The Ethic that produced a Ben Franklin or a John D. Rockefeller has imbued relatively few persons in Ceylon. There is no doubt that Ceylonese are as ambitious as other peoples, but their historic value systems have been quite different from that of Western society. Their status-achievement-work value matrix has been nurtured by institutions of government, education, marriage, social class, and caste—particularly by education in modern times. The major characteristics of this set of values are: (1) Employment in government service is of higher status than equivalent work in private enterprise; (2) Neither work itself nor idleness has much moral flavor, i.e., productive employment is not a value in and of itself; (3) Except for agriculture, manual employments of any type are denigrated, as are, to a lesser extent, entrepreneurial activities; (4) Thrift and savings are typically viewed as serving the purposes of consumption rather than of investment; (5) Wealth in land is more highly esteemed and secure than is any alternative form of investment. Although elements of this value set are shared by Sinhalese and Tamils, the present analysis has more explicit reference to the Sinhalese.

With this one sentence paragraph Jawaharlal Nehru began a description of his visit to and subsequent arrest and trial in the Punjab state of Nabha during the agitation over the abdication of its princely ruler, Maharaja Ripudaman Singh. Though Nehru treated his experiences as an alarming but politically insignificant initiation into Indian state politics, the abdication of Nabha and concomitant events came to have major repercussions on political developments within the Sikh community and on the evolution of British policies within the Punjab. This incident at Nabha originated in a senseless but bitter personal feud between Ripudaman Singh and his neighbor, Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala. It assumed wider ramifications when each rival sought support for his respective position from such varied groups as the British government, Sikh organizations like the newly formed Shiromani Gurdawara Parbandhak Committee (the Central Gurdwara Management Committee which will hereafter be referred to as the S.G.P.C.) and the Akali Dal, the Indian National Congress and assorted Indian nationalist and Sikh religious leaders. As these new forces entered the dispute, the area of controversy was broadened and issues of political significance were raised.

The Meiji Restoration of 1868 constitutes one of the great turning points in Japanese history. Standing as the culminating events of the political struggle which agitated Japan in the years following the forcible “opening” of the country to the Western world, it signaled the end of the Tokugawa hegemony and the establishment of a new central authority under which Japan was to embark upon an era of unprecedented national development. Few episodes in Japanese history have been so voluminously recorded or so thoroughly studied as the Meiji Restoration. The events of the several decades on either side of 1868 have been traced and retraced, and their implications analyzed by succeeding generations of historians both Japanese and Western.

K. C. Chang has been instrumental in the West in propagating the view that North China in Neolithic times was lush, moist, and densely forested. A close scrutiny of data relating to palynology, soil science, and paleoclimate, however, indicates that the true loess areas of North China were, and have always been, semiarid steppe. In addition, the author considers Chang's belief that the earliest northern Chinese agriculture was a system of slash-and-burn or shifting cultivation to be invalid. Whereas the crucial problem in the slash-and-burn systems of the tropics and humid areas is fertility, the crucial problem in the agriculture of the loess areas is moisture, not fertility. The ability of loess soil to retain its fertility under semiarid conditions has accounted for the self-sustaining character of the agriculture of North China. These important issues, and others, are discussed in the volume under review.

One of the major problems facing modern Japanese historians is that of providing adequate explanations for the nature and timing of changes in the decision-making structure after 1868. The domination of the decision-making process and structure by the civil bureaucracy indicates that bureaucratic development was a major factor in determining such changes.

The civil bureaucracy underwent two dramatic changes in the period after 1868. The first occurred in the years 1868–78 and resulted in the integration, centralization and specialization of the bureaucratic structure. This was confirmed by an analysis of all increases and decreases in operations at the prefectural level—the level at which integration had been critical. The second major change occurred between 1884—1889 as the result of a series of reforms aimed at rationalizing the bureaucratic role. Analysis of the backgrounds and careers of a 25% random sample of all prefectural governors between 1868–1945 clearly indicates that by 1900 the norms of the bureaucratic role had changed drastically. From a role based on extra-bureaucratic norms—participation in the Restoration, possession of some Western knowledge and membership in the traditional elite—the “new” bureaucratic role was characterized by predominantly “legal-rational” norms. These changes had a number of consequences for the decisionmaking structure: 1) the centralization, integration and specialization of the bureaucracy placed decision-making in the hands of a small number of bureaucratic leaders thus laying the foundation for the oligarchic (genro) structure which now emerged. Decision-making roles were thus allocated on the same extra-bureaucratic criteria as upper civil service roles; 2) rationalization of the bureaucratic role undermined and finally eliminated the genro structure through elimination of the norms for selecting genro members. The resulting vacuum was filled by contention and conflict between the bureaucracy and the political parties both claiming legitimacy in the selection and allocation of decision-making roles. The result was a system of allocating decision-making roles which was informal, ambiguous and highly particularistic. The result was the instability of decision-making which characterized the post-1925 period. The hypothesis that bureaucratic development was a major factor in determining change in the decision-making structure thus appears to be confirmed.

Liu Shaoqi, the highest-ranking Chinese Communist leader to fall victim to China's Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, was posthumously rehabilitated in spring 1980. His rehabilitation was accompanied by the publication of new materials on his life and career, enabling us to fill in various lacunae and to attempt a more comprehensive assessment of his political import. If the vindication is successful among China's still somewhat skeptical masses, Liu may come to serve as a popular symbol of the folly of spontaneous mass participation in politics and the essential continuity of China's Marxist-Leninist tradition from the 1950s to the 1980s. To China's officialdom, Liu will represent the ultimate integrity of the Party apparatus, an avatar of the self-cultivated rectitude of the “clean official.”

In recent years, the influence of the military on modern Japanese history has been the subject of several excellent analyses.1 Since these studies have sought to explain the major events of the prewar period, they concentrated more on the significance of army factionalism vis a vis political developments, than on the nature of this factionalism. The purpose of this article is to explore the tangled web of factionalism within the Imperial Army in the 1932–36 period. Since this topic presents many complex problems, it may help to review briefly the sources of information on army factions that appeared immediately after the end of the Pacific War.

This essay deals with the concept of “political economism” (keiseisaimin) as expressed by Dazai Shundai, one of the leading practical thinkers in the school of “ancient studies” in early eighteenth century Japan. It argues for the need to look seriously at “traditional” schemes of political conceptualization. Exploring Dazai's analytical perception of political structure and of how political structure should perform in concrete historical situations, the essay shows how Dazai takes the logic of “ancient studies” beyond agrarianism and status quo economics toward die possibility of permitting maximum economic development as a function of politics.

To be forced to make a choice of nationality following a revolutionary upheaval is a trying experience. It becomes traumatic when one is, or feels oneself to be, part of the “privileged class” in a plural society in which the “natives” are about to achieve supreme political power. The Eurasians of Indonesia are a group of mixed descent closely tied to the land of their birth, but culturally and politically oriented to a society thousands of miles away along the shores of the North Sea. F. H. de Hoog, charismatic chairman of the powerful Eurasian League from 1928 to 1939, referred to the Eurasians as the “vanguard” of the Dutch population in the Netherlands. He emphasized that Eurasians were imbued with Dutch culture and would stand or fall with Dutch rule.1 In 1949, the “vanguard” was cut off.

Chinese scholarship, in its quest for an explanation of the beginning of Sun Yat-sen's nationalist ideology, San-min chu-i (“The Three Principles of the People”), has yet to grapple with the complexity of his ideological makeup. Unfortunately, scholarship has been inhibited (and will probably continue to suffer, at least in the foreseeable future) a great deal by a certain persistent point of view in both Nationalist and Communist Chinas when it comes to the study of Sun Yat-sen as a whole. This inhibition has stemmed, in the main, from the fact that Sun Yat-sen, the founding father of modern China, has thus far been regarded as someone to worship rather than someone to study with a critical mind.

Too often the thought and scholarship of Huang Zongxi (1610–95), a prominent Chinese intellectual and political activist of the Ming-Qing transition period, are treated in isolation, as though the man stood in a sphere above and apart from most other thinkers of his day. The greatness of his scholarly achievements and the incisiveness of his ideas are stressed, with little attempt to relate those to the accomplishments and ideas of his mentors and contemporaries. This approach has created the widespread impression that Huang was one of only three or four figures who had anything very original to say in the seventeenth century. But the more we study seventeenth-century thought, the more we recognize that Huang Zongxi's forte was less in originality than in a keen awareness, examination, and articulation of issues that were current in his time. The perpetuation of notions about Huang's creative singularity obstructs our understanding not only of his intellectual milieu but also of the man's own attitude toward progress in learning. I do not wish to challenge the idea that Huang was an outstanding intellectual of the later imperial era in China but to urge that he be viewed differently: as someone who placed in bold relief ideas that emerged in the late Ming period and brought to fruition in writings of enduring value various approaches to scholarship that had been gestating since the latter part of the sixteenth century.

“Myanmar is telling Asia ‘we are coming back!’ This is the time. Watch out! We are coming back. After the SEA Games, we will host ASEAN [Association of Southeast Asian Nations]. Big things are happening in our country.” “Kyaw,” an amiable rig coordinator in his early thirties, was relaxing on the ground drinking beer with his wife, passing the time prior to Myanmar's opening men's football match of the 2013 Southeast Asian or SEA Games. Fifteen days later—after a glorious opening ceremony, a slew of gold medals, and a celebratory closing ceremony—his assessment seemed prescient. The government newspaper, The New Light of Myanmar, boasted: “With the honor of hosting the Games that returned to the country after a 44-year long wait, Myanmar successfully hosted the biggest regional sporting event.” Thailand's Nation concurred: “The country failed to overhaul Thailand as overall winners, but its symbolic triumph as host was far more important.” “Myanmar has basked in its host status and a rare moment in the international limelight after years in isolation under military rule,” declared Agence France-Presse in a widely syndicated article. “Some local and international observers thought Myanmar could not host the SEA Games. They were wrong,” boasted triumphant presidential spokesman U Ye Htut.

This essay casts light on the alternative but unrealized futures imagined through the Indian Muslim encounter with Japan in the inter-war period. Echoing other attempts to destabilize the empire-to-nation teleology of Indo-Pakistani independence, the essay uncovers a set of aspirations, actors, and spaces of comparison by which Indian Muslims sought an independent future for Muslim-ruled princely states such as Hyderabad. Through comparison with similar patterns in other Asian princely states, a case study of Urdu writings on Japan shows how East Asia became a place to imagine for Hyderabad a future that never came to fruition. By locating India in a trans-Islamic pattern of engaging Japan, the essay shows how, between the Russo-Japanese War and the Second World War, Japan provided newly globalized intellectuals with a template for empowering Muslim-ruled polities that either never came into existence or were subsumed by Asia's postcolonial nations.

In recent years, historians associated with the school of Indo-Muslim history at Aligarh Muslim University have developed a persuasive, now widely accepted, view of imperial decline. Satish Chandra and M. Athar Ali have argued that a primary cause of the collapse of the Mughal empire in the early eighteenth century was the rise of intense factionalism among the Mughal nobility. Conflict within this imperial elite (i.e., the body of amirs or mansabdars holding ranks of 1000 zat or above) resulted from a rapid rise to nearly double the number of nobles during the latter portion of the reign of the Emperor Aurangzeb (1658–1707). This growth in the number of nobles was not matched by a corresponding increase in the resources available to pay them and their followers. Consequently, the system of alienation of the land-tax proceeds for salary payments (the jagir system) broke down simply because not enough lands could be found to meet a sharply enhanced demand.

Following the october revolution, the Soviet Union regained majority control over the strategically located Chinese Eastern Railway, which ran through Manchuria, by signing two previously unpublished secret agreements: the first with the Beijing government on May 31, 1924, and the second with Zhang Zuolin's government in Manchuria on September 20, 1924. These secret agreements were signed despite the Soviet government's repeated promise that it would never resort to secret diplomacy. The Soviet Union also renewed control over the Russian-built Chinese Eastern Railway despite a 1919 Soviet manifesto promising that this railway would be turned over to China without compensation. To consolidate Soviet power over this railway, the USSR then signed the January 20, 1925, convention with Japan that recognized Japan's authority over the South Manchurian Railway in return for Japan's acquiescence to full Soviet authority over the Chinese Eastern Railway.

Historians have continued to view the Indian Civil Service (i.e., the British Indian bureaucracy or the “Covenanted Civil Service”) of the late nineteenth century as a highly popular and exclusive career for university-trained men in England. This is one specific aspect of the I.C.S. mydiology which views the nineteenth century British administrators in India as a superior body of highly efficient administrators. The sources, however, do not support the notions of exdusiveness and popularity. Even in the early years of the competition system, inaugurated in 1855, the caliber and educational background of the candidates failed to reach the high expectations of the Civil Service Commissioners. In the years between 1855 and 1874, both the number of nonuniversity candidates and nonuniversity recruits increased steadily. By 1874, nonuniversity men constituted over 74 percent of the competition candidates and approximately 55 percent of the selected recruits. In the same period, the representation of the Great English universities (Oxford and Cambridge) in the competition fell dramatically. Oxbridge students took 60 percent of the available positions in 1858, but only 18 percent of those offered in 1871. A disappointed British aristocracy (i.e., ruling class) became increasingly critical and apprehensive as to the future of the service. The secretary of state for India instituted a new system of recruitment in 1876, lowering the age limit for examination to 19 in hopes that the best students from the public schools would seek admittance. According to eminent spokesmen, such as Benjamin Jowett and Lord Ripon, the Viceroy Salisbury's reforms proved unsuccessful. The better students did not enter die competition, and a majority of the candidates came from unpretentious social and educational backgrounds. Authorities introduced other devices diroughout the remainder of the century to improve recruitment, but none achieved any improvement.

The reasons for the relative unpopularity of the I.C.S. careers were legion and included a complex mixture of the following factors: arrogant criticism voiced by the aristocracy concerning alleged low social origins of the civilian recruits; the general stigma attached to any close connection with India among the British aristocracy; the several and increasing grievances of the civilians, which the aristocratic ruling class did little to ameliorate; the pressures of Indian educated elements for employment in the I.C.S.; the declining value of the rupee; the widening spheres of professional employment in England; and what may be called the “natural” disadvantages of an Indian career.

The development of commerce and the rise of a merchant class in Tokugawa Japan have deservedly received considerable attention from both Japanese and Western scholars. In Japan that interest would seem to have been prompted by the problem of the rôle of the pre-Restoration merchant class in the development of the modern capitalist Japanese economy. The study of this problem was characterized by a long controversy in which the Tokugawa merchants were depicted as either “progressive” or “feudalistic,” depending on the historical philosophy of the participants. The argument was conducted at a high level of generality and on both sides within frameworks derived from the leading European (mainly German) schools of economic history. For some time neither side seems to have doubted the applicability of these frameworks to Japan's experience, but the controversy did eventually lead to valuable detailed studies of Tokugawa commerce and to attempts to interpret Japan's economic development in its own terms. Among the first to do this were the members of the so-called “Kyoto School” under Professor E. Honjō.

The treatment of thunder and lightning in traditional Chinese writings demonstrates that many modern intellectuals have exaggerated the Neo-Confucian tendencies toward rational explanations and careful classification. The Chinese literati from traditional through modern times accepted as a self-evident fact the notion that thunder rather than lightning was the destructive force in thunderstorms. Moreover, captivated by popular beliefs that linked thunder with divine powers (Hammond 1992), few Chinese scholars were prepared to take the truly modern step of suggesting that thunder and lightning might be examples of natural forces acting randomly. This misunderstanding was compounded by the literati's indifference toward empirical investigation, which meant that they were unable to question the mistaken assumptions underlying this belief.