Spencer has been called the most widely read and possibly the most in fluential Western social and political thinker in Japan during the 1880's. Between 1877 and 1900, at least thirty-two translations and one critical study of Spencer's works were published, besides many articles in journals and magazines. The writings of John Stuart Mill ranked next in popularity. Other Western thinkers—such as Rousseau, Montesquieu, Guizot, Haeckel, T. H. Huxley, Darwin, Bentham, and Bagehot—received much less public attention.

The contested historiography of the 1857 rebellion and its importance in shaping the Indian nationalist imagination make it an excellent entry point into an investigation of nationalist pasts and their archival bases. This paper examines a concatenation of influential narratives of different genres that have become critical sources for a history of the rebel leader Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi and for configuring her as an icon of heroic Indian womanhood. It places each of these sources, ranging from late nineteenth-century Marathi texts to mid-twentieth-century Hindi narratives, within their specific spatiotemporal setting and highlights the contradictory regional projects underlying apparently smooth nationalist narratives. Through a close examination of the making of the Lakshmibai archive, the author argues that a consideration of the editorial and textual practices that went into the making of reliable and usable archives for a modern historiography is critical to the unpacking of nationalist historiographies.

In 1961 our Association President, Norman Brown, discussed with us the problem of the content of cultural continuity in India. He pointed out that in spite of many variations in time and local differentiations in space, the highly developed civilization of India from the third millennium B.C. to the present offers to the student a picture of a continuing entity, a kind of moving picture in which the successive events of a plot seem to be informed and given a special character and vitality by some pervasive element running through the story, an element which might be sought, it was concluded, in the particular perdurable values basic to many Indian behavior patterns.

This essay examines how Japanese Esperantism developed after the Russo-Japanese War in a manner that departed from the global Esperanto movement. Esperantists viewed Esperanto as a language that amplified the diversity of and symbolized equality between cultures. Esperanto was studied and discussed by elites and nonelites alike in noninstitutional spaces such as in rural homes and coffee shops, often at night, when institutions privileged by state and financial power had closed. By looking at these hidden space-times outside the realms of state guidance, we become privy to an imagination and practice of peace and world order that operated outside the institutions of the nation-state. The history of this movement offers us a rare window into a popular concept of world order in Asia.

Indonesia stands out as one of the most successful cases of democratic transformation in Asia, a continent that has been, with several notable exceptions, generally resistant to democratic change over the last three decades. Taking its cue from other Asian democracies, this article considers the degree to which economic modernization and ethnic factors might account for Indonesia's relative democratic success. With regard to both, it is proposed that a key factor has been the failure of Indonesia's political cleavage structure to express social conflicts that might undermine democracy. Instead, Indonesia's democratic model has been based on an inclusionary elite settlement in which powerful political and economic actors have gained a stake in the system, largely through access to patronage. This settlement has consolidated Indonesian democracy, but it has also generated costs that have been borne by relatively disempowered groups, reflected in continuing economic and gender inequality.

On March 15, 2011, late at night at the Osaka train station, I met the first refugees from the earthquake that I would come to know. The family of four did not look like what I thought that people who were fleeing the horrendous images on television would. The mother, father, and two young daughters were neatly dressed, and their yellow lab was obediently packed into a crate that stood in the middle of their matching suitcases. Each wore a crisp, white mask. Much as I wanted to hear stories of what they had seen, I imagined that they did not want to talk. My son, however, zoomed a toy train over to their youngest girl, who was about six or seven; she happily raced it back. I motioned for him to stop and smiled at the mother, who acknowledged me from behind her mask as she brushed a hand across her forehead in exhaustion. “Are you OK?” I asked, not knowing how to avoid noticing that something appeared wrong. “Mmmm-hmmm.” “Are you traveling further tonight?” “Kanazawa.” “How terrible it all must be.” “We're from Fukushima,” she said. “We're fine. Our house is fine. It all looks fine, but we don't know what will happen, and the girls are so young.”

Any historian approaching the subject of traditional Chinese biography may be confident of at least one fact: he will be overwhelmed. The sheer volume of this material available in the Chinese sources is exceedingly large.

In discussing Chinese historical writing, it is customary to point first to the chengshih, the so-called “standard histories,” dealing with all of Chinese history down to 1644. There are twenty-five histories, all bulky, in this “official” group. All contain large collections of biographies, elaborately sorted out: loyal officials, villainous officials, imperial concubines, writers, hermits, virtuous wives, and filial sons. In the History of the Ming Dynasty, that portion which is biographical in nature runs to 197 out of a total of 332 chapters–in actual pages about sixty percent of the whole. We encounter the same phenomenon outside of the “standard histories”–in local histories, for example, of which there may be several for one small district. All of this material I shall call “historical biography.”

Using the concept of fascism for analyzing political developments in early Shōwa Japan has become a controversial topic, and a lively debate about a general definition of fascism has raged among scholars of modern European history. This article presents a new interpretation of Japanese fascism and a modification of Ernst Nolte's definition of fascism as anti-modernism. The author argues that while Japan was not fascist during the 1930s, the original New Order Movement, which was planned by the Shōwa Research Association and promoted by Premier Konoe Fumimaro in 1940, did constitute a fascist movement. It was modeled on policies of European fascism and, fitting Nolte's definition, aimed at creating an anti-modern society. In addition, the New Order Movement revealed a polarity in its basic goals—the advocacy of anti-modernism and the simultaneous quest for a strong military and industrial state—that is central to fascist movements. The author also rejects the previously held image of Japanese intellectuals as passive resisters against the rise of authoritarianism in Japan by emphasizing the leading roles of three prominent writers—Miki Kiyoshi, Ryū Shintarō, and Rōyama Masamichi—in planning the New Order Movement.

Most of the discussion regarding the language issue in India so far has revolved about two problems. One of these concerns the spread of Hindi knowledge in those areas or fields of endeavor where other regional languages or English are now used; the other, the enrichment of Hindi vocabulary (or, as is usually stated, the development of the Hindi language), so as to make it possible to use it for dealing with topics related to modern science and technology. The Central Government and several of the state governments have devoted much effort towards the solution of these problems by setting up special departments for the creation of vocabulary lists to deal with new subjects, encouraging attempts to introduce Hindi in universities and legislative bodies, and fostering the growth of societies for the propagation of Hindi learning. These activities have aroused a great deal of controversy, and so much has been written about the pros and cons of the issues involved that the above two problems seem to be the only ones associated with language in the public mind.

Hilistorians seeking the stirrings of urban social and political consciousness in China usually have turned to the convulsive century between 1550 and 1650, when the rapid pace of commercial growth and urbanization began to generate new economic tensions fraught with political implications. This period witnessed an unprecedented series of urban protests in the commercial and industrial centers of China, in Jiangnan in particular. Some scholars have viewed these protests as evidence of a nascent urban consciousness which united “bourgeois” intellectuals and urban workers against the panoply of feudal obligations imposed by the Ming state (Fu Yiling 1957:109–21; Tanaka 1984:189–91; Yuan 1979:296, 310). Others have stressed the accelerating trend toward absolutism in the late Ming and the emergence of a cross-class alliance opposed to the arbitrary exercise of state power (Miyazaki 1957:351–56). Common to both of these interpretations is a blurring of class lines and a polarization between state and society—or, more precisely, between the state and urban communities—which fostered urban political solidarity.

There is a significant correlation between the level of industrial development in any country and the percentage of its population attending institutions of higher education. The reasons for this would appear to be obvious: among other things, more people with greater skills are demanded to meet labor needs in a complicated, highly industrialized society than would be necessary in a primarily agricultural society. In addition, as the economic levels of a society increase, both the collective societal resources to support a massive higher educational establishment, and the individual resources to take advantage of such an establishment, increase in tandum. Thus it should be no surprise that all major industrial countries have undergone rather significant increases in higher educational enrollment.

Even if one uses Sanskrit only as the instrument of investigation, it is apparent that Indian culture was a current which, as it flowed and spread, was fed by many a stream and absorbed many a small and stagnant pool. With volume, it gathered often bewildering variety, which was synthesized in a systematic plan. That diverse sources contributed to its making is obvious, but to identify each of them, to survey all the material accepted, and to be reasonably precise in the innumerable details that such a study involves, seems a stupendous and baffling task. It is possible, however, to point out certain instances in which the main tradition embraced smaller group-cultures and incorporated regional elements. As this culture became consolidated throughout India, it employed certain characteristic methods wherever it went, not only in India and the peripheral regions, but in all those trans-Indian territories to which it expanded. Sanskrit was the ultimate medium of transmission used by the main body of this culture and Sanskritization the chief technique of the take-over. Hence an examination of Sanskrit literature, in its different branches, will prove useful in investigating the incorporation of regional and folk elements. Without going into questions of pre-Vedic or Indus Valley cultures, or the problem of contributions by Munda, Austric, Dravidian, and Mongoloid, data can be found in Sanskrit literature which help to illuminate Hindu sociology, religion, and the arts during the historic period.

It is a fact of singular note that in nineteenth century China the vast majority of the educated classes either passively or actively rejected Christianity. Passively, they did so by remaining coldly indifferent to Christianity's message; the percentage of officials and literati who embraced the foreign religion was infinitesimally small. Actively, they expressed their hostility by writing and disseminating inflammatory anti-Christian literature; creating countless stumbling blocks for the Christian missionary; issuing threats of retaliation against any who dared enter the religion or have dealings with its foreign transmitters; and by the direct instigation of, and participation in, anti-Christian riots.

Postcolonial states responded differently to the group-specific personal laws that were recognized in many colonial societies. While some retained most colonial personal laws (e.g., Lebanon) and others introduced major changes (e.g., Tunisia), most introduced modest yet significant changes (e.g., Egypt, India, Indonesia). Indian policy makers retained personal laws specific to religious groups, and did not change the minority laws, although minority recognition did not rule out culturally grounded reform. They changed Hindu law alone based on their values, as they saw Hindu social reform as the key to making nation and citizen. Reform proposals drew from the modern Western valuation of the nuclear family, and from Hindu traditions that were reformed to meet standards of modernity. As Hindu nationalists and other conservatives defended lineage authority, legislators retained much of the lineage control over ancestral property. But they provided limited divorce rights, reduced restrictions on mate choice, and banned bigamy. The visions driving the initial proposals influenced many later changes in India's family laws.

Four Factors will influence British colonial policy in Burma: (1) public opinion in various countries of the world; (2) liberal thought in England itself; (3) Japan's occupation of Burma; and (4) the growth of nationalism within Burma.

Though all these factors are important, this discussion will be concerned with only the last, namely, Burmese nationalism and its development. Burmese nationalism is of fairly recent origin. After the annexation of Burma by the British in 1886, there was no nationalistic movement revolving about the dethroned Burmese king or the royal family. It was not until after the first World War that the Burmans showed any marked interest in national politics. In 1923,after certain reforms had been introduced organizations of a nationalist character known as wunthanu were formed. The avowed purpose of these groups was to obtain a larger voice in local administration.

Ramon myers recently reviewed in this journal four books analyzing China's prewar economy and Philip Huang added a reply to some of Myers's criticisms. They clearly disagree about how best to characterize China's Republican-period economy. Myers suggests that books by Loren Brandt, David Faure, and Thomas Rawski collectively reveal different aspects of modern economic development, while Huang presents the concept of “involutionary growth” as a means of understanding the economic situation. In response, Philip Huang corrects what he takes as misrepresentations of his argument by Myers through a restatement of his major themes.

As happened in Tokugawa Japan and British India, China under die Ching witnessed a relative decline in fiscal importance of die land tax although its absolute amount increased substantially. Between 1753 and 1908 China's annual land tax revenue grew from 74 million to 102 million taels but its percentage contribution in die total tax revenue decreased from 73.5 to 35 percent. The reasons for its relatively lessened importance in die Ch'ing tax structure are the creation of new taxes such as die maritime customs and die likin, die lack of income- and price-elasticity in die land tax system, the defects of die fiscal administration, and a strong tradition against land tax increase. Since the same period saw a rise in general prices by 150 percent, obviously die Manchu government had not even raised enough taxes from land to offset price inflations, leaving a 40 percent increase in land acreage and a moderate improvement in land yields totally untouched. Hence, die land tax burden was not, as some asserted, oppressive in die last decades of the Ching dynasty.

In recent years the glitter of modern economic growth has been dulled, as more attention has been focused upon the attendant dislocations and negative aspects that have accompanied it. One area that has received little attention, especially from economists, is crime. Many writings of criminologists suggest that crime is a negative attribute that accompanies economic growth, for levels of affluence and crime seem to move upward together. A pattern similar to that observed in other modern countries was reported for Japan in 1966 by Professors DeVos and Mizushima.

What relationship should be expected between growth and crime? The usual economic theories of criminal behavior, with crime a declining function of an individual's ability to obtain legal income, would seem to argue for a negative relationship. However, crime is also related to the potential for ill-gotten gains; thus, it might be expected to at least keep pace with levels of income, or perhaps surpass them. This paper represents an attempt to provide some answers to these issues by explaining some of the complex interplay between factors involved in labor market improvement and the degree of criminal activity in Japan.