It has been way too long since I have posted, I know. I’ve been teaching my own course for the first time – a course on “Japan under the Tokugawa Shoguns,” organized largely as I wished, with the topics being covered (and not covered), and in what way, and with which readings, being largely, almost entirely, up to me. Writing lectures and all of that has been terribly time-consuming. So, that’s where I’ve been. Maybe at some point I’ll do a write-up of thoughts on how the course went, why I organized it the way I did, etc.
In the meantime, we still have just a few more book reviews to get through before I start a whole new adventure in the Fall. So, here we are. I wrote briefly about Mark Ravina’s Land and Lordship many years ago. But, having re-read it formally for my comprehensive exams, and simply being a somewhat different person than I was eight years ago, here’s a new take:
Mark Ravina’s Land and Lordship introduces a number of important reconsiderations of the character of the daimyō domain, and of its rule. In conjunction with Luke Roberts’ Mercantilism in a Japanese Domain published the previous year, it invites us to think of the domains as relatively autonomous “states,” rather than as subdivisions within a more unitary and centrally ruled Tokugawa state, as had been the dominant interpretation, at least in English-language scholarship, up until that time. While both books are heavily concerned with the economics of the domain, however, Ravina’s focuses less on the imagination of the domain as an economic geographical or political unit, and more on the logics of rule and authority.
One important concept throughout the book is the idea that daimyō (and, indeed, many other levels of authority, from the shogun down to a daimyō’s own retainers) claimed authority and legitimacy in a variety of different ways, through differing and overlapping discourses. In Ravina’s overviews of the histories of the political economies of Hirosaki, Tokushima, and Yonezawa domains, the interactions between patrimonial, suzerain, and feudal forms of legitimacy or authority, sometimes complementary and sometimes conflicting, are evident. As he explains, drawing upon the work of Kasaya Kazuhiko, patrimonial authority refers to the relative inviolability of a household’s investiture (stipends, lands, and the like) and other aspects of that which a head of household inherits and passes on to his heirs; the retainer’s ie, or household, spanning generations, was seen to be separate from, and perhaps expansive beyond in some respects, the feudal or suzerain authority of the lord. This would seem to bear strong connections to the notions of “personal” or “private” household political spaces as discussed by Roberts in Performing the Great Peace. Feudal authority is that constituted by the rights and obligations a lord and vassal have toward one another as a result of their personal bond.
Finally, suzerain authority, Ravina explains, relates to the legitimating philosophies of the Sengoku daimyō, who claimed legitimacy in their authority over the land as a result of their pacifying the land (ando) and ruling virtuously, with mercy and compassion, through reference to Chinese classics which speak to the heavenly mandate and related concepts. One way in which these differing modes of authority interacted is seen in retainers sometime being able to resist daimyō policies by claiming that a given policy would damage or infringe upon their patrimony, and arguing furthermore that in doing so, the policy was not in line with the lord’s feudal obligations to treat his vassals “benevolently.” However, retainer resistance to daimyō policies aimed at the betterment of the entire domain could also be seen as a violation on the part of the retainer of his feudal obligations towards the lord, and towards the domain, or the “state” (kokka).
The conceptions or definitions of the “state” in early modern Japan, and of the term kokka as used at that time, are a second overarching concept which runs through the book. The quote with which Ravina opens the book, from an epistle by Uesugi Harunori, reveals a discourse, in Yonezawa at least (though it is easy to imagine that similar discourses circulated elsewhere, too), that distinguishes the “state” as an entity unto itself, which extends beyond the lord and his household. Separate from the wealth or well-being of the lord’s household, the state is according to Harunori something under the care of the lord, not to be “administered selfishly,” but rather something that has its own well-being to concern oneself with, and something which, being inherited from one’s forefathers and passed on to one’s heirs, should be cared for properly. As he writes, the state and the people do not exist for the sake of the lord, but rather the other way around. Ravina is careful to point out that any kind of seeds of nationalism in the sense of the modern nation-state that we might find here would be found here because we imagined them into the situation ourselves; but, nevertheless, in contrast to the traditional image of a unified Japan ruled autocratically by the shogun, with the daimyō powerfully subject to the shogunate’s dictates, we get a strong sense of some kind of conception of the “state” as a unit relatively autonomous from the shogunate’s control, and one which different daimyō might administer differently according to their personal philosophies or predilections. To say so merely scratches the surface of Ravina’s argument, however, which goes into greater depth as to conceiving of the “state” as linked to the daimyō’s household without being synonymous with it.
This is particularly interesting as it seems to counter, or at least complicate, the notion – fascinating for its radicalness – that emerges from Roberts’ Performing the Great Peace, that we might set aside entirely any notion of the “state” as an entity unto itself, and try to think of the daimyō domain as being totally synonymous with the household. As something that, yes, is patrimonial and so belongs to his ie, his lineage, his legacy, more than it does the daimyō personally, as an individual – something he must maintain and conserve, in order to honor both his ancestors and his descendants, and not simply something for him to do with as he will. But, as something which still is the private domain (私領) of that daimyō, protected from the prying eyes and invasive arms of the “public” (公) government, i.e. the shogunate, just as the private matters of any family/household affairs would be. One wonders whether Uesugi Harunori was alone in expressing such a notion, or whether such ideas were widespread. How did other daimyō feel about the domain as a “state,” not quite synonymous with the household, to which the daimyō owed devotion as well, overlappingly but not synonymously with his devotion to his patrimony (lineage, ie, household ‘name’ or reputation, etc.)?
Through translation and synthesis of the ideas of Mizubayashi Takeshi and Kasaya Kazuhiko, among others, and considered comparison to scholarship on, for example, the states-within-a-state of the Holy Roman Empire, Ravina also argues that we should not regard this Japanese case as being exceptionally unusual, or entirely distinctively non-Western. While noting important differences in the nuances between Japanese terminology & conceptions and those used to discuss the Prussian states, or the English counties, he suggests similarities, and argues that the shift in Japan from the Tokugawa era system of multiple overlapping forms of authority, and of states within states, to a unified, centralized, modern, nation-state, was brought on not so much by the introduction of Western culture so much as the onset of modernity, something which swept Europe and brought dramatic changes there as well.
Further, perhaps one of the most important of Ravina’s contributions in this book is an argument that the complexity and ambiguity resulting from these multiple overlapping forms of legitimacy or authority was an essential part of the political order of Tokugawa period Japan, not something to be clarified or simplified in our attempts to categorize or define the political structures and philosophies of the period. Neither the role of the daimyō, the character of the state, nor the logic of the relationship between lords and retainers, were simply one thing or another thing, with some other interpretation as a façade; they were all of these things at once. The daimyō domain was both a state unto itself, an inviolate part of the lord’s patrimony, and at the same time a fief granted to him by the shogun, in the name of the emperor. The domain was at the same time both synonymous with the lord’s household in certain respects, and quite distinct in other respects.
Ravina’s choice to focus on Hirosaki, Tokushima, and Yonezawa domains to help illustrate these points is an interesting one. These are all large domains, two of them officially of kunimochi status, all three located far from the Kinai or Kantō regions, and all of them (at least by the end of the Edo period) over 100,000 koku in status. Where previous work by the likes of Marius Jansen, Albert Craig, John W. Hall, James McClain and Robert Sakai focused on Tosa, Chōshū, Okayama, Kaga, and Satsuma domains respectively, some of the largest of the domains, and including those with particular influence in events of the Bakumatsu and Meiji periods, Land and Lordship is one of the first to discuss other domains, contributing to a somewhat fuller and more nuanced understanding of the diversity of the nature or character of domains within the Tokugawa era archipelago. And yet, while Hirosaki certainly stands out from the kunimochi domains in certain important ways, we still are not presented with an examination of the cases of smaller domains, and/or domains closer in to the Kinai or Kantō regions. Ravina’s arguments regarding daimyō autonomy and the conception of the “state” in kunimochi domains (and Hirosaki) are extremely valuable contributions to the field, building upon the work of those who have written about other kunimochi domains in the past, but we are still left with understandings that pertain only to a particular portion of the domains (albeit, the largest, most populous, and most wealthy/powerful ones).
All photos (except book cover) my own.