Ways of Forgetting, Ways of Remembering (3 page)

Just as “modernization theory” as a whole is essentially a counter-theory, so also do the various parts of the modernization formula have their own implicit targets within the radical tradition. Thus, emphasis upon the “concept of progress” can be seen as a groping attempt to offer an idealistic antithesis to “historical materialism” or “dialectical materialism” (phrases, incidentally, that Marx himself never used).
²
Similarly, the narrow conceptualization of a “dilemma of growth” or “pathology of growth” is also a fundamentally conservative one, clearly intended as a riposte to the radical formulation of “contradictions of capitalism.” It is not, however, entirely antithetical to Norman's own approach. He would undoubtedly have agreed with Morley's observation that the breakdown of the interwar period was not yet fully understood, but it is more problematic to suggest how he would have responded to the argument that this occurred in inconsiderable part because Japan's leaders faced a succession of crises at a time when their country “could be called only partially modern.” Negative legacies of the Meiji settlement, in this view, did not lead Japan into the dark valley of the interwar era, but rather remained as abscesses in the body politic which erupted only when agitated by other, contemporary problems. Both Morley and Reischauer dismissed the
Marxist emphasis on social structures as being of little use in analyzing this development (“history without people,” a “monocausal explanation”) and strongly suggested that the heart of the problem lay in the realm of political decision-making, the misperception of proper priorities. Reischauer characterized this departure from the norm as a “malaise,” one which permitted “the powerful
re-emergence
[italics added] of ideas and values that belonged to an earlier stage in Japan's history.” He acknowledged that the imbalances of the post–World War I era derived in part from the artificially forced growth of Meiji, but the problem lay, not in institutions, but rather in the fact that institutional growth had outpaced social, emotional, and intellectual attitudes. In effect, he indicated that nothing in the past twenty-five years of Western scholarship on Japan suggested the need for fundamental revision of the position he had taken in
Japan Past and Present
, for “the key thing that ‘went wrong' was the usurpation of power by the military rather than any broader economic or social breakdown.”

Norman's response to the military-takeover argument need not be surmised. The problem, however, carries beyond this, for to a certain extent, aspects of Norman's work (as well as of much Japanese Marxist analysis), notably the focus upon the
Japanese
context of Japan's experience, have been carried to an extreme by many of his successors. Although the modernization theorists have described their endeavors as an attempt to create a more universally applicable mode of analysis, their interpretations have in practice often emphasized the unique aspects of the Japanese experience when it comes to explaining such problems as Japanese aggression. Thus, in addressing the problems of the 1920s and 1930s, Norman's concept of a “feudal legacy” has been refurbished by some to provide an almost self-sufficient explanation, exemplified in the statement by Ronald Dore and
Ō
uchi Tsutomu (also in the Morley book) that aggression derived primarily from “the ideological framework within which Japanese politics were conducted,” that is, the collectivist ethic and cult of familism as opposed to individualism. The popularity of Maruyama Masao's theories among
Western scholars has enhanced this focus upon the uniqueness of the Japanese experience by placing Japanese imperialism largely in the context of Japan's peculiar
kokutai
(“national polity”) ideology. The “uniqueness” concept is reinforced (or replaced) by a second line of analysis which is present in the work of both Norman and his successors, namely, that the crisis of late Taish
ō
and early Sh
ō
wa can be explained in large part by the dislocations or incompleteness of Japan's late and rapid modernization. Norman's famous “timing thesis” certainly points in this direction; and the modernization theorists have found such an argument essentially compatible with their basic overall emphasis upon the “success story.” Thus while the problem may be defined as one of “pathology,” it can actually be treated more as a matter of dermatology: Japan's dilemma becomes an unfortunate problem of growth, much like acne in adolescence, which might have been avoided if a few salves had been applied before the unsightly condition erupted. The thrust of such preoccupations has been extremely significant in shaping many recent interpretations of Japanese external behavior, for it turns attention away from the
similarity
of this behavior to that of countries which (1) lacked Japan's peculiar cultural heritage, (2) were early and “gradual” modernizers, and (3) presumedly did attain a higher level of bureaucratic rationalization, bourgeois democracy, and “individualism” than Japan. Problems of indigenous values and of timing are obviously essential to an understanding of Japanese actions and this has in fact been complemented by straightforward descriptions of decision-making in terms of strategic planning and
Realpolitik
. What has not been seriously examined, however, is the extent to which the Japanese experience was similar to that of theoretically more advanced capitalist countries, which also engaged in domestic repression and external aggression, and still do. This will entail a broader perspective than the prevailing framework of particularistic values or isolated “crises” of policymaking, and once again suggests the need to reexamine not only the problem of “substructures” in the classic Marxist sense but also, perhaps, the problem of man himself.

Norman did not carry the argument this far, but his work does offer other suggestions in the general area of foreign relations. Consistent with his axiom that it is the effect rather than the motive which should be of primary concern to the historian, in some of his shorter pieces he called attention to the nature of Japanese behavior abroad: atrocities, military corruption, and disobedience (as opposed to the prevailing image of fanatical discipline), organized prostitution in subject areas, and the crucial role of the narcotics trade in Japanese activities in China, which was used to both finance aggression and, it was hoped, debilitate Chinese resistance. Such observations are of particular interest in the light of recent revisionism by both American scholars such as James Crowley and conservative Japanese scholars such as Tsunoda Jun, who directed the eight-volume
Taiheiy
ō
Sens
ō
e no Michi
(Road to the Pacific War; now being translated into English); their position, in brief, is that Japan's leaders in the 1930s were “honorable and loyal” men.
³
This sense of honor reflects a willingness to judge men by their own time and situation and values, which superficially would seem consistent with some of Norman's more “liberal” statements. But at the same time it reveals a tolerance of, almost indifference to, mass slaughter and brutalization which was obviously beyond Norman's capacity. Passions tempered by time, it would appear, can reemerge not merely as tempered evaluation, as Morley argues, but also as calloused amorality. Norman, admittedly writing at the time, was more acid and outraged in his appraisal of the deeds and words of Japan's honorable and loyal public servants, with their “verbose, redundant and shamelessly hypocritical official Japanese apologies for naked aggression (‘We are being surrounded by the ABCD powers'); for wholesale plunder (The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere); and for two-faced diplomacy (‘The Tripartite Alliance is to preserve peace in the Pacific').” Whether emanating from the Foreign Ministry or the Ministry of War, he commented in a review of Otto Tolischus, such lofty rhetoric was nothing more than “the
ipsissima verba
of Japanese militarists and their civilian fuglemen.” He himself supported the validity of the war-crimes
trials, and in the early stages of the occupation was in fact attached to SCAP and assigned the task of preparing preliminary reports on such accused war criminals as Konoe and Kido. That he apparently saw no contradiction in holding men of power responsible for the consequences of their actions, while at the same time recognizing the historical and contemporary pressures upon them, reflects the position expressed in the opening pages of
Japan's Emergence
: that leaders must work with the materials on hand, but that at the same time they draw designs; they are architects. Recent Western scholarship has been more sympathetic to those condemned in the Tokyo trials, more concerned with their motives (while paradoxically condemning the support which the Japanese populace gave to radical terrorists in the interwar period because of their “sincerity” of intent). The question is a profound one which will never be answered to the satisfaction of all. Certainly it remains open for the student of Japan, and challenges the individual to clarify his own position on an issue of such basic import.

This question carries, perhaps, philosophical implications. In more conventional areas of scholarship on Japanese actions abroad, many tasks remain to be undertaken. As yet, for example, there are virtually no comprehensive studies in English of the nature of colonial rule in Korea and Formosa; of neocolonial rule in Manchuria prior to 1931 (or even case studies of the Kwantung Army, Kwantung Civil government, South Manchurian Railway Company, Japanese consulates, joint public and private “national policy” companies, or private entrepreneurs); of Manchukuo, which has fascinating implications concerning the problem of “right radicalism,” national socialism or state monopoly control, and the relationship between domestic and external policy; of political and economic involvement in China; or of military and “pacification” activities in all of these areas. On other occasions, Norman did warn against the danger of approaching Japanese foreign policy as if it were a one-way street. The historian, he said in his article on the war-crimes trials, must take care to recognize that “Japan was not only
acting
upon others but in some fashion
being acted
upon.
” He raised this point in connection with the specific problem of Sino-Japanese relations in the 1930s, but it obviously extends beyond this and implies, for the later period, reevaluation of the entire historiography of the China and Pacific wars. Such revisionism, which has precedents in the Charles Beard school immediately after World War II, has recently been readdressed. Carried to its extreme limit, it presents the curious situation in which radical Western revisionists (outside the Japan field), by assessing Japan's behavior in Asia after the world depression primarily in the context of reaction to immense global U.S. and British economic coercion, have shifted the primary onus of responsibility for Japanese aggression and war from Japan itself to the Western imperialist powers; their conclusion thus in places is close to official Japanese rationalizations at the time, and in contemporary Japan coincides with the Pacific War revisionism of ultraconservative writers such as Hayashi Fusao. Future historians must inevitably confront this dilemma of understanding “Japan's case” without absolving Japan's actions, and once again it does not seem possible to do this rigorously without also taking cognizance of the more classically radical formulation of the problem—that is, by addressing the question of contradictions among the imperialist powers and testing the thesis that the Pacific War was not simply a clash of nation-states or of “democratic” and “fascist” camps, but also a crisis of capitalism—a crisis, moreover, inseparable from the problems of class conflict and counterrevolution. Such an analysis may be labeled “Marxist,” but to see it as only this is to ignore the extraordinary prevalence of such concerns among the conservative leaders of both the Axis and the Allied powers at the time.

A further general direction suggested by Norman's writings lies in the area of comparative studies. One of his greatest gifts was certainly the breadth of his comprehension of Western history. This invigorated his studies of feudal Japan and grasp of Japanese intellectual history. It permitted him not only to refine and qualify but also to generalize and to use broad concepts, such as feudalism and authoritarianism, without tedious apology. The vision was
exceptional. As Maruyama commented in his tribute written after learning of Norman's death, Western students of Japan who seek out Japanese scholars are usually boring, asking much and offering little. But Norman was different; he gave in return. Few contemporary Western scholars can match that background, but this does not negate the importance of seeing Japan in a context larger than Japan, although not necessarily within the modernization-theory framework. The comparative perspective which Norman brought to feudal and early modern Japan is necessary also in other areas of Japanese history, and can be developed by beginning on very specific problems: by placing the Bakumatsu-Restoration period, for example, in the context of the great revolutions and civil wars which were simultaneously sweeping China, Europe, and the United States; by setting Japanese actions in its colonies and mainland Asia against concurrent American activity in Latin America and the Philippines, or the European powers in Asia and Africa; or by comparing the fear of the left in Japan with simultaneous repression of the left in the United States (Tanaka's Peace Preservation Law and the Sacco-Vanzetti case, for instance). Such examples obviously return to the question posed previously: to what extent can Japan's experience shed light on the actions of
more
developed nations, and conversely, how can the experience of such nations help place Japan in broader perspective, particularly insofar as problems of war, exploitation, and repression are concerned? The answers are not likely to be found in styles of questioning that pose a kind of ladder effect, in which the “lessons” of Japan are seen as relevant primarily to countries lower down on the scale of “modernization.” If, like Norman, one is concerned not only with the uses of power but also its abuses, and with issues of human values rather than “value-free” examination of diversification and decision-making, then a logical comparative study is suggested by some of the striking apparent similarities between Japan's experience prior to 1945 and American actions in the postwar period, particularly in Indochina. Certainly the Vietnam War provides a basis for completely re-evaluating standard interpretations of the
China and Pacific wars, but the question can also be turned about to ask what insight the Japanese experience prior to 1945 provides concerning the nature of the postwar American state. Out of such a comparative study, which should of course be broadened beyond these specific periods and countries, it might indeed be possible to refine and develop theories of the modern state itself which would advance the goals of both scholarly understanding and humane concern.