What Is Modernity?

Writings of Takeuchi Yoshimi

Yoshimi Takeuchi, Richard Calichman

• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Year: 2005
• eBook ISBN: 9780231509138
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Asian Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

Regarded as one of the foremost thinkers in postwar Japan, Takeuchi Yoshimi (1910-1977) questioned traditional Japanese thought and radically reconfigured an understanding of the subject's relationship to the world. His works were also central in drawing Japanese attention to the problems inherent in western colonialism and to the cultural importance of Asia, especially China. Takeuchi's writings synthesized philosophy, literature, and history, focusing not simply on Japan and the West but rather on the triangular relationship between Japan, the West, and China. This book, which represents the first appearance of Takeuchi's essays in English translation, explores Japanese modernity, literature, and nationalism as well as Chinese intellectual history.

Takeuchi's research demonstrates how Asians attempted to make sense of European modernity without sacrificing their own cultural histories. An authentic method of modernity for Asia, Takeuchi concludes, needs to stress difference and plurality as opposed to the homogenizing force of westernization.

Chapter 1

WAYS OF INTRODUCING CULTURE (JAPANESE LITERATURE AND CHINESE LITERATURE II)—FOCUSING UPON LU XUN

Lu Xun became known in Japan quite early. There were many Japanese writers who traveled to Shanghai and met with him, after which they recorded their impressions of the interview. Yet Lu Xun complained of these writers (e.g., Nagayo Yoshirô) that they completely misunderstood the meaning of his remarks. After all, he said, understanding between the two parties was difficult, given the differences in national conditions. Generally speaking, these Japanese writers who met with Lu had not seriously read his works, and were attracted solely by his reputation. In other words, their meetings were strictly political. They met with him not as writers but rather as “China rônin.” However, such reception of Chinese literature on the part of Japanese writers goes beyond Lu Xun, just as it goes beyond Nagayo Yoshirô. These writers met Lu without feeling any anxiety, and thus were not influenced by him. Such a spirit, in which things are handled matter-of-factly without the least self-questioning, once existed within Japanese literature, and indeed can be said to still exist even now. This is a debilitated spirit that makes literature decadent. It is because writers have not fully recognized the dominance of this spirit in Japan, moreover, that the farce that was the Greater East Asia Writers’ Congress could ever take place.

Lu Xun’s words describing the difficulty of understanding between Japanese and Chinese writers due to differences in national conditions strike me as quite profound. This was not simply a personal complaint about being misunderstood, however, but rather a criticism of the grounds for such lack of understanding. Here one can discern a sense of pity or compassion for these writers in their ignorance. Lu Xun knew Japanese literature extremely well, in all its diverse aspects. He thus was familiar with the kind of literature these writers produced. Lu fully realized that they had no interest whatsoever in understanding him, that they were blinded by various prejudices and preconceived notions, and further, that they refused to call this blindness into question. Indeed, anyone would be at their wit’s end in trying to deal with such people for whom anxiety is utterly lacking. The most one could do would be to attribute this misunderstanding to something like “differences in national conditions.”

As Lu Xun writes in a 1934 letter to Xiao Jun, “Apart from that one text, none of Nakano Shigeharu’s works is available in China. Yet even he committed tenkô. Of all the left-wing writers in Japan, only two have yet to commit tenkô (Kurahara Korehito and Miyamoto Yuriko). Doubtless all of you are surprised by this fact, but the Japanese left wing is no match for the stubborn persistence and tenacity of the left wing in China.” This quotation alone provides a good understanding of both the extent and the nature of Lu Xun’s understanding of Japanese literature. It sheds excellent light on that literature. Nevertheless, this remark should be taken neither as simply a criticism of Japanese left-wing writers in their act of tenkô nor as a boast about the “stubborn persistence of the Chinese left wing.” The passage continues: “And yet since I am speaking of things comparatively, it should be noted that oppression in Japan is applied systematically and thoroughly. The authorities there are possessed of a Germanic precision and meticulousness. Things would be different in China if the authorities were more like the Japanese in this respect.”

Here we can see that Lu Xun’s remarks are not limited to his insights into the workings of military rule in the two countries (which represent one instance of the differences in national conditions). Rather, he is referring to Japanese literature from his position as a writer, someone who feels this situation bodily, for he actually puts himself inside it, intent on discovering how he himself would respond as opposed to merely looking at things from the outside. In other words, his remarks are made from the site of action.

The “Chinese left wing” that Lu Xun alludes to here is, it seems, the League of Left-Wing Writers, which was formed in 1930. This organization suffered oppression from the authorities in less a “Germanic” than an “Asian” fashion. Although it ultimately died out, it survived the great debates that took place in 1936 (the year of Lu Xun’s death) and was succeeded by the United Front, which was set up as an attempt to resist Japanese aggression. There is much about the League of Left-Wing Writers of which I am ignorant. What I do know, however, is that it emerged from the Freedom League, that it was organized for strictly defensive purposes (according to Lu Xun), and that it functioned historically as the womb from which emerged the People’s Front. The league was apparently not an individual group or faction, as for example the Nippona Artista Proleta Federacio in Japan. Rather, it established itself as a kind of popular organization, which contained nascent elements of the People’s Front. Although there remains much I don’t know about the great debates of 1936, it seems that the literary world was then split over the formation of the United Front (this split mostly centered around organizational problems). Here Lu Xun was part of the minority camp, in which capacity he risked his life fighting against public opinion. To the best of my knowledge, Lu’s stubborn persistence in this situation can be attributed to his adherence to the tradition of the League of Left-Wing Writers. The league was organizationally rather loose. Due to the terrible oppression from which it suffered (which was different, and in certain respects even worse, than the oppression experienced in Japan), the league was forced to curtail its activities, and lost increasing numbers of its members. At around this time Japan’s imperialist invasion of China became increasingly conspicuous, and this gave rise to a burning desire on the part of the people to save their country. The Chinese Communist Party proposed that a united front be created unconditionally. Nevertheless, or rather precisely because of this, Lu Xun firmly adhered to the tradition of the League of Left-Wing Writers. His adherence proved instrumental in effecting the transition from the United Front to the People’s Front. Lu’s death functioned as the mediation behind this transition, and this is something that people often refer to when they speak of the “Lu Xun spirit.”

While it is difficult to know the full nature of this debate without further research, it seems clear in any event that Lu Xun’s actions were not internally divisive, or ultraleftist, as his opponents claimed. Indeed, Lu ceaselessly fought against such things. Not once did he put himself first, nor did he ever form factions, as can so often be seen in the literary world. Lu Xun was always passive. In 1930 when the League of Left-Wing Writers was first formed, his ideas were quite close to those of Communism. (It should be noted here that Lu never referred to himself as a Communist, but rather as a companion of the Communists.) And yet this meant simply that his guiding principles of antifeudalism and anti-imperialism were given clearer form. Nothing new was added; rather, the governing principles of his thought were reinforced. This was a Communism that was true to China’s reality as a premodern quasi-colony.

The years immediately prior to the formation of the League of Left-Wing Writers saw Lu Xun waging a bitter struggle against revolutionary literature (i.e., proletarian literature). Here the debates were every bit as fierce as those of 1936. Lu found intolerable this literature’s strong romantic tendencies (which resembled the sudden switch to the left on the part of the New Sensationalist writers in Japan). In reaction against this, a group of China’s most progressive writers founded the league as a popular organization, and this in turn ultimately led to the formation of the United Front against Japanese aggression.

In historically evaluating the merits of Japanese proletarian literature (which task is absolutely necessary for the progress of Japanese literature), it seems to me that China’s League of Left-Wing Writers can serve as an excellent mirror. The league maintained good relations with the Nippona Artista Proleta Federacio in Japan, yet it must be said that these two groups were essentially different from each other. Why wasn’t a League of Left-Wing Writers created in Japan? Which is to ask, in effect: why didn’t Japan produce anyone like Lu Xun? These questions can only be studied on the basis of Lu’s notion of “differences in national conditions.” It seems clear that Japan’s somewhat shaky tradition of bourgeois literature is responsible for the absence of anyone like Lu Xun, but is that sufficient? Are the “differences in national conditions” behind this absence? Even if the entire history of Japanese literature since Futabatei could be compressed within a span of several years, I for one would find it difficult to believe that anyone like Lu could be found.

Lu Xun absorbed much from Japanese literature. Coming to Japan as a foreign student during the late Meiji period, he also absorbed much of modern European literature through his knowledge of Japanese and German. Yet this manner of absorption was unique: although he spoke German, for example, he didn’t really devote himself to German literature—with the exception of Nietzsche. (Nevertheless, he expressed a strong interest in Heinrich Heine in his later years, and planned to read his collected works.) What interested him more than German literature was the literature available in German translation that was produced in the smaller, oppressed nations, such as Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and the Balkans, in addition to Slavic resistance poetry. No doubt Lu Xun’s interest in these works can be explained by the fact that he found in them a certain urgency. And yet this interest was reflective of the period, as many of his contemporaries expressed similar tastes. In any event, it is worth asking what Japanese literature would make of such a reception of foreign literature. When Japanese literature brought in many works of modern European literature, its manner of reception was quite different from that of Lu Xun. In Japan, writers rushed off after first-rate literature. That is to say, they sought out only those works that were seen as representative of mainstream European literature. Japanese literature’s reception of these works consisted in seeking out the best first, then working down therefrom. But this kind of reception holds for Japanese culture in general. Japanese culture has tried to modernize strictly by approaching European culture. This was not always the case, however, as can be seen in the early stages of Japanese literature. A very different attitude was prevalent at the height of the political literature movement, and can be perceived in Futabatei’s translations as well. By the time of Mori Ôgai and Ueda Bin, however, this attitude had all but disappeared, replaced by the belief that modernization equals Europeanization. (Of course this is not to say that Ôgai translated Faust without understanding Goethe.) Such a notion of modernization is deeply bound up with Japan’s infrastructure, and is indeed still present even today.

How then does Japanese literature regard Lu Xun’s reception of foreign literature? The answer is this: it regards it as a sign of backwardness. From the perspective of mainstream European literature, Lu Xun introduced merely second- and third-rate works, that is, texts that were tangential rather than mainstream. It was inconceivable that he would knowingly ignore Europe’s mainstream or first-rate literature in favor of translating these other works, for this represented a roundabout way of modernizing. The very fact that this pioneer of modern literature sympathized with such minor works alone explains his backwardness—or at least so it appears.

However, it was not the case that Lu Xun believed that these works should be seen as mainstream world literature. Nor is it true that he lacked interest in translating such writers as Goethe and Tolstoy. On the contrary, he fervently hoped that all the classic texts of modern literature would be translated, and worked hard toward realizing that goal. No one was as eager to train young scholars of foreign literature as Lu Xun. Moreover, he regretted that he lacked the requisite energy to translate these large-scale texts. He praised the abundance of translations in Japan as well as the readiness with which the Japanese accepted the latest literary works from abroad. He not only encouraged younger scholars to do likewise, but also in some ways made greater use of these latest literary works than did Japanese writers themselves. Throughout his life he never stopped translating, and indeed a glimpse of the translations he made in his later years reveals what great pains he took to introduce the latest works in China. Lu made detailed use of Japanese translations, regardless of how minor or flawed, and was also, it should be noted, quite thorough in introducing woodcut art in China. And yet he never put himself first. Furthermore, he ceaselessly fought against those who appealed to the authority of foreign literature (even Soviet literature) as a symbol of literary fashion or newness. In these battles he sought to expose the pretensions of those writers and scholars who appealed to the authority of such authors as Paul Valéry, Romain Rolland, and Anatolii Lunacharskii.

Lu Xun’s attitude here can be related to his reception of Japanese literature, for in this as well he chose not to focus on mainstream works. He refused to introduce any writings—whether from world literature or Japanese literature—simply because of their fame or status as mainstream. During his time in Japan Naturalist literature was at its height, but Lu did not introduce any works from either Japanese Naturalism or French Naturalism. The 1923 volume Contemporary Japanese Fiction [Xiandai Riben xiaoshuo ji] that he coauthored with Zhou Zuoren was an excellent work, and it is clear that the authors possess an extraordinary understanding of their subject matter. (This text was introduced in Japan by Akutagawa Ryûnosuke, who thereby showed that his understanding was no less extraordinary.) Indeed, it can all the more be surmised here how critical Lu Xun was of Japanese literature (as was Zhou Zuoren, whose literary tastes, however, differed from Lu’s). Lu Xun’s interests in Japanese literature focused on such lesser-known writers as Arishima Takeo and Kuriyagawa Hakuson. These interests owe much to the influence of Nietzsche, as can quite clearly be seen in Lu’s early writing. Also Lu expressed great admiration for the later Akutagawa, and had planned to introduce his works in China. In his readings of Japanese literature (and of other literatures as well), Lu Xun focused only on those texts he deemed essential. Such an attitude represents the absolute opposite of those Japanese writers who visited him in Shanghai strictly on account of his fame. “I like Shaw. I admired and began to like him not through his works or life, but simply because of a few epigrams I read and because I was told he was always tearing the masks from gentlemen’s faces—I liked him for that. Another reason is that China keeps producing men who ape Western gentlemen, and most of them dislike Shaw. I tend to believe that a man disliked by the men I dislike must be a good sort.”¹ This, then, is Lu Xun’s attitude.

Lu’s determination to introduce only those works that he found to be essential for him, regardless of their fame, is surely a sign of strong character. Yet it must be remembered that such strength of character is produced within a social context. Indeed, Sun Yat-sen can be seen as the same type as Lu Xun, a type that was likewise regarded as backward by the Japanese. The Japanese were entirely unable to understand Sun Yat-sen’s ideas and actions, and this inability persists even today.

The distinction that I am making here between the Lu Xun type and the Ôgai type in the reception of European literature (European culture) no doubt reflects the different principles of infrastructural development between China and Japan. In Japan’s case, modernization was successfully achieved from the top down—that is to say, this modernization was not actually successful so much as potentially successful, since the Japanese believed that success would come eventually. Japan then tried to resolve the internal contradictions that were created from this tension between actuality and potentiality by means of outward expansion, a policy it has consistently employed since 1873 with the debate to invade Korea. Here one can see at work a principle of movement that may be called the “Prussian type.” This type can be recognized by the colonized’s desire to become a colonizer so as to escape its colonization, just as it can be seen in the tendency to rush off after the latest things in order to overcome one’s own backwardness. Lu Xun referred to such a self-expansive life force as Japanese “diligence.” When it appears at the level of consciousness, this diligence is seen as the kind of modernization that takes place through the infinite approach toward the advanced nations. Thus Japanese literature is constantly turned toward the outside waiting for new things. It always has hope. Even if it falls behind, makes certain compromises, and ends up abandoning the individual, hope remains. Indeed, despair itself comes to be seen as an end, and thereby is transformed into hope (e.g., Dazai Osamu). Lu Xun’s despair is not born in Japan, nor is there any way it could be born there, and this explains why the Japanese cannot understand it.

Lu Xun’s principle is different, just as the society that produced him is different. Like Japan, China at the end of the Qing Dynasty experienced a reform movement from above, one that, however, failed miserably. The reforms instituted by Zeng Guofan and his high government officials failed, as did those of Kang Youwei and his lower-rung officials. These failures became fixed in people’s minds, and actually began to change the nation’s infrastructural development from a downward and externalizing direction to an upward and internalizing one. Although Sun Yat-sen succeeded in overthrowing the monarchy that ruled over the various ethnic groups in China, this success was at the same time a failure in that it ushered in the reactionism of foreign-backed warlords. These events necessitated another people’s revolution from the bottom up, and from within that revolution the Chinese Communist movement sprang forth. This movement emerged from the bottom up and proceeded in an internalizing direction. It was just such a ground that made Lu Xun possible, for he was someone who formed himself negatively by rejecting all new things from the outside.

However, I am limiting my discussion here strictly to mainstream types. In referring to a Lu Xun type and an Ôgai type, I mean to designate the different principles of movement of social consciousness, not the diverse cases of individual human spirit. In other words, there exists one type that sets out to destroy what Lu Xun represents so as to make what Ôgai represents mainstream, and another type that constantly absorbs or assimilates these Ôgai elements into the Lu Xun elements. Such writers as Hu Shi and Lin Yutang represent the very opposite of this Lu Xun type, but they have not become mainstream. While it is often said, and indeed rightly so, that Hu Shi was the leading force behind the Literary Revolution of 1917, historical analysis will reveal that the Literary Revolution in fact represented an emergence of Lu Xun elements from Hu Shi elements. This is similar to the situation in China in 1930, where the League of Left-Wing Writers emerged from the revolutionary literature movement. Lu Xun did not openly oppose Hu Shi when Hu attempted to introduce democracy into China, yet inwardly he laughed at Hu’s naïve optimism. By that time Lu’s “despair” had already come into being, and this made him unable to maintain the fantasy that China’s salvation lay in democracy. Therefore the only thing to do was to write, despairingly, of the absence of salvation. It was out of this experience that the story “A Madman’s Diary” [Kuangren riji] was born.

Lu Xun opposed the notion of “fair play” that Lin Yutang set forth in 1925. If one were to introduce bourgeois morality into a society with no foundation for it, fair play would simply change form. Thus if fair play lost its fairness, it would become a force that merely strengthened the strong and weakened the weak. Lu Xun grasped this point not through knowledg...

Table of contents

• Cover 
• Half title
• Series Page
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents 
• Preface
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• Chapter 1. Ways of Introducing Culture (Japanese Literature and Chinese Literature II)—Focusing Upon Lu Xun
• Chapter 2. What Is Modernity? (The Case of Japan and China)
• Chapter 3. The Question of Politics and Literature (Japanese Literature and Chinese Literature I)
• Chapter 4. Hu Shi and Dewey
• Chapter 5. Overcoming Modernity
• Chapter 6. Asia as Method
• Glossary
• Index of Names