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Journal of Religion in Japan 7 (2018) 145–165

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After the Fall Tsuji Zennosuke and the Creation of Bukkyōshugi kokushi

James Mark Shields Bucknell University, Lewisburg, PA, USA [email protected]

Abstract

Tsuji Zennosuke 辻善之助 (1877–1955), the dominant figure in Buddhist historical scholarship in Japan from the 1930s until the mid-1950s, is known to have employed a broad range of sources in order to provide a comprehensive analysis of his subject. This essay examines Tsuji’s conception of Buddhist history in relation to the emergence of both National Historical Studies (kokushigaku 国史学) and so-called State Shintō (kokka shintō 国家神道) and argues against the image of Tsuji as an “objective historian” resistant to nationalist trends in historical scholarship. In fact, Tsuji was involved in the creation of an alternative, “Buddhistic” national history, or bukkyōshugi kokushi 仏教主義国史的. In particular, comparisons are drawn betweenTsuji’s conception of Buddhism and the earlier arguments of New Buddhism (shin bukkyō 新仏教) and the Daijō hi-bussetsuron 大乗非仏説論, in addition to his more general conception of the contributions of Buddhism to the humanitarian spirit of Japanese leaders— both emperors and military warlords. Can there be—should there be—an objective history of religion? What is the significance of sacred history—and the history of Buddhism more particularly—to the still-emerging “modern” nation of Japan? How does Buddhism, a pan-Asian and “borrowed religion,” fit with the “Japanist” ideology of national uniqueness? These are some of the questions posed by Tsuji in his writings.

Keywords

Tsuji Zennosuke – kokushigaku – New Buddhism – Daijō hi-bussetsuron – State Shintō

Kuni no tame Crush may ye Ada nasu ada wa the foe Kudaku tomo that evil does the country; Itsukushishimu beki but forget ye not Koto wa wasure so.1 the love of brotherhood. Emperor Meiji, Ode on the occasion of the Russo-Japanese War, 1905 ∵

1 Introduction

Karl Marx famously remarked that “men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please.”2 This adage applies well to the intellectual climate of Japan in the tumultuous six decades from the Meiji Restoration of 1868 through the beginnings of the Asia Pacific War in 1931. Not only were the Meiji oligarchs engaged in an all-out (though frequently inconsistent) attempt to shape Japan as both fully modern and (still) truly Japanese, a new generation of intellectuals—including academics, educated laymen, and religious reform- ers, the so-called “young men of Meiji”—were equally intent on being part of the creation of the modern Japanese state and society. One result was the emergence of a confusing and often contradictory discourse on the meaning of history itself in the context of Japan’s national identity and future prospects. In fact, as Carol Gluck (1985) and many others have shown, the final decades of the Meiji period continued to exhibit considerable diversity in intellectual atti- tudes towards religion, history and culture, though this diversity was increasingly masked within universally shared buzzwords such as the “national body” (kokutai 国体).

1 国のため仇なす仇はくだくともいつくしむべき事は忘れそ. 2 This line forms the first part of the following extended passage, of which the last line is most famous: “Men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by themselves, but under circumstances directly encountered, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brain of the living” (Marx 1852: n.p.).

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A sense of national history (kokushi 国史) would become an important part of the ideological construction of modern Japan in the later Meiji period, as would the attempt to re-establish a national spiritual essence in the form of State Shintō (kokka shintō 国家神道). As is well known, the kokutai ideology that developed in late Meiji stated that one, unbroken imperial line ran from the beginnings of Japanese history, and that the very fact of this uninterrupt- edness stood as testament to the “moral virtues” of the emperors and those who sacrificed themselves for the imperial cause. And yet, this view was complicated by the facts of the 1334 Kenmu Restoration, when Emperor Go-Daigo 後醍醐 (1288–1339) defeated the warrior regime and established the Southern court, only to be defeated in turn four years later. Although subsequent emperors were all descended from the Northern court, the “Southern court view of history” (nanchō seitōron shikan 南朝正統論史観), replete with a narrative or victimhood and injustice, survived among some schools throughout the Edo period (1603–1868), only to return with a vengeance upon the Meiji Restora- tion of 1868, when the new, “modern” government adopted this view of history. The new imperial subjects would be educated under a system that sanctified the “spirit” (seishin 精神) of these emperors and imperial loyalists throughout the ages. Whereas Shintō—or at least a particular interpretation of such—experi- enced a revival in the decades immediately following the Meiji Restoration, Buddhism was during this time still absorbing the aftershocks of the brief but devastating persecution of the early 1870s. In response to the various challenges of the day, from the 1890s Buddhist scholars such as Inoue Enryō 井上圓了 (1858–1919) and Anesaki Masaharu 姉崎正治 (1873–1949), and scholar-priests like Murakami Senshō 村上専精 (1851–1929) and Shaku Sōen 釋宗演 (1859– 1919) attempted to bring about a reform of Buddhism in response to encroach- ing “modernity”—especially Western scientific methods. Out of the writings of Murakami and Anesaki—soon to be appointed respectively as the first profes- sors of Buddhist and religious studies at the newly-established Tokyo Imperial University—emerged a trend towards something called Daijōhi-bussetsuron 大乗非仏説論, the “theory that the Mahāyāna teachings are not true Buddhism.” Inspired by Western scholarly notions of empiricism and scientific method, Daijō hi-bussetsuron sought to clarify and demarcate the limits of what should be included under the rubric “Buddhism.”Though not by any means universally accepted, the Daijō hi-bussetsuron thesis of a widespread East Asian “corrup- tion” of the original, pure teachings of Śākyamuni Buddha would help to provide the theoretical justification for the broader effort to revitalize Buddhism in service to the modern state—i.e., as an ineluctable component of the national spiritual essence.

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Within the turmoil of the first three decades of Meiji we can also glimpse the origins and nascent development of various streams of “new” Buddhism (shin bukkyō 新仏教), including the so-called Buddhist Enlightenment (bukkyō keimō undō 仏教啓蒙運動), the emergence and popularization of lay Bud- dhism, as well as reformation movements associated with the kairitsu 戒律 or “praxis masters.”3 While nearly all Buddhist movements during this period can be called “modernist” to some degree, it is difficult to draw clear lines between those that are “progressive” and those that are “conservative,” a distinction that is further complicated by the diverse meanings and implications of the term “nationalism.” If anything, it would appear that during this early period, at least, “conservative” reformation movements were more attuned to the importance of building a broad social base of support for their vision of Buddhism. This is partly due to the fact that, unlike the scholars (and even priest-scholars) who were at the forefront of the Buddhist Enlightenment, those supportive of Bud- dhist Reformation were often more closely connected to Buddhist institutions. But it also shows what we might call a modern or modernist understanding of the power of populism, and a fledgling recognition of “society” in addition to, if not opposed to, the “state.” At the same time, certain Meiji Buddhist movements and figures crossed lines between Enlightenment and Reforma- tion, thereby laying the foundation for the more clearly “progressive” forms of New Buddhism in the final decade of Meiji.4 In short, by the early twentieth century, a self-conscious “academic” (i.e., objective, non-sectarian) study of Buddhism and Buddhist history had emerged under the auspices of Murakami and Anesaki at Tokyo Imperial Uni- versity. The general scholarly consensus, however, is that the historical work of both these important figures was limited by their personal, though non- sectarian, commitments to Buddhist faith (in Murakami’s own words, bukkyō- shugi 仏教主義)—and that the true academic study of Buddhist history in Japan would only begin with their student, Tsuji Zennosuke 辻善之助 (1877– 1955), who would go on to become the dominant figure in Buddhist historical scholarship until his death in the 1950s (see, e.g., Sueki 2005; Shields 2005).

3 For a full analysis of the various forms of Buddhist modernism to arise in Japan from late Meiji through early Shōwa, see Shields (2017). 4 In her illuminating study of the discourse of personal cultivation across Japanese religious movements in early and mid-Meiji, Janine Sawada (2004) suggests that many figures of this period might be best called “enlightened” or “progressive conservatives,” due to the fact that, while attempting to preserve certain fundamental elements of “tradition,” they were anything but reactionaries looking back to the past. Instead, they attempted, in various ways, to engage with modern ideas, terms, and movements in order to construct a solid foundation for indi- vidual and social “progress.”

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There is no doubt that, compared with his teachers, Tsuji was dedicated to the employment of a broad range of sources in order to provide a comprehensive historical analysis of the development of Buddhism throughout Asian and Japanese history. At the same time, however, he was also aware that he was writing history for the nation (kokushi)—that he was engaged in a larger project of national construction, of which Buddhism, or the Buddhist spirit (bukkyō seishin 仏教精神), would continue to play a significant, even foundational role.

2 Tsuji Zennosuke: Life and Work

Tsuji Zennosuke (1877–1955) was born in Hyōgo prefecture in 1877, just nine years after the Meiji Restoration, only a few years after the haibutsu kishaku 廃仏棄釈 persecution of Buddhism, and immediately preceding the Rokumeikan 鹿鳴館 period of the 1880s, which saw Japan open up to and, as critics argued, engage in slavish mimicry of Western ideas, customs and values. An excellent student, he entered in 1896 the department of national history (kokushika 国史科) at Tokyo Imperial University, graduating three years later and entering the graduate program to continue his research on Japanese Buddhist history. In 1902, Tsuji entered the Historiographical Institute (Shiryō hensan-gakari 史料編纂掛; after 1929 Shiryō hensan-jo 史料編纂所), an affiliation he would retain for 36 years, including 18 years (1920–1938) as director. After completing his graduate thesis on the political aspects of Buddhism in the early Edo period, in 1909 Tsuji received his doctorate in Letters. Two years later, Tsuji was appointed Assistant Professor in the Faculty of Letters at Tokyo Imperial University, and soon afterwards spent sixteen months in the United States and Europe, during which time he attended the 16th International Congress of Orientalists held in Athens in April 1912. Upon his return from abroad, Tsuji became supervis- ing editor of multi-volume set entitled Dai Nihon shiryō 大日本史料 (Historical Record of Great Japan). In 1919, he published Nihon bukkyōshi kenkyū 日本仏教史研究 (Studies in the History of Japanese Buddhism), for which he received an award from the Imperial Academy. With the retirement of his mentor Mikami Sanji 三上参次 (1865–1939) in 1926, Tsuji acceded to the chair of national history (kokushi). As such, by the beginning of the Shōwa period (1926–1989), Tsuji had become, along with Kuroita Katsumi 黒板勝美 (1874–1946), de facto leader of historical studies at Tokyo Imperial University, and thus in a position of significant power to comment on and even affect emerging imperial ideology. After retirement from his position at Tokyo Imperial University in 1938, Tsuji continued to teach at various schools and colleges throughout the war and into the postwar period. In

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1952, three years before his death, he was awarded the Order of Merit for his contributions to Japanese culture. Tsuji was of a generation of scholars dedicated to following the scientific method. According to his student Sakamoto Tarō 坂本太郎 (1901–1987), Tsuji felt the proper method for historical research was to draw reasonable conclu- sions after an extensive search of available data. Sakamoto adds that Tsuji was always humble in his approach, willing to consider opinions that diverged from his own, even if the source were a junior scholar or a magazine article.5 Unlike his colleague Kuroita Katsumi, who dabbled in politics and business, Tsuji’s life—at least on a surface view—was dedicated entirely to historical research and scholarship. He studiously avoided getting involved in controversies with political implications, such as the debate surrounding the legitimacy of the Northern and Southern Dynasties of the late Kamakura and early Muromachi periods (nanbokuchō seijun mondai 南北朝正閏問題).6 And while he was not openly critical of the imperial-centered scholarship of his younger colleague Hiraizumi Kiyoshi 平泉澄 (1895–1984), which dominated historical studies at Tokyo Imperial University during the war years, neither did he play a central part in this movement, absorbing himself in his own research and occasion- ally assisting students who disagreed with Hiraizumi’s approach to history. As Ueda Kiyoshi has shown, Hiraizumi was at the forefront of an approach that employed a highly specific view of medieval history—highlighting the South- ern court narratives—in order to construct a “sacred” National History and, by extension, an “inviolable” National Polity in the twentieth century (see Ueda 2007). And yet, try as he might,Tsuji could not avoid getting pulled into controversy, given his particular field—national history—his status, and the political and ideological winds of the 1930s. In 1934, cabinet minister Nakajima Kimakuchi 中島久万吉 (1873–1960), ran afoul of the imperial version of national history by expressing sympathy for Ashikaga Takauji 足利尊氏 (1305–1358), the ally- turned-opponent of Emperor Go-Daigo during the Kemmu Restoration, which was perceived by national historians as a landmark event in Japanese imperial history. Nakajima had been inspired by Tsuji’s analysis of the religious beliefs of Ashikaga in Nihon bukkyōshi kenkyū. After forcing Nakajima to resign, pres-

5 Sakamoto (1989). Of course, Sakamoto’s comments here need not be taken at face value. Else- where he recalled that Tsuji would not take Tsuda Sōkichi’s scholarship seriously because he conducted research without using original manuscripts (Sakamoto 1980: 114). 6 This is not to suggest, of course, that Tsuji was not at all engaged in a certain form of back- stage politics; e.g., his work in winning financial support for the Historiographical Institute during his nearly two decades as its head (1920–1938).

Journal of Religion inDownloaded Japan from 7 (2018) Brill.com10/01/2021 145–165 12:45:43AM via free access after the fall 151 sure came to bear upon Tsuji himself, and Nihon bukkyōshi kenkyū was pulled from circulation by the Ministry of Education. Another book of Tsuji’s, Jinbutsu ronsō (Essays on Great Men, 1925) similarly came under attack for having the audacity to record defeated Heike leader Taira Kiyomori’s 平清盛 (1118–1181) criticism of the Emperor Go-Shirakawa 後白河 (1127–1192).

3 Alternative National Histories

And yet, this picture of Tsuji as a principled scholar struggling to preserve scholarly objectivity and academic freedom in an age of increasing political pressure and ideological correctness is too simplistic. Tsuji’s work, though perhaps less polemical in tone, was every bit as ideologically motivated as the scholarship of his imperial-centered colleagues. After all, Tsuji was writing kokushi—national history—and it was his lifelong concern to document the roots of the Japanese spirit or national character. (In this sense, it bears noting, Tsuji, like many of his generation as well as the previous one, were following the lead of German historiographer Leopold von Ranke). As John Brownlee correctly notes, the work of Japanese historians from the 1890s through the 1930s defies easy categoriza- tion in part because all mainstream scholars were “nationalists” to some degree, even those who were most critical of prevailing trends in historical scholarship, such as Kume Kunitake 久米邦武 (1839–1931) in the 1890s and Inoue Kiyoshi 井上清 (1913–2001), Ienaga Saburō 家永三郎 (1913–2002) and Tsuda Sōkichi 津田左右吉 (1873–1961) in the late 1930s and early 1940s. At the same time, Brown- lee also notes the variation of views among professional scholars, extending from the explicitly “militarist and imperialist” vision of Hiraizumi to the “mod- erate” perspective of Tsuji’s mentor Mikami Sanji, who, envisaging himself as something like a philosopher-king of Plato’s Republic, held that historical truth gleaned from scholarship should be kept from the people lest it be detrimental to national pride and public virtue (Brownlee 1997: 8–9). Brownlee envisions Tsuji as a somewhat reluctant latecomer to the nationalist parade, but an adherent nonetheless, and one who, by 1940, was not only asserting the essential historicity of the national myths but insisting on their relevance to the modern Japanese imperial project.7 And yet, more than his ini- tial hesitance to embrace the nationalist paradigm, what distinguished Tsuji’s

7 “In that year [i.e., 1940], Tsuji published an article on the significance of the 2600th anniver- sary [of the imperial house] in which he affirmed the historical truth of the founding myths and their significance for Japan’s war against China” (Brownlee 1997: 9–10; also 165–167).

Journal of Religion in Japan 7 (2018) 145–165 Downloaded from Brill.com10/01/2021 12:45:43AM via free access 152 shields work from that of Hiraizumi and others of his ilk was his focus on Buddhism and the role of Buddhism in Japanese history and identity. He was well aware that previous studies of Buddhist history were distorted through the lens of sectarian scholarship. Even the more recent work of professional academics like Murakami Senshō, which did attempt at pan-sectarianism study of Bud- dhism, were still very much insider accounts and thus filled with normative bias. According to Brownlee (1997: 155), “Tsuji’s work was the first to consider the history of religion as a social phenomenon, and to apply the methods of scientific history.” Before going further, it is crucial to note that Brownlee’s vision of this period and the above figures has been challenged of late by scholars who charge him with uncritical reliance on the work of Ōkubo Toshiaki 大久保利謙 (1900– 1995), the prominent postwar historiographer and student of both Tsuji and Kuroita Katsumi. According to these authors, it was in Ōkubo’s interest to protect the reputation of his mentors, and thus he downplayed the agency of the academic historians associated with the Historiographical Institute, depicting them as mere “collectors,” while disparaging as “ultranationalist” the work of younger scholars such as Hiraizumi and Itazawa Takeo 板沢武雄 (1895–1962).8 I take these criticisms at face value, proving the point that the rewriting of history is not confined to the early twentieth century, but was very much in effect in the postwar period and beyond. Brownlee may not be a completely reliable source, but he nonetheless gives voice to a narrative that has been influential on both sides of the Pacific. It is certainly true that Tsuji avoided the intermingling of history and myth that marked the work of some of his peers, and yet he was a “Japanist” in a more nuanced and subtle fashion. Unlike his colleagues focused on Shintō, Tsuji was forced to deal with the inescapable fact that the focus of his own work—Buddhism—was both a longstanding and integral element of Japanese culture, society, ethics and politics, and a “foreign” transplant—as kokugaku 国学 critics of Buddhism had been asserting for several centuries. For Tsuji, this problem was resolved in a neat, and implicitly normative fashion: Bud- dhism in Japan was absorbed into a pervasive Japanese culture and ethic, which simultaneously invigorated Japanese culture at the same time as it allowed for the fulfillment of the true essence of Buddhism itself. In short, Japan was the land in which Buddhism finally, after a thousand-year journey from India and through China and Korea, reached fruition, though not without periods of struggle and transformation during its fifteen centuries in Japan. For Tsuji,

8 See, e.g., Ueda (2007); Matsuzawa (2015); Yoshikawa (2017).

Journal of Religion inDownloaded Japan from 7 (2018) Brill.com10/01/2021 145–165 12:45:43AM via free access after the fall 153 this process of successfully adapting a foreign tradition while somehow allow- ing its true nature to flourish applied to Confucianism as well as Buddhism: “Thus the view exists that the essence of Eastern culture is contained in Japan alone. In reality Japan can be called the museum of Eastern culture” (Tsuji 1950: 30). While his focus appears to be on the capacity of Japan to assimilate and “perfect” foreign ideals, Tsuji echoes a rhetoric of Japanese cultural uniqueness that can be traced back to prominent Meiji era writers such as Okakura Kakuzō (Tenshin) 岡倉覚三（天心） (1863–1913). In his immensely popular work,Tōyō no risō 東洋の理想 (Ideals of the East, 1903), written on the eve of the Russo-Japanese War, Okakura had argued that “today the great mass of West- ern thought perplexes us”—while the “mirror of Yamato is clouded” (Okakura 1986: 209; 1904: 243) While Asia as a whole needed to protect and restore Asi- atic values in the face of encroachingWestern civilization and modernity, Japan had a special role to play in such, due to fact that it remained “a museum of Asiatic civilization.”9 For Okakura, among Asian nations, only Japan had the strength to stand up to the West, a conviction that would become central to imperialist ideology from late Meiji through early Shōwa. Among other things, Okakura’s work was a clear shift from a Sino-centric to a Japan-centric vision of Asia, and of a world now bifurcated between the Western powers and an Asia led by Japan. Given this precedent, it is important to note that Tsuji was writing his Okakura-esque comment in 1950, five years after the end of the Pacific War (and, it bears noting, a scant year after the Communist Revolution in China—a moment lauded by Japanese progressives). A decade earlier, in a very different intellectual and political climate, Tsuji had gone much further in explicitly affirming the historicity of the imperial myths, including those of the Age of the Gods and the Emperor Jimmu, putative founder of the imperial house. And yet, as noted above, Tsuji was at the same time under frequent criticism for his views of history, particularly with respect to his treatment of shōgun such as Ashikaga Takauji who were the villains of official imperial history. Brown- lee (1997: 157) reads this as a case of Tsuji’s “originality and fair-mindedness,” but I suggest it has as much to do with his apparent “faith” in Buddhism as, at the very least, an integral aspect of Japanese culture and history. After all,

9 Okakura (1986: 207; 1904: 240). It is also worth noting that a very similar line of thought stretches through the work of Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙 (aka D.T. Suzuki, 1870–1966), whose writings from the 1930s were to have an immense impact on Western perceptions of both Japan and Japanese Buddhism.

Journal of Religion in Japan 7 (2018) 145–165 Downloaded from Brill.com10/01/2021 12:45:43AM via free access 154 shields his controversial piece on Ashikaga was entitled “Ashikaga Takauji no shinkō ni tsuite” 足利尊氏の信仰について (The Religious Faith of Ashikaga Takauji), and focused on various beliefs and acts of the shōgun in support of Buddhism. These included copying sutras, writing religious poetry, and plans to construct temples throughout the country.Tsuji is explicit in raising these facts as a coun- terweight to the negative view of Ashikaga occasioned by his betrayal of Go- Daigo and the Kemmu Restoration. Indeed, Tsuji elevates Ashikaga to the ranks of the great men in Japanese history, based on his sincere devotion and support of Buddhism (Tsuji 1917: 866). Is this simply an attempt at objective balance? Or is it a subtle form of apologetics in support of Buddhism, which was still under covert threat with the rise of Shintō nationalism? Tsuji was also interested in the way the study of history can affect society, ethics and social values. In this way his vision was like many others of his generation, including Anesaki Masaharu, the most prominent professor of religious studies of the prewar period, and, as noted above, a figure associated with the late Meiji Daijō hi-bussetsuron movement towards the forma- tion of a rational form of Buddhism useful to the modern state. For Anesaki, “History is not merely work in the historian’s study … [but] affects the entire thought of society and is closely related to the moral education of the people, and therefore it is unalterably connected with [moral] judgments [on the past].”10 The recognition that there is no such thing as purely objective or scientific historical study seems harmless enough, and is indeed a notion that most historians today would accept. And yet, Anesaki’s emphasis on the supreme importance of moral education seems to have led to either the apartheid position of Mikami, for whom scholarship (gakumon 学問) and public education (kokumin kyōiku 国民教育) were to be kept strictly apart, separate but not quite equal; or to the “civic” (and also, to be clear, Rankean) position of Hiraizumi, for whom scholarship must be put in service of moral education.11 Where does

10 Quoted in Brownlee (1997: 121). One sees Anesaki’s emphasis on moral education in the title of one of his best-known works, written in English: History of Japanese Religion: With Special Reference to the Social and Moral Life of the Nation (London: Kegan Paul, 1930). It is also worth noting that Anesaki was a lifelong adherent of the Nichiren 日蓮 sect of Bud- dhism, which holds strongly to the notion that Buddhism (and religion) must be socially and morally engaged. 11 I thank a reviewer of this article for pointing out to me that the “apartheid” of scholarship and public education can be traced back to the Meiji Education minister Mori Arinori 森有礼 (1847–1889), and that academic historians of the period frequently distinguished between scholarly and applied history (ōyō shigaku 応用史学). Leopold von Ranke (1795– 1886) was a German historian, frequently cited as the “founder” of source-based historical scholarship. Important here is that he was also dedicated to the preserving the “histori-

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Tsuji fall? Brownlee concludes that, while avoiding the overt political writing of most of his peers, Tsuji is ultimately culpable of collaborationism, since his writings of the late 1930s and 1940s display a full acceptance of the historicity of the imperial myths (Brownlee 1997: 166–168). Without entirely dismissing Brownlee’s critique—which sounds more like a lament—we should also consider the fact that Tsuji’s “national history” is, to a large degree, a history of Japan as a hybrid culture, one which fuses the “best” of foreign philosophies, religions and civilizations into a singular and powerful essence. Buddhism, in particular, plays a central role in the shaping of the Japanese identity. In other words, while Tsuji affirmed the historicity of the national myths, these were not—as with the mainstream of the national history movement—foundational to the Japanese essence or what would later come to be known by the buzzword kokutai. This becomes clear when we look at the following two works produced by Tsuji: Nihonjin no hakuai 日本人の博愛 (The Humanitarian Ideas of the Japanese) and Teishitsu seidōshi 帝室聖堂史 (History of the Imperial Household). What makes these two works of special interest is that the former in its entirety, and one chapter of the latter—on “Social Welfare Work by the Imperial Household of Japan”—were translated into English and published together in a single volume by the Japanese Red Cross Society in October 1934, at a time when government restrictions and nationalist sentiment were nearing a peak.12 A further note on context is in order. When these works were being penned, Japan had just left the League of Nations (in February 1933) and was in the process of leaving the Washington Treaty system (the Second London Naval Treaty was officially renounced by Japan in 1936), thus removing itself from its post-WWI policy of accommodation with the West, and particularly the Anglo- American powers. The domestic milieu of emerging liberalism and backlashes against it helps frame Tsuji’s perspective inside Japan. In the early 1930s, with the field of history, social and Marxist historians were increasingly challenging the state and imperial-centric narratives.Thus the atmosphere was heightened, and the stakes of kokushi at their peak. The earlier of these two works, Humanitarian Ideas of the Japanese, pur- ports to be a scholarly work aimed at the edification of the general public, thus blurring Mikami’s hard and fast distinction between scholarship and edu-

cal continuity” of the German nation and Prussian state. If Japanese historians like Tsuji and Mikami were true students of Ranke, then there is no “tension” between historical scholarship and nation-building. 12 These two works remain the only writings of Tsuji translated into English.

Journal of Religion in Japan 7 (2018) 145–165 Downloaded from Brill.com10/01/2021 12:45:43AM via free access 156 shields cation (see Tsuji 1934b: v). Tsuji here uplifts the traditional Buddhist ideal of onshin byōdō 怨親平等—the fundamental equality of enemy and ally, which, extended towards the dead, implies that all those killed in battle should be treated with reverence and given equal respect and status.13This idea of memorializing one’s enemies finds concrete locus in a well-known monument in the Okunoin 奥の院 cemetery on Mt. Kōya, erected by Lord Shimazu Yoshihiro 島津義弘 (1535–1619) in memory of all those lost in the Korean campaigns of 1592–1598. Yoshihiro was a devout Buddhist, as well as a fierce and loyal fighter—thus a perfect example of the “bushidō” ideal.14 According to Tsuji, this basic egalitarian impulse has deep roots in Japanese culture and civilization, and forms a particularly Japanese foundation for the modern Western and Christian-inspired humanitarianism of the Red Cross. The authors of the Introduction to Tsuji’s essay on the social welfare work of the Imperial family put it the following way:

Thus the origin of the [Japanese Red Cross] Society is somewhat different from that of other Red Cross Societies [having had its roots in the indigenous Hakuaisha society]. So it is with the spirit of benevolence which the Society embodies, because it has been based upon the characteristic spirit of the Japanese, cultivated through the influence of the Imperial Family, peculiar only to Japan, ever since the foundation of the Empire. SW: 1

Nothing surprising here, given when the text was composed. What bears noting, however, is that in Tsuji’s extensive treatment of this theme in Humanitar- ian Ideas of the Japanese, this impulse does not extend to the Age of the Gods, Emperor Jimmu or the early imperial line, but dates rather from the emergence and flourishing of Buddhism in the Asuka (538–710), Nara (710–794) and

13 In this sense, as teki-mikata kuyōhi 敵味方供養碑—lit., holding memorial services and raising monuments for friend and foe alike—this principle is frequently invoked as an indigenous foundation for criticism of the practices of Yasukuni 靖国 shrine, at which enemies of the imperial state are not enshrined (see Fujita 2007: 1; Murakami 1974). And yet, as Tamamuro (1963) notes, we must be careful to distinguish between the humanitarian ideal of onshin byōdō and the deeply rooted fear of vengeful spirits in East Asian traditions—or perhaps be aware of the possibility that the humanitarian ideal is simply a modern, decontextualized interpretation of the latter impulse. 14 Apparently, the ferocity of Yoshihiro’s troops was such that they were known by their Ming foes as “Oni-Shimazu” or “Shimazu demons.” See SW 120–126 for a detailed account of these events.

Journal of Religion inDownloaded Japan from 7 (2018) Brill.com10/01/2021 145–165 12:45:43AM via free access after the fall 157 especially Heian (794–1185) periods. Or perhaps we might say that, while the impulse for imperial solicitude was there, it could not reach practical fruition until the full emergence of Buddhism in Japan. Even in “Social Welfare Work of the Imperial Family,” Buddhism plays an overwhelming role: the longest anecdotes of imperial solicitude concern Prince Shōtoku (Shōtoku Taishi 聖徳太子, 574–622), the Emperor Shōmu 聖武 (701– 756), and his consort the Empress Kōmyō 光明 (701–760)—three prominent figures in the early establishment of Buddhism in Japan. Though ostensibly dealing with the compassion of such leaders and the imperial household, each of the episodes emphasize the power of Buddhist ritual, prayer and ideals in and of themselves, and their civilizing and humanizing effect on Japanese society. After relating a story about Empress Kōmyō’s bodhisattva-like compassion for the people, in which, after sucking the pus from the sores of a leper, the Empress has a vision of the healing Buddha Akṣobhya (Ashuku 阿閦), Tsuji writes:

This story, doubtless, is nothing but a simple legend, but when viewed in light of the spirit of the time when, on the one hand, Buddhism was sway- ing the whole nation with tremendous influence, and on the other hand when the devout faith of the Empress and Her mercifulness, which was almost comparable to that of Buddha was known, it may be understood how such an anecdote quite appropriately might become attached to the name of this Empress … In short, even though [this legend] may not have had any historical actuality, nevertheless such a simple and naive story had an immense influence upon the later generations. SW: 16–17

In addition to the emphasis on the importance of Buddhist devotion to the Imperial House and the nation at large, this comment also raises and quickly dissolves the “tension” mentioned above, i.e., between moral education and scholarship understood as the dispensation of “objective,” historical truth. Although this “simple” and “naive” story may not be historically true, it has for Tsuji a resonance that was and remains edifying for public morality—and thus bears repeating.15

15 We might also note that empresses and female consorts play a disproportionate role in Tsuji’s anecdotes. Of the 47 imperial figures mentioned in the text, nearly 25% (11) are women. Of the seven longest stories in the book, four are of empresses. In addition to Kōmyō, Tsuji includes extended tales of the benevolence of Genshō 元正 (683–748),

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Tsuji summarizes the impact of Buddhism on medieval Japanese culture— and the synergy induced by the use and promotion of Buddhism on the part of the Imperial Household—in the following way:

Obtaining the means of relief by a ceremonial recitation of the Bud- dhist scriptures may be quite alien to modern minds, but such a faith at that time was in common practice, and moreover it was due to such a faith and out of such a benevolent spirit on the part of the Emperor that such a measure to rescue the people out of their misery was under- taken. SW: 19

However idealized, it is hard not to read this as a distinctly modernist take on both Buddhism as a religious practice and on the meaning of history itself: whether or not the stories are true or the ritual practices and prayers had actual effect, they are significant on the level of intention, pragmatic symbolism and their effect on public morality, past and present. In short, the study of history is as much the study of historical effects or Wirkungsgeschichte as of historical facts. In 1902, a journalist named Nishimura Tenshū 西村天囚 (1865–1924) published an article entitled “Sekijūji to bushidō” 赤十字と武士道 (The Red Cross and Bushidō), in which the author explicitly linked the work of the humanitarian organization to the Buddhist-Confucian hybrid “way of the warrior,” first developed in the Edo period and revamped as a national ethic amid the growing nationalism of late Meiji.16 In his preface to Humanitarian Ideas of the Japanese, Tsuji notes Tenshū’s work as a precedent to his own study (see Fujita 2007: 2). Like Tsuji, Tenshū located Buddhism—and particularly the principle of onshin byōdō—as the primary source for humanitarianism in Japan, in contrast to his Meiji contemporaries such as Yumoto Fumihiko 湯本文彦 (1843– 1921) for whom the Japanese had since the very founding of the nation been

Kōken 孝謙 (718–770), and the modern imperial consorts Shōken 昭憲 (1849–1914) and Teimei 貞明 (1884–1951). 16 Nishimura (1902). Tenshū was an interesting figure in his own right: as a scholar of both Japanese Neo-Confucianism and Chinese literature and chief editor of the Asahi Shin- bun newspaper, he held faithfully to the position that Japan and China should develop stronger ties, based on the fact that they were of “common culture and common race” (dōbun dōshu 同文同種). To this end, he traveled to the Yangtze Basin in 1897–1898, just two years after the end of the first Sino-Japanese War; see Tao De-Min (1991). For a solid treatment of bushidō as an “invented tradition,” see Benesch (2014).

Journal of Religion inDownloaded Japan from 7 (2018) Brill.com10/01/2021 145–165 12:45:43AM via free access after the fall 159 endowed with a propensity towards benevolence (kenkoku irai kokumin no ten- sei no rinri 建国以来国民の天性の倫理).17 Thus, we have the odd situation of a book about the long history of Japanese humanism, filled with dozens of examples, that begins in the relatively late Heian period: “till this day looked back to as a golden age of tranquility, good government and civilization” (HI 5). Tsuji makes this quite clear in the Intro- duction, when he relates:

It goes without saying that the Red Cross Society of Japan owes its organization and system largely to Europe and America; but there is no gain- saying that the spirit of humanism, which is at the bottom of it, began to manifest itself in Japan in remote antiquity, and has since attained a high stage of development, as may be seen illustrated abundantly in the pages of her history. It is evident, in any case, that this humanitarian spirit in Japan was not the result of emulating the Red Cross idea of the Occident, as is shown by the numerous anecdotes told in the present book. Indis- putably authentic cases are on record, proving that the noble spirit was at work almost as far back as ten centuries ago. HI: 2

In short, this work is almost entirely focused on the spirit of compassion and mercy of the various shōgun from the Kamakura through the Edo periods. In “Social Welfare Work of the Imperial Family” Tsuji had dismissed this 800-year period in which the Imperial House was rendered unable to exercise their char- itable impulses, but in Humanitarian Ideas it is precisely this period of rule by the shoguns that is held up as a beacon of Japan’s humane spirit (see SW: 25–26, 36–37). Of especial note is the attention Tsuji once again gives to his old favorite Ashikaga Takauji—lauded in chapter eleven for his “beautifully affectionate heart” and “intense faith in Buddhism,” which led him to support various memorializing works of Go-Daigo. Chapter thirteen also showcases Takauji, this time for his patronage of the construction of “nation pacification temples” (ankokuji 安国寺) in all 66 provinces of the nation (or “empire” to use Tsuji’s word). Here is Tsuji’s characterization of Takauji:

The truth was, Takauji was by nature a man of profoundly religious devotion, and not at all a mere brute of a fighter, who is often nothing if not

17 Fujita (2007: 2). Tsuji mentions Yumoto’s work, Chū-ai 忠愛 (Loyalty and Love), published by the Japanese Red Cross Society in 1910, in the preface to Humanitarian Ideas of the Japanese (HI: iv).

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gruff and ungracious. He took the deepest interest in Buddhist teaching of universal brotherhood. He fought and killed and could not get out of the work of fire and sword, because the times in which he lived forced it on him; but his born character being what it was it was only natural that his inner religious fire should burn the more intensely the longer the carnage continued. HI: 42–43

In Tsuji’s rendition, Takauji is a saintly figure possessed by his own faults, which were not even truly his own but those of his times. He becomes a palimpsest of the Mauryan Emperor Aśoka (304–232BCE), whose work to spread Buddhism through India was occasioned by his remorse after waging a particularly destructive battle at Kalinga—and who would through his deeds become for later Asian Buddhists the epitome of the Great Dharma (or Wheel- Turning) King (Sk. chakravartin; Jp. tenrin-ō 転輪王). Takauji’s construction of the Ankokuji temples throughout the land is for Tsuji a perfect example of the Buddhist-inspired humanitarian spirit encapsulated by the doctrine of onshin byōdō: equal treatment of friend and foe—in death if not in life (HI: 44–45). Moreover, like Aśoka before him, Takauji was dedicated not only to social welfare but to the promulgation of Buddhist teachings; in 1354, Tsuji relates, he “collected hundreds of [hand-]picked priests from some sixty Buddhist temples in Nara, Kyoto, and Kamakura, and caused them forthwith to proceed with copying 5,048 volumes of Buddhist writings” (HI: 45). In addition to the notorious Takauji, Tsuji dedicates chapter sixteen of Humanitarian Ideas to a figure of even lesser repute among kokushi historians: the mercenary warrior and poet Sasaki Dōyo 佐々木導誉 (aka Sasaki Takauji 佐々木高氏, 1306–1373). Sasaki switched sides several times during the Kemmu Restoration and succeeding period of warfare between the Southern and Northern courts, but he was also, Tsuji insists, a crafty military strategist and disciplined fighter—in short, someone good to have on your side—if you could keep him there, which only Ashikaga Takauji was able to do. Moreover, like his eventual master, Sasaki was a dutiful Buddhist, who changed his given name from Takauji to Dōyo upon taking Buddhist vows. Tsuji lists his many qualities as follows: “bold effrontery and brow-beating others, boasting of his own achievements, brazen-faced selfishness … [being] extremely cunning by nature, envious of others, and fond of treachery and calumny.” And yet, by virtue of having made a generous donation of land to Konrenji 金連寺 tem- ple for the prayers and services of dead friends and foes—again, the spirit of onshin byōdō—this “perfidious solider” is lauded by Tsuji for being “endowed with a heart so tender and humble” (HI: 53–54).

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Here again, the contrast is striking. Tsuji seems to take pride in lifting up the most execrable of historical figures for their properly Buddhist compassion and mercy towards the dead without exception. This would seem to be an indication of just how powerful these Buddhist virtues can be, to soften hearts so hardened. But here again several other points require our consider- ation. Beyond the fact that Tsuji either is unaware or willfully ignores the fact that the practice of onshin byōdō was at least as indebted to the deeply-rooted East Asian fear of vengeful ghosts as to any premodern humanitarian impulse, Buddhist or otherwise, it is noteworthy that the role of Buddhism as a civilizing and humanizing influence in all these cases is one that affects only the attitude towards the dead, and not, it would seem, towards the living. Here we should note Tsuji’s remarks at the close of his later work Nihon bunka to bukkyō 日本文化と仏教 (Buddhism and Japanese Culture, 1951), where he adopts a position virtually identical with that of the earlier Daijōhi-bussetsuron movement: i.e., that the institutions of Buddhism had declined throughout Japanese history from a peak in the Heian and Kamakura periods, when Bud- dhism was a driving force of Japanese culture and a vehicle of progress, to stagnation in Edo and eventual degeneracy in early Meiji, by which time it had become laden with superstitious doctrines, pointless rituals, and a fixation with death (Tsuji 1951: 266–267). According to this picture, the state-approved persecution of Buddhism in the early 1870s was justified as a way of shocking Bud- dhist institutions back into shape, and was indeed the necessary spur towards the various reform movements to follow. For the Daijō hi-bussetsuron and later shin bukkyō writers, Buddhism must undergo a process of reform and renewal along modern and rational lines. It would seem that Tsuji accepts this modernist vision of Buddhism and Buddhist history in Japan. Yet, in the examples given by Tsuji in Humanitarian Ideas, Tsuji’s Buddhism is a “funeral Buddhism” in the strict sense, being almost entirely concerned with death—i.e., with rituals dedicated to the purification of souls prior to their next rebirth.18 In none of Tsuji’s cases do Buddhist values of compassion or mercy translate into a rejec-

18 In an extended anecdote on the benevolence of the Shimazu clan, Tsuji notes the grand segaki 施餓鬼 rituals—for feeding the pretas or restless ghosts of both sides—performed by Shimazu Nisshinsai after major battles: “Nisshinsai was firmly persuaded that the effect of these acts of piety would be felt overflowingly everywhere, permeating the heart and impressing the mind, so that all ill feelings contracted in the past life, and all anger and enmity aroused in the present world would be wiped out thereby, with everybody bathing blissfully in the light of peace and happiness” (HI: 73; also 73 n. 1). Here, while the segaki ceremony focuses on pacifying the deceased spirits, the intention is to calm agitated souls over the cycle of transmigration.

Journal of Religion in Japan 7 (2018) 145–165 Downloaded from Brill.com10/01/2021 12:45:43AM via free access 162 shields tion of warfare; in fact, Tsuji seems to emphasize the fact that each of these Buddhist-inspired men was heroic in the “bushidō” sense. At the same time, it is clear that for Tsuji, Buddhist-inspired benevolence tempers the obstinacy of the samurai spirit, and softens—or perhaps modern- izes—the otherwise too-rugged values of bushidō.19 Throughout the text the act of war itself is never put in question, and acts of wanton cruelty, such as the slicing off of ears (ch. 2), noses (ch. 34) or heads (ch. 40) of the defeated or the crucifixion of peasants who stain a samurai’s honor (ch. 32) are justified. Yet Tsuji’s tales of exemplary shōgun are ultimately meant to show “the presence of a warm, affectionate spirit behind the flashes of the sword” (HI: 119). We can conclude from all this that, while advocating Buddhist renewal along modern, humanist lines, Tsuji does not follow the path of some other Buddhist mod- ernists in their blanket rejection of the value of traditional forms of Buddhist belief and practice as foundations for the humanitarian spirit of the Japanese. Nor does he question militarism or imperialism itself on Buddhist or humanist grounds.

4 Conclusion

In conclusion, Tsuji’s anecdotes in these works make the following five general points: 1) Buddhism is an instrumental part of Japanese culture and civilization, and forms the foundation of the humanitarian spirit of the Japanese.20 2) Buddhism is defined by a spirit of universal compassion—onshin byō- dō—put into practice primarily via rituals of pacification for restless spirits.

19 See, e.g., the anecdote on Hideyoshi Toyotomi 秀吉豊臣 (1537–1598)—lauded by Tsuji as “a towering figure, one of, if not the greatest, Japan has produced in her history of twenty-five centuries”—and Sakuma (“Devil”) Gemba (Sakuma Morimasa 佐久間守正, 1554–1583) in chapter twenty-two of Humanitarian Ideas: “Sakuma Gemba held to the last to the unbending pride of a samurai, defying all friendly advances of the enemy. His extreme obstinacy, with which he tried to satisfy his rugged conscience, was, it may be said, typical of the samurai spirit of those warlike days. In glaring contrast to this were Hideyoshi’s humane spirit and all forgiving generosity of his attitude, which well bespeak the man he was, the greatest figure of the day” (HI 107). 20 In the Conclusion to Humanitarian Ideas, Tsuji actually notes four “causes” underlying the Japanese spirit of universal brotherhood: 1) a pleasant climate; 2) Buddhism; 3) Con- fucianism; and 4) bushidō. And yet, as Tsuji himself notes, the forty anecdotes that make up the work are virtually all connected to Buddhism, while the other sources play a much less prominent role, and Confucianism and bushidō are even implicitly criticized for being “stubborn” and “rough.”

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3) Although these rituals may not be actually effective, they have the power to transform the hearts and minds of those who perform and who witness them, and thus act primarily as vehicles for the transmission of the virtues of mercy and compassion—the very spirit embodied by the modern Red Cross. 4) This Buddhist-inspired humanitarian spirit has been sustained primarily by the leaders of the nation—including both the social welfare work of the Imperial Family from the Asuka through Heian periods and the benevolent activities of the shoguns from Kamakura through Edo periods, even while institutional Buddhism has declined through the worldliness of monks. 5) The humanitarian spirit reached fruition with the 1868 Restoration and the reign of the Emperor Meiji; thus the Meiji Restoration is at once the fulfillment of the Japanese spirit, the spirit of Buddhism, and the spirit of modernity—though the full legacy of the changes brought about by Meiji remains to be fulfilled. Taken together, these five points problematize the accepted scholarly wisdom about Tsuji as an “objective” historian who eventually succumbed to the prevailing winds of imperial-centered national history (kokushi) in the early 1940s. As I have argued here, while Tsuji was certainly concerned to present a “true” history of Japan and Japanese Buddhism, he was also committed to the for- mulation of a national history in which Buddhism played a prominent—if not foundational—role. His troubles with the authorities must then be understood not simply or primarily as the resistance of a dedicated objective historian against politicized pseudo-history, but rather in the context of competing visions of kokushi and the role of kokushigaku.

Abbreviations

HI Humanitarian Ideas of the Japanese. In Tsuji, Zennosuke 辻善之助, The Humanitarian Ideas of the Japanese, along with Social Welfare Work by the Imperial Family of Japan, trans. Nakagawa Masao (HI) and Takahashi Kazumoto (SW). Tokyo: Japanese Red Cross Society, 1934. SW Social Welfare Work by the Imperial Family of Japan. In Tsuji, Zennosuke 辻善之助, The Humanitarian Ideas of the Japanese, along with Social Wel- fareWork by the Imperial Family of Japan, trans. Nakagawa Masao (HI) and Takahashi Kazumoto (SW). Tokyo: Japanese Red Cross Society, 1934.

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