rokokyo as an ‘agent (ējento) of ideology’ jiken) 160 26–27, 116, 160 Marx, Karl 1, 16, 18, 117, 121 index 189 marxism 23–25, 54, 71, 101, 103–107, National Mobilization Law (Kokka 110–112, 116–122, 126–128, 140, 158, sōdō’in-ho) 160, 166 170–171 neo-kantianism 95, 98 ‘crypto’ 117 news-coverage (hōdō, nyūsu) 4, 9, 12, 15, ‘Western’ 121–123 23, 74, 77, 83, 90, 93, 101–103, 107, 113–114, masses (taishū) 13, 24–25, 87, 91–92, 96, 138, 141–146, 149, 155 103–108, 130–138, 144, 157, 167 normal and abnormal 145 abstract (chōshu-teki) and concrete newspaper (shinbun, shinbun-shi) (gutai-teki) 91–92, 137n10 as educator of society (shakai no as ‘medium’ (baikai-tai) of public bokutaku) 27, 36, 130, 160 opinion 133 as ‘extensions and supplements to our massification vs. popularization sensory organs’ (kankaku kikan no 106–108 enchō) 142–143 political 107 as ‘impassive organs of news-coverage’ proletarian 25, 104, 107–108 (reisei na hōdō kikan) 114 materialism (yuibutsu-ron) 25, 28, as ‘means of persuasion’ (shidō shudan, 96–97, 100–101, 110, 112, 115, 119, 121–123, Führungsmittel) 29, 67, 163 126–132 as ‘means of socialization’ (shakai-ka no Materialism Research Association shudan) 90 (Yuibutsu-ron kenkyū-kai, Yuiken) 123, as means of education (kyōdō) 22, 77, 126, 168 82, 92 Matsumoto Junichirō 71 as means to ‘adapt to environment’ Matsumoto Kunpei 3, 34 141–143 McLuhan, Marshall 30, 142 as means of ‘social association’ (shakai Meiji ketsugō) 81–82 Association for the Research of the as platform 74, 157 Culture of the Meiji Period (Meiji as the ‘eye through which we see bunka kenkyū-kai) 38, 47 society’ (shakai o miru me) 22, 89, Meiji 6 society (Meiroku-sha) 2, 68 160 period 1, 9, 14, 36, 38, 41, 46–47, 58, 68, communalization of 43–44 99–100, 114, 158 etymological meaning of 99, 102 restoration 2, 8, 9, 11, 68 everydayness (nichijō-sei) and methodological nationalism 16 politicality (seiji-sei) of 101–103 Miki Kiyoshi 170 mediatory (baikai kinō) and leading Miki Zenpachi 15 function (yūdō kinō) of 21, 50–51, Mill, John Stuart 68 56, 160 minken-ha (liberal-democratic personality (shinbunshikaku, newspapers) 10 Zeitungspersönlichkeit) 114–115 minshū (the people) 106–107 proletarian 103–105 minzoku (Volk, nation-state) 6, 92, social function of (shakai kinō) 1–2, 137n10, 161, 163, 165 4–6, 27, 72, 78, 80, 88, 99, 107, 113, 141, Missouri, University of 78 157–158, 160 Miyatake Gaikotsu 47 typology of 42–43, 45, 80, 83, 86, 101 Mizuno Rentarō 4 Newspaper Research Seminar (Shinbun Mohr, Martin 48 kenkyū-shitsu) 5–6, 21, 41, 157 Motoyama Hiko’ichi 36–37 nipponism 6, 116, 119–122 Movement for Freedom and Popular Niroku shinpo (newspaper) 14 Rights ( Jiyū minken undō) 2, 10–11, 69 Nishi Amane 68 Muneo Matsuji 6, 75, 78–81, 87–88, 90, Nishida Kitarō 98–99, 119 162 nishiki-e (color woodblock prints) 46–47 Münster, Hans Amandus 64, 79, 167 now (ima) 100 Münzner, Gerhard 23, 49–50, 93–94, 165 ō-shinbun (intellectual paper) 12, 14, 15, Murayama Ryōhei 4 27, 114 190 index

Ōnishi Toshiō 4 reader, readership (dokusha) 4, 12–13, 21, Ono Hideo 5–6, 13, 20, 28, 31–34, 60–63, 31, 44, 48–49, 50–58, 70, 75, 77, 80–87, 72–79, 85, 119, 130, 160–167 90–92, 105, 110, 114–115, 124, 128–131, 135, Onose Fujito 3, 34 138, 157 organicism 22, 68, 70, 72, 75, 82 reciprocal process (katei) between Ōsugi Sakae 103–104, 106 readership and the press 77, 132 reality, social (shakai-teki jijitsu) 22–23, panasianism 165 88–90, 95, 109, 120–121, 145–146 Park, Ezra 85 as ‘idea’ (kannen) and ‘image’ 147–148 Peace Preservation Law (chian iji hō) 6, as ‘images in our heads’ 135 168 as mediated ‘ideational constructs Peters, Alfred 81 of the world’ (kannen-teki sekai philosophy (tetsugaku) 20–21, 26–28, 68, kōsei) 88–89 70, 95–101, 108–112, 119–129, 170 as ‘reported world’ (shinbun-ka sareta as ‘science of thought’ (shisō no sekai) 22–23, 89 kagaku) 110 rice riots (kome sōdō) 3, 107 bourgeois 98–99, 119 Rieß, Ludwig 45 hermeneutic 119 Labor Farmer Faction (Rōnō-ha) 24 ‘in newspaper columns’ 112 Ross, Edward A. 84–85 social 126–128 rumors, groundless (ryūgen higo) 5, political science 1, 21, 79 29–33, 124–129, 131, 133–160, 163 pragmatism 20, 127 (linguistic) structure of 143–145; Prasad, Jamuna 30, 33 152–154 present (genzai) 100–101 Russia 14, 25, 29, 33, 58, 84, 104 press, the see newspaper Russo-Japanese War 14, 114 PRESSA (international press exhibition) 28, 52, 60–61, 63–65 Sakai Toshihiko 14 print capital (shuppan shihon) 113 San’yō shinpō (newspaper) 128 propaganda (senden) 6–7, 23, 29, 67–68, Schäffle, Albert 72, 77, 80 94, 160–169 sensationalism 2, 24, 44, 113–114, 135 psychology 49, 135–136 Shimizu Ikutarō 5–7, 21, 29–33, 124–131, crowd/mass psychology 22, 73, 125, 139–160 131, 157 shinbungaku (newspaper studies) 3, 5, 21, experimental 137 25, 34–35, 37–39, 41–46, 48–49, 60, 63, socio-psychology 31, 124, 141 75–79, 88–89, 101, 130, 157–159, 163, 166, public (kōshū) 22,31, 73–75, 90, 91, 124, 169, 170 138 ‘pure’ (junsui) and ‘applied newspaper latent (senzai-teki kōshū) 155–156 studies’ (ōyō shinbungaku) 79 public opinion (yoron) Shinmei Masamichi 70n5, 71 and the ‘spiral of silence’ 152–155 Shōwa Research Association (Shōwa as a ‘notional construct’ 23, 68, 92 kenkyū-kai) 160 as an ‘illusion’ 88 Simmel, Georg 22, 69–70, 72, 95, 125, as imitation 129–130 128–129, 157 as ‘interstice between consensus and Sino-Japanese War 14, 114 non-consensus’ 149–154 social science, materialist (shakai bourgeois and proletarian 108, 133 kagaku) 25, 110, 128 formation of (yoron kōsei) 129–133 socialism 14, 25, 29, 37, 60, 63, 67, 104, latent (senzai-teki) and manifest (kenzai- 107–108, 115, 117, 119 teki) 5, 31–32, 150–152, 160 society (shakai); social (shakai-teki) also the press as a mirror of 47, 49, 90 see Gesellschaft vs. ‘published opinion’ 108 control see control, social news (shakai-men) 55 radio broadcasting 29–30, 52, 56–58, 79, newspaper as eye through which we 140–144, 163 see, see newspaper Ranke, Leopold von 45 reality see reality, social index 191

social group see group and belief 147–148 social problems (shakai no mondai) 13 ‘three types of ’ 145–147 social strata 145 Tsuda Mamichi 2, 183 the press as educators of (shakai no bokutaku) see newspaper Uchimura Kanzō 14 socio-constructivism 22, 88–90, 152, 160, university see academy 165, 167 Uno Kōzō 25 sociology (shakaigaku) 1, 5–6, 16, 19–23, USA 1, 3, 5, 11, 13, 17–18, 20, 25, 34, 36–40, 29–30, 32–33, 35, 39, 48–52, 68–93, 43, 46–47, 52, 55, 58, 63–65, 69–70, 74, 107–110, 116–118, 122, 124–129, 132, 140, 76, 78, 83–85, 87–88, 103–105, 114, 121, 150, 156–158, 160 125, 127, 150, 153, 162 formal (formale Soziologie) 70–73, 126, uses and gratification 139 128–129, 132, 157 Sombart, Werner 70, 128 Vierkandt, Alfred 70n4, 125, 128 Spencer, Herbert 20, 22, 68, 69, 72, 136 Sugimura Sojinkan 3, 76 Watsuji Tetsurō 119 Sugiyama Sakae 7, 24, 125, 127–139, 158 Weber, Ernst Heinrich 134–137 Weber, Max 20, 48, 52, 70, 73, 117, 161 Taishō Weimar Republic 1, 29, 124–125 democracy 1, 125n Wettstein, Oskar 39n10 period 3, 37n7, 38, 158 White Rainbow Incident (Hakkō jiken) 4 Takata Yasuma 70–71, 74, 82, 84, 129 Wiese, Leopold von 70, 91, 125, 128, Takebe Tongo 22, 69, 72–73, 76–77, 137n10 81–85, 93 Wilhelm Bauer 77 Taki Seiichi 40 Williams, Walter 78 Tarde, Gabriel 22, 49–50, 69–70, 72–74, Wittfogel, Karl August 117–118 77, 107–108, 125, 129–130, 138, 155, 157 World War I 1, 60, 64, 114 telegraph 2, 14, 142 World War II 169 tenkō (ideological conversion) 126, 162, Wundt, Wilhelm 125, 136–138 165 Terauchi Masatake 3 Yamakawa Hitoshi 24, 103–104 thought war (shisō-sen) 6, 161–162, 164, Yanagawa Shunsan 8 167 Yasukawa Shigenari 2–3 Toda Teizō 70n3, 75n11, 76 Yokohama mainichi shinbun (newspaper) Tōjō Hideki 168 10 Tōkyō akebono shinbun (newspaper) 10 Yomiuri shinbun (newspaper) 12, 13, 55, Tōkyō Imperial University (Tōkyō teikoku 56, 96, 98, 126 daigaku) 5–6, 20–21, 28, 34, 37, 40–42, Yoneda Shōtaro 22, 69–70, 72–74, 76–77, 45, 65–70, 75, 79, 111, 126, 133, 157 81, 86, 129, 157–158, 160 Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun (newspaper) Yorozu chōhō (newspaper) 13, 14, 15, 35, 9n5, 10, 11, 35, 37, 53, 76 37 Tönnies, Ferdinand 23, 70, 82, 92–94, Yoshino Sakuzō 3, 47, 76n14 108, 125, 128 Tori’i Sosen 4 Zeitungswissenschaft, Zeitungskunde Tosaka Jun 5–6, 21, 25–27, 31–32, 54, 86, (newspaper studies) 5, 20, 28–29, 95–131, 158, 160, 168–171 32, 34–35, 34–35, 40, 42, 59–67, 78, 101, Toyama Shōichi 68 166–67 truth 22, 89, 95–96, 99, 120, 145–146, 148, 164