Chapter 2

During the 1850s and 60s, Japanese officials and thinkers in the bakufu and the domains gradually came to the realization that major change was necessary if Japan was to escape the fate of China. By 1860, China was well on its way to becoming a colony of the major European powers. It had lost major wars with Britain and France and was under the yoke of unequal treaties that gave Europeans and Americans vast political and economic rights in Asia's largest empire. Japanese officials had been watching the events in China with unease. Eventually, a combination of external pressure, initially from the United States, and internal dissent led to the fall of the Tokugawa bakufu in 1867. In 1868, a new government began to establish itself. A decade later, a strong, centralized government ruled Japan: the Meiji state. If you have no background in Japanese history, skim through this chapter on the Tokugawa period.

Many lengthy books have been written analyzing the fall of the Tokugawa bakufu. Our discussion of this complex matter, however, shall be extremely brief. Starting in the 1840s, natural disasters, famines, and epidemics swept through Japan with unusually high frequency and severity. Economic decline became pronounced in many regions, and inflation was a major problem in urban areas. The frequency of peasant uprisings increased dramatically, as did membership in unusual religious cults. Organized society did not collapse, but many Japanese became uneasy about the present and future. Spontaneous, mass religious pilgrimages to famous shrines and temples (okage-mairi) became a frequent occurrence, many of which involved tens of thousands of people. These mass pilgrimages contributed to the unease of government officials officials in the areas where they took place. It is not that they were specific uprisings against any of Japan's governments, but they demonstrated the potential power of emotionally-charged masses of ordinary people. Furthermore, these mass pilgrimages often had vague political overtones of a deity setting a world-gone-awry back in order. Popular art and other media became increasingly obsessed with death, murder, disaster, and calamities of all kinds, and this tendency became quite pronounced by the 1850s. Urban riots (uchikowashi), typically in protest of high prices, also broke out in the cities. The bottom line is that *large numbers of people were worse off* (*pdf version*) in the 1840s and 50s than they had been in previous generations, the Tokugawa system was old and inflexible, and there was a general anxiety and sense that the world would soon change in a big way.

Intellectually, nativism (kokugaku) had become firmly entrenched as a legitimate branch of scholarship. While it did not become more popular than Confucianism or Dutch studies, Confucian scholars and others began to accept certain of the core concepts nativism. In particular, the prestige of the emperor—yes, the long-forgotten, obscure emperor—began to rise as scholars explored, and in substantial part created, Japan's "ancient" past. By the 1840s, the theory that the emperor delegated his authority to the shōgun, who ruled on the emperor's behalf, had become widely accepted. In fact, no such thing had actually happened back in Tokugawa Ieyasu's time. Ieyasu and the early shōguns ruled because of raw power, of which they possessed the preponderance. By the 1840s, however, bakufu power had faded, as had that of most domains. The new perception of shōgun as emperor's delegate was a significant development. Why? Because, if the shōgun ruled as the emperor's appointee, it would then be conceivable that the emperor could fire the shōgun and his government were the bakufu to prove incompetent. What is important about this theory for our purposes was not that it was historically inaccurate but, from the 1840s onward, that increasing numbers of Japanese elites began to believe it. As dissatisfaction with the bakufu grew, calls for the emperor to chastise the shōgun began to be heard.

For reasons that need not concern us here, the patterns of foreign relations established by the early shōguns gradually became rigid bakufu traditions. Throughout the 1800s, ever larger numbers of American whaling and trading vessels, and sometimes shipwrecked sailors, began to appear in Japanese waters. Ships in distress sometimes made their way into Japanese ports. The Japanese response was typically to provide such vessels with a bare minimum assistance and send them on their way with a warning not to come back. Shipwrecked sailors were usually repatriated via Chinese or Dutch ships sailing out of Nagasaki, which took them to Guangzhou. As U.S. whaling and trade with China increased, the desire grew to establish formal diplomatic and commercial relations with Japan. After it became aware that Japan possessed coal in significant quantities, the U.S. congress authorized #Commodore Matthew Perry# to sail to Japan with a large naval fleet to establish formal relations.

Perry arrived in 1853, landed, stated his intentions, and then told bakufu officials that he would return the next year. After several months in China, Perry returned to Edo with an even larger fleet, the purpose of which was to intimidate the bakufu with a show of potential force. Perry's strategy worked, and the bakufu, with some reluctance, signed a diplomatic treaty with the United States. Later, commercial treaties in 1858 opened several major ports in Japan to European and American residence and commerce. While some Japanese welcomed this expansion of foreign relations, others interpreted it as a sign of bakufu weakness and incompetence. Diverse groups began to unite in their dislike of the bakufu, adopting the slogan "sonnō jōi," ("Revere the sovereign; expel the barbarians!") The "sovereign" in this case meant the emperor, and the "barbarians" were the American and European foreigners. Those who disliked the bakufu for whatever reason began to rally around this slogan, and dissident samurai began a campaign of terror by assassination.

By the early 1860s, a rough consensus had developed, shared even by many bakufu officials and allies, that major changes would be necessary were Japan to avoid China's fate at the hands of foreign imperialists. The shōgun sought to preserve a major role for the Tokugawa family in the new order, but bakufu opponents would settle for nothing less than his complete retirement from official life. Warfare on a relatively small scale broke out over this issue during the last months of 1867 and the first months of 1868. When the Tokugawa shōgun, Yoshinobu, realized that he lacked sufficient support to prevail, he surrendered peacefully to prevent large-scale loss of life. He received a generous financial settlement from the new government and *went into retirement.* The Tokugawa family still maintains a #cultural foundation# to preserve important historical documents and artifacts and to promote research.

Pause now to listen to a folk song from 1868 about the imperial army that brought down the bakufu. Click here for the MP3 file and here for the lyrics and translation.

The events that toppled the bakufu are known collectively as the Meiji Restoration because, in theory at least, the emperor had been "restored" to his rightful place as Japan's actual head of state (the last time a roughly similar "restoration" of the emperor had taken place was 1333). The name that the emperor's handlers selected for his reign was "Meiji," which means something like "enlightened rule." As time when on, the emperor became a tremendously potent symbol of Japan as a nation. So awesome and lofty had he grown by the late 1930s, that it became illegal for ordinary people even to look at him directly. Precisely because of their lofty statuses, however, Japan's modern emperors did not administer the country directly. Had they done so, they would have appeared too human and too fallible. When things went poorly, prime ministers and cabinet members could resign, and the emperor remained above the level of overt political struggle. When things went well, the emperor could and did share in the glory. For the most part, Japan's modern emperors have been relatively passive sovereigns, content to follow the lead of their advisors.

Consider the situation in early 1868. A relatively small number of medium to low ranking samurai, the leaders coming from only four different domains in the southern part of Japan, had deposed the bakufu and established a new government in the name of the *Emperor Meiji.* In the paragraphs that follow, I typically call this government the "Meiji state." The act of establishing this new imperial government is usually called the *"Meiji Restoration"* (Meiji ishin) because, in theory at least, the emperor was "restored" to his rightful place as political head of state.

This new government had many potential disadvantages. First, its leaders were young and lacking in prestige. Second, it had no money. Third, it had no army, the soldiers who had participated in the overthrow of the bakufu having been members of domain armies. On the other hand, however, there was a general consensus in Japan that change in the direction of a strong, centralized government was necessary to strengthen the country against imperialist aggression. Furthermore, the prestige of the emperor was high, and the young leaders of the restoration could use this prestige to their advantage, at least for a short while.

The first thing they did was to move the emperor from Kyōto to the shōgun's former capital, which they renamed Tōkyō (literally: "Eastern Capital"). This action served to signify the location of the new government's power (Tōkyō) and its basis, the emperor's authority. Next, the restoration leaders issued a proclamation in the emperor's name. Called the Charter Oath (Gokajō no seimon 五ヵ条の誓文), it was apparently intended to reassure the domain leaders and other potential rivals of the new government that all was in good hands. Its five articles read as follows:

This short document is a good example of Meiji-period political rhetoric. It is vague enough to allow most readers to see in it whatever they would like. It starts by reassuring everyone that government will be conducted reasonably, taking a wide variety of views into account (in fact, the Meiji state quickly moved to narrow the range of those who had a voice in policy making). It then urges everyone to pitch in and support the new government. The fourth item suggests that major changes might take place, but only by way of eliminating "evil" customs, and who could argue with that—or with the "just laws of Nature?" Finally, there is a recognition of the need to learn from the rest of the world, but with the proviso that such knowledge should ultimately serve to strengthen "imperial rule," that is, the power of the Meiji state.

Even with the benefit of imperial prestige, the new government was in a precarious position. It moved quickly to consolidate its power. To do so successfully, it needed three things: *money, power, and sex appeal.* Let us start with money. Between 1868 and 1871, the new government inherited many of the bakufu's assets and obligations. The bakufu, however, was essentially broke at the time of the restoration, so the Meiji government urgently needed additional revenue. The largest financial burden was the payment of samurai stipends throughout all of Japan, for which the Meiji government became responsible in 1871. Therefore, the government moved to reduce or eliminated samurai stipends as soon as possible. Late in 1873, it began to tax stipends and allowed samurai the option of converting their stipends to a one-time, lump-sum payment. Few samurai selected this option. In the summer of 1876, the Meiji government commuted all samurai stipends to intermediate-term government bonds. It distributed ¥174 million in bonds to roughly 313,000 individuals, which reduced government expenditures by 30%. By commuting the stipends to bonds, the new government also hoped that the samurai would have a stake in its survival. This move, combined with a phase out of samurai privileges and obligations essentially put an end to the samurai class by 1876, although the end was in sight as early as 1873. Many samurai did not do well on their own. For example, some sold their bonds at a discount to brokers and then invested their cash unwisely. During the 1870s discontent among the samurai or former samurai was a major source of civil discontent, which sometimes erupted in local rebellions against the Meiji government.

Power, in the case of the newly-created Meiji government, meant coercive police and military power. Indeed, coercive force is the very basis of any state or government (think about this point for a moment), although the vast majority of governments go to great lengths to clothe such power in pleasant-looking attire. First, to buy time and forestall opposition, the new government appointed a wide variety of people to committees and advisory bodies that had impressive sounding names but little or no real power. Issuing the Charter Oath was part of this process.

In terms of more substantive change, the government sought to eliminate the domains and build up its military power. Although these two moves were really two sides of the same coin, we examine them separately here. Eliminating the domains was a tricky process. Typically, each daimyō was willing to "give his domain back" to the emperor if he were well compensated and if the other major daimyō agreed to do the same. Securing such agreement required busy shuttle diplomacy. In the early spring of 1869, the four domains that led the Meiji Restoration—Satsuma, Chōshū (the two most powerful), Tosa, and Hizen—issued a joint memorial "returning" their domains to the emperor and urging the other daimyō to do the same. Some did and were immediately re-appointed as governors of the same territory over which they had been daimyō. In substance, therefore, little had changed. In July of 1869, the new government ordered all daimyō who had not already done so to "return" their lands to the emperor. They, too, were appointed governors. The next year, the central government began to issue orders to these daimyō-turned-governors. Late in 1871, with the domains now theoretically at the emperor's disposal, the Meiji government formally abolished them. In their stead it created prefectures (ken). Then, in 1872, it reduced the number of prefectures to 72, with later reductions bringing the number down to 43. By this time, most of the former daimyō no longer served as governors, although all of them were well compensated financially. The Meiji state was generous with the former daimyō because it did not want any of them to become rallying points for opposition. (#photos and biographies of former daimyō and various other lordly figures#)

In order to make these major changes, of course, the new state required coercive power in the form of police and soldiers, at least as a background presence. In 1869 and into 1870, the new government relied on soldiers on "loan" from the domain of Satsuma. During these years, debate took place within the government about how best to build an effective army. Some saw the samurai class as an ideal pool of soldiers, but most Meiji leaders argued that the samurai had long ago lost any special military skill they might have once had, and that samurai of different domains would not get along with each other. The majority of Meiji officials favored a conscript army both in the interests of creating the most effective army possible and in the interests of promoting national unity. In 1872, the new government announced a plan for military conscription, and it went into effect the next year. Awkwardly called a #"blood tax"# (ketsuzei 血税) in the in the imperial decree announcing conscription, there was significant initial resistance to it among the common people. Nevertheless, the system worked, and by the late 1870s, the Meiji state had an effective army unconnected with the old domains or samurai class. Conscription continued until 1945, and it became an important means by which the state fostered a sense of "we Japanese" among ordinary people (more on this point later).

The third item, sex appeal, is a metaphor for the state's need for appealing, even seductive, symbols of authority and the nation. Ideal for this role was the *Meiji emperor* (*pdf version*). His youth, good looks, and vigor (he had a vast appetite for food, drink, horseback riding, and sex) made him the perfect symbol of a new Japan, a nation both ancient yet modern. And if the phrase "both ancient and modern" caught your attention here, very good. As we shall see in parts of other sections and chapters, the Meiji state portrayed itself to the rest of Japan and to the world as being rooted in ancient Japanese cultural traditions, while at the same time leading Japan into the modern world. Many contemporary observers outside of Japan are still obsessed with this formula, as we have seen. There is nothing paradoxical here. Indeed, we shall see that one of the hallmarks of modern nations is laying claim to (and typically creating) ancient roots. Whenever you read criticism of Japan's imperial institution as being somehow "outdated" or "feudal," take it with a grain of salt. Though it may indeed be worthy of criticism, the imperial throne became a modern institution par excellence. There was nothing outdated about it.

Although the Meiji emperor was not a puppet, he had little interest in the tedious details of statecraft and government administration and was happy for others to take care of such matters. He trusted the leaders of the Meiji Restoration and typically went along with whatever policies they worked out. For their part, the Meiji leaders positioned themselves to speak in the emperor's name. They repeatedly portrayed the emperor as personifying and standing for "Japan" as a nation—still a terribly abstract entity, at a time when relatively few "Japanese" were accustomed to thinking of themselves as "Japanese." Leading government officials, therefore, when representing the emperor's views (accurately or otherwise), positioned themselves on the side of the nation itself. This rhetorical and symbolic use of the emperor as a political weapon was often highly effective. It was relatively easy for the state to cast anyone who fundamentally opposed the new Meiji state, or subsequent Japanese governments, in the role of an enemy of the emperor and nation.

And there was opposition. The 1870s were a time of numerous protests and uprisings of various sizes and scales. Ordinary people suffered under heavy tax burdens, conscription, and various intrusions of the state into realms of personal life such as dress and bathing customs (see Chapter Four). Many of the former samurai felt betrayed by the new government, and some were willing to rebel. The greatest threat to the new government took place in 1877, when *Saigō Takamori*, hero of the Meiji Restoration and former high government official (resigned 1873), led a revolt against the Meiji state. *Saigō* had become disgusted with the direction of the new state, especially with what he considered its disregard for moral principles. Although he did not initiate the revolt, Saigō agreed to lead it once it began in his home province of Satsuma. Saigō set out with an army of some 15,000 former samurai, and news of the revolt energized the countryside. Inadequate preparation, however, and a terrible strategic blunder allowed the government to assemble sufficient forces to defeat Saigō's army after seven months of hard fighting. Saigō died during the final battle, and the precise details of his death are unclear. Later generations have idealized Saigō's death, imagining it to have conformed to the idealized and romanticized samurai tradition. The 1877 rebellion was the greatest threat to the new government but it also marked then end of large-scale, internal, military opposition. It was the last gasp of the old order, led, ironically, by someone who had sacrificed greatly to destroy that old order. By 1878, a decade after it had started, the new Meiji state had become firmly established.

Pause now to listen to a folk song called "Tabaruzaka," the place in Kumamoto where government forces fought the insurgents to a standstill and then defeated them. Click here for the MP3 file and here for the lyrics and translation.

(For a vivid, readable, academically rigorous biography of Saigō Takamori, see Mark Ravina, The Last Samurai: The Life and Battles of Saigō Takamori. The film The Last Samurai is awful as history, though it is well made by the standards of cinematography. Moreover it is excellent propaganda. The film had a major and unfortunate impact in Japan: many there now think of the samurai "tradition" in terms of the film's portrayal.)

NOTE: Most readers will find the material in this section to be the most difficult of the entire course. Be mentally prepared, and realize that several readings might be necessary for full comprehension.

After Italy's unification in 1860, Italian leader Massimo d'Azeglio made his famous remark that "We have made Italy, we now have to make Italians." What exactly did he mean by this statement? Precisely the same thing could have been said in Japan seven or eight years later: "We have made Japan, we now have to make Japanese." And this making of Japanese was no luxury to be accomplished at leisure. It was an urgent priority of the new Meiji state.

In addition the concrete elements of state building such as taxation, building an army, and putting down rebellions, the Meiji government also engaged in the related but different task nation building. In other words, it not only had to make Japan, it also had to make Japanese. Despite the frequent misuse of the term, particularly in the United States, it is important to bear in mind that "countries" or "states" are not the same thing as "nations." This section begins our explanation of the difficult but terribly important topic of nations and national thinking. One reason the topic is so difficult is that few people ever stop to think about or analyze this matter. We assume it is obvious what nations are and explore the matter no further. In fact, however, few contemporary Americans are familiar with what constitutes modern nations. Indeed, even academic specialists have their disagreements, but most would agree with the fundamental points described in this section. Here we mainly examine nations generally, drawing on examples from various places in the world. In subsequent sections and chapters we examine specific aspects of Japan's national construction and identity. Indeed, this entire book is based on a study of modern Japan through the lens of national creation, hence the title, Making Japanese.

In the daily discourse that surrounds us, we are *bombarded with vague, partially-overlapping terms such as "nation," "country," "ethnic group," "nation-state," and more*. Were we ever to try and sort these terms out, providing each with a rigorous definition, the task might seem overwhelming. It may not be fun, but such sorting is possible in most cases.¹ Once we have sorted out, defined, and contrasted some of these terms, be sure to use them carefully and rigorously in the rest of the course.

Let us start with an easy term: country. For the most part, "country" is another way of saying "state," although stateless countries are possible. For this discussion, let us regard the two terms as interchangeable, except, of course, when talking of the "states" in the contexts of the structure of the United States of America and other countries with federal systems of government. Even here, the term "state" as a name for the country's political sub-units, not "province," "prefecture," "district," or some other term, is significant. The individual states that comprise the United States of America are sovereign entities, at least in theory. The government of the United States, for example, may not legally abolish a state. Japan's central government, by contrast, could, at least in theory, abolish any of the country's prefectures. So too, could any state in the United States theoretically abolish a city, county, or township by revoking its charter. Prefectures, cities, townships, et cetera, though they have governments, are not sovereign entities. States and countries are.

So, what are some broad features of countries in general? First, a country is a geographically bounded entity. Even if its borders may be in dispute with a neighboring country, that it has borders is not in question, simply their precise location. Countries have specific spatial dimensions and locations, though this fact alone is not sufficient to distinguish countries from other forms of social groupings. Next, countries claim sovereignty² within their borders--even though the term "sovereignty" is notoriously #difficult to define with precision.# When I enter France, for example, I become subject to the laws of France because it is a sovereign country. Furthermore, these claims of sovereignty are generally recognized by at least some other countries (which is what it means for one country—not nation—officially to "recognize" another). In other words, simply declaring my house and yard a sovereign country will not make it one. To make the claim stick, one needs sufficient force to fight off rival claims.

The matter of force brings us to the real heart of the definition of a country. A country or state is, at its core, an organization for enforcing order. States usually do other things, often many other things, but coercive force lies at its core regardless of the specific form of government. This force is required to defend claims of sovereignty from outside entities and to exercise sovereignty within the country's borders. States generally come into existence whenever societies become sufficiently complex that specialized order-enforcing entities such as police, courts, military, and so forth come into existence. In the words of Ernest Gellner: "The ‘state' is that institution or set of institutions specifically concerned with the enforcement of order (whatever else they may be concerned with). The state exists where specialized order-enforcing agencies such as police forces and courts, have separated out from the rest of social life. They are the state."³ In short, a "state" without force is no state at all.

Although this definition of a state is unproblematic for most scholars who study social and political organization, experience has shown that it can be shocking to students at first glance. There are some people, in other words, who cannot emotionally accept the idea of the *state as enforcer of order*, whatever else it may do. One reason for this emotional resistance is that many modern states, including the United States of America, have done a good job of covering over the coercive force upon which they are based. The U.S. president, for example typically talks about all the good things the state does or can/should do. He rarely dwells on the means for getting these things done, for example the forced extraction of wealth from individuals by the state. Please! Let us call taxes something like "paying your fair share," not "the forced extraction of wealth from individuals by the state." But however much you may adore them, taxes are not optional in the eyes of the law and its enforcers. And a democratic form of government does not change the fact that it is the state which has the power and authority to enforce decisions arrived at by a democratic process. If the state of Pennsylvania enacts a 10% additional sales tax on books through due process of law, for example, and you own a book store or buy books in Pennsylvania, you will pay—whether you think it is your "fair share" or not. And taxes are only one dimension of state's primary function of order enforcement. Incidentally, the state-as-enforcer mode operates independently of labels like "liberal," "conservative," "right," "left, "democratic," "totalitarian," and so forth. Both a right-wing dictatorship and a socialist democracy, for example, rely on the coercive power of the state to maintain order. To the extent that this point is emotionally difficult to accept, we can say that the state has done a good job indeed of putting a smiling face forward and keeping the guns out of sight!

(Incidentally, neither the point about keeping the guns out of sight nor anything else in the above paragraphs should be construed as a bias toward anarchy. On the contrary, anarchy is, in my view, the worst possible situation for human existence. The recent war in Iraq serves as a vivid and tragic reminder of what happens when state power suddenly disappears and is not immediately replaced. In this context, for example, Larry Diamond makes the following, rather obvious point:

I also agree with those who argue that the rise of stateless terrorist networks around the start of the the twenty-first century was facilitated by the unfortunate trend in the 1990s of weakening state sovereignty. For one analysis of this matter--which, alas, does not always do a good job of distinguishing between states and nations--see: #"Cross-border terrorism: a mess made by the West."# Order-enforcing force wielded by states is necessary. Instead of pretending that this coercive force does not exist or is not needed, it should be an explicit part of political discourse and debate. Only then is it likely to be managed reasonably and contribute consistently to the common good.)

So countries or states are sovereign entities with clear physical boundaries and order-keeping institutions backed by coercive force. As such, they are relatively concrete entities that can be explained and described in specific terms. They are not products of the imagination but real things in the strictest sense of the word. And countries have been in existence for a long time, dating back to ancient antiquity. Notice that the previous section of this chapter is about the creation of Japan as a modern state. Although its institutions constantly evolved as time went on, establishing the Meiji state was a relatively simple and fast process. Establishing the Japanese nation, however, required much more time, and never had a clearly-defined starting or ending point. To this day, it remains an ongoing process. So, what is a nation anyway?

   S T A T E S << >> N A T I O N S
Concrete << >> Abstract
   Ancient Vintage << >> Relatively Recent
Based on Power << >> Based on Belief
        Usually Sovereign << >> Imagined as Sovereign
           Legal Entity << >> Cultural Imaginary

Although nations overlap with states in certain respects, *they are quite different*. First, nations are abstract and intangible, the product of our imaginations. Nations are imagined communities. Second, unlike countries, nations are relatively recent developments in human history. Precisely how recent is debatable, but using a reasonably stringent definition, nations began to develop in Europe during the eighteenth century and spread throughout the world during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Today, nations are so much a part of our world that we tend to assume they have existed since the time of the earliest human societies. However, though hard to imagine from today's perspective, there have been other ways of organizing human societies besides nations. Third, nations are imaged to be cultural entities. In other words, culture counts for much in defining a nation, but it is less essential in defining a state. Certainly we know that culturally-derived ideologies inform the government of many states, but states normally claim geographical, not cultural, distinctiveness from other states in defining themselves. Nations, on the other hand, typically lay claim to cultural distinctiveness. When a Japanese, for example, confidently proclaims that "we Japanese" are the only people in the world who enjoy the taste of nattō 納豆 (#fermented soybeans#), s/he is speaking not as a citizen of a state but as a member of an imagined national community. That his claim is inaccurate (e.g., a significant number of Japanese dislike nattō, and fermented soybeans are a common food in parts of China) is hardly the point here. What is important is that s/he believes that all Japanese share certain cultural traits, one happening to be a love of nattō. It cannot be stressed enough that belief, not objective fact, is the key to national creation and membership.

But we still have yet to define a nation in concise terms. Here is my attempt at a composite definition that draws together insights from several theorists:

Let us unpack this dense definition point by point. First, to say that nations are imagined communities is important but hardly sufficient.⁴ One reason is that all human communities larger than villages are imaginary insofar as each member of the community will never become personally acquainted with all the other members. So he or she must imagine their existence, a task made easy in the present era of mass media. So nations are one way of imagining human communities. Let us make an important point clear now: to say that *nations are imagined* is in no way to say that they do not exist or that they are not important. On the contrary, nations and the ways of thinking associated with them are inextricably connected with a wide range of political activity, both within states and between them. Nations, in short, are powerful, and we shall explore their power further below.

Next is belief in a common ancestry. We members of our nation, the thinking goes, all came from the same ancestor, with "ancestor" regarded literally as a particular person in some cases, or, more commonly, as a small group of people. It is often relatively easy to demonstrate that such beliefs are incorrect, but such "objective" facts are largely beside the point. It is belief in a common ancestry that lies at the core of modern national imagining. How, you might now be wondering at this point, do nations differ from ethnic groups? In other words is not (alleged) common ancestry also a core component in the definition of an ethnic group? Yes. Therefore, nations and ethnic groups overlap to some degree. But there is a major difference: ethnic groups are defined by others; nations are defined by their own members. In other words, if the members of this class all believed that were are of common ancestry, we would be a nation whether anyone else agreed or not. To be an ethnic group, at least some outsiders, and typically many, would have to agree that the group does in fact all share a common ancestry. So in the case of ethnic group definition, the "objective facts" are more important. In the case of nations, belief on the part of its members is the key⁵

The importance of belief leads to another key point about nations not explicitly mentioned in my definition. Nations bear a certain resemblance to religious groups. According an international relations dictionary, for example, nations are: "a social group which shares a common ideology, common institutions and customs, and a sense of homogeneity. ‘Nation' is difficult to define so precisely as to differentiate the term from such other groups as religious sects, which exhibit some of the same characteristics. In the nation, however, there is also present a strong group sense of belonging associated with a particular territory considered to be peculiarly its own." Nations provide a sense of permanence that was once exclusively provided by religion. Faith in the nation, so to speak, has become a *new, modern religion*. We shall return to this point soon.

The final element in my definition is the important derivative belief that common ancestry leads to common culture. If we take culture to be the complex web of learned ideas, behaviors and orientations we acquire from the socialization process, and the products of these ideas, behaviors, and orientations, then common ancestry would seem an odd thing to posit as the source of culture. During the nineteenth century, however, what some scholars call the "germ theory of culture" came into prominence. In this view--now thoroughly discredited among biologists but still widely believed--culture derived from biology. Culture was "in the genes," to use twentieth-century terminology. In this way of thinking, the culture (or alleged culture) of one's ancestors (or alleged ancestors) became part of the biological inheritance of the present generation. Those with a common ancestry, in other words, must necessarily share common cultural traits. This view was closely connected with notions of "race" and forms the core of what many now call "scientific racism." The "scientific" part of the term points to the fact that until recent decades, many scientists regarded human "races" as actual, definable biological entities (#very few geneticists hold this view now#). Furthermore, in the nineteenth century, science often functioned to "explain" cultural traits as having biological roots. Although scientific racism and the germ theory of culture no longer have the support of the mainstream scientific community, many contemporary people still look at these matters through the lens of nineteenth-century ideas. What about you? Do you think that cultural traits such as language, food preferences, modes of dress, ways of thinking, et cetera, can be passed on in the genes? Think this matter through (for assistance: #Relatively brief food for thought# & #Extensive food for thought#).

Owing in part to the germ theory of culture, and for other reasons, the modern idea of nation typically includes a shared belief in a common cultural essence. Much like the fundamental assumptions of religion, the existence of this (alleged) common cultural essence is taken as an article of faith. Nobody can actually see or touch it, but we all "know" it is there. Benedict Anderson provides a superb example of this quasi-religious dimension of national belief in what is perhaps the quintessential symbol of nationhood: "No more arresting emblems of the modern culture of nationalism exist," he says, "than cenotaphs and tombs of Unknown Soldiers." He explains why:

Notice the point Anderson makes about the emptiness of the tombs. This emptiness corresponds with the emptiness of the nation itself. In other words, the alleged cultural commonality shared by the nation's members cannot be pinned down. There is, in fact, nothing that all the members of a nation have in common culturally except the belief that they must have something in common. When theorists try to explain exactly what it is that the members of a particular nation have in common, they inevitably fail. But in their failure, they succeed in re-enforcing the belief that there must indeed be something, vague though it may be, at the core of the nation. To identify it, we must simply work harder and examine the situation more deeply.

The nation is empty at its core, but not unreal. Its reality derives from the nation as a living belief in the minds of its members. This belief is *constantly reaffirmed by talking about (or writing about) the nation*. Were we to stop talking about nations, they would cease to exist—but don't worry! Despite the predictions of some theorists, there is no danger that national talk will end any time soon. That there is no clearly-definable cultural essence at the center of nations virtually ensures a continuous stream of talking about it, as various pundits put forth theories about the precise essence of being French, Japanese, Korean, or whatever. This constant stream of talk (and writing), in turn, reinforces the general belief that there must indeed be something uniquely distinctive about "we" French, Japanese, Koreans, or whoever.

Again, do not think that because nations are based on "mere" verbiage, that they lack power. Words and the notions connected with them can be terribly powerful, and national words are among the most potent yet devised. Consider, for example, the trauma connected with the former Yugoslavia, a country that broke up violently into its constituent nations during the 1990s. People routinely make great sacrifice on behalf of their nations. In time of war, especially, the idea of nation has been a tremendous motivating force. Nationalists, of course, would never agree that the nation (or at least not their nation) is a word-built entity wrapped around an essentially empty core, in short, a social imaginary. Instead, they would say that the nation is the natural derivative of the common culture shared by a specific people. Nationalist literature, therefore, typically concerns itself with discovering or explaining the alleged cultural core shared by all the members of the nation. In Japan, this type of literature even has a well-known name, Nihonjinron, which might be translated as something like "theories of Japaneseness." Many large book stores in Japan have an entire section labeled Nihonjinron. #Article about Nihonjinron#. #More difficult article about Nihonjinron that also incorporates many of the points in this chapter and the previous one#.

There is more to be done in refining our understanding of the term nation, but at this point, let us turn to consider the term "nationalism." Nationalism has two basic meanings. First, it is a political principal that all nations are entitled to their own states. In other words, each nation should, ideally, be embodied by a state whose borders are perfectly congruent with the nation. Of course, some members of the national group will inevitably reside in areas physically separated from the majority of the rest of the national group. In other words, the ideal state of perfect congruence between states and nations will never be attained. Even more important as a reason is that there are more potential nations in existence than there are viable states to embody them. If all the small nations of the world formed their own states, those states would simply be too small to be viable as independent economic and political units in many cases. Still, the idea of "self determination of nations" (once loudly proclaimed, but not followed, by Woodrow Wilson of the United States) is a powerful force in today's world. We imagine nations as sovereign units, and thus feel that they are entitled to their own sovereign states. But the practical fact that there are more nations than there are viable states means that some nations will have to exist within the political boundaries of "alien" or semi-alien states, that is, states which also include other national groups. Belgium is a good example of a state consisting of two nations: the Flemish and Walloons. Can you think of other such states?

The second meaning of the term nationalism is simply #loyalty to one's nation# *<read first two paragraphs>*. This loyalty might coincide with loyalty to one's state, but it need not necessarily do so, and often does not. It is for this reason that politicians sometimes refer to nationalism as a dangerous or destabilizing force in the world. The former Yugoslavia is a good example of nationalism destroying a state. The state of Yugoslavia collapsed under the pressure of national strife because loyalties to the nation (here the same as ethnic group) were stronger than loyalties to the multi-national state. Indeed, the state of Yugoslavia was a twentieth-century creation, forged and held together by military force.

The term "nation-state" indicates a place in which the national and state boundaries coincide 100% or very nearly so. How many of the world's countries are nation states? The precise number depends on how strict one is with definitions, but most estimates would place it at under 10% of the total. In other words, in over 90% of the world's countries, there is at least one significant minority nation within that country's borders. In some cases there are two nations of roughly equal size, sometimes there are more than two nations of roughly equal size, and sometimes the nations within a country are unequal in terms of size or power. The large number of multi-nation states combined with the power of national thinking produces an atmosphere conducive to violence. The violence often takes place when one nation tries to create its own state or where one nation or a state tries to eliminate or suppress a minority nation (for example, the Kurds in Iraq, Iran, and Turkey, as a group on both the giving and receiving end of national violence). We live in a world of nations and states, but their boundaries do not usually match, and this situation helps to produce tension and violence.

There are three additional areas that we need to investigate with respect to nations: 1) how national thinking tends to hide vertical social hierarchies; 2) possible relationships between nations and states; and 3) national thinking and historical imagination. National thinking emphasizes commonalities. We are all members of the national family, the thinking goes, all descendants of the same ancestors sharing a common culture. In this way, national thinking de-emphasizes or masks the many divisions that typically exist in societies. Such divisions may be based on formal social classes, economic circumstances, religion, gender, "race," and/or other factors. It is generally to the state's advantage to foster nationalism, provided that the most powerful group(s) or nation(s) within the state's boundaries identify with the state. For example, national sentiment, with its stress on horizontal ties within the national group, tends to moderate demands for social or economic equality.

National sentiment can certainly help strengthen the power of states, the classic example being *wartime appeals for national unity*. On the other hand, nationalism can also disrupt and undermine states. For example, one national group might seek to break away from the state as in Chechniya's recent attempts to break away from Russia (not to mention the breakup of the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia). Another possibility is that the majority of the residents of a state might perceive those who govern the state as members of an alien nation. Though less common today, the classic polyglot empires of Europe such as the Austrio-Hungarian empire were weakened by such tensions. In China around the turn of the twentieth century, as more Chinese began to think of themselves as Chinese, the ruling Manchus of the Qing dynasty came under intense criticism as being "foreigners." There are other possibilities. For example, in the last decade the United States has seen an increase in the number of groups who, in the name of patriotism, oppose the government of the United States. The government's position, of course, is to portray such groups as being opposed to "the people" of the United States, while the members of the groups typically portray themselves as representing "real" or "true" Americans alienated by the U.S. government. In other words, most such anti-government groups are nationalistic, even though not all such groups would agree on exactly what the "American" nation is. Can you say what it is?

Like many conceptions of supreme deities, nations are often imagined to stand outside of time. In other words, they are immortal, having always existed as long as there have been Germans, French, Japanese, and so forth. (Of course, there is the contradiction that it is only with the rise of nationalist thinking that we typically assume that "Germans," "Japanese," "French," et cetera have always been clearly identifiable groups.) For nationalists, no matter how far back one looks, there will be evidence of the nation's existence. In this view, the people living in the ancient Japanese islands during the stone age, were, of course, "Japanese"—at least according to nationalist thinking. It is ironic that nations are creations of modern minds, and yet their *alleged existence since hoary antiquity* is one of their major characteristics. In fact, few of the people living in the Japanese islands a few centuries ago, not to mention in ancient times, would have considered themselves "Japanese." None of the inhabitants of the land now comprised by Germany would have considered themselves "German" until comparatively recent times. But today it is hard for us to imagine these people as anything but Japanese or German. Once imagined, the nation is typically regarded as timeless. It may indeed evolve or develop, but it has always been there and the (alleged) cultural essence at its core will live on eternally—or at least as long as the nation's people continue to exist. Despite this ahistorical quality of national thinking, the ancient past is terribly important for nationalists. In it, they are able to find the alleged roots of the present nation. This process of "discovering" the roots of the present in the past, especially the ancient past, is typically a creative process, much like one would write a novel or paint a painting. In other words, nationalists create new pasts to suit their needs in the present. Keep this point in mind when we examine the creation of Shinto in modern Japan, as well as for other topics.

Let us now take up a concrete example of this phenomenon from Germany, starting with this slide show, *The Nation in German Architecture:*

Study the picture of the tomb of Theodoric, and take note of when he was alive. In his time, he would have had no idea what it meant to be "German." But as an ancient king of a people modern German nationalists claimed as the ancestors of "the Germans," Theodoric took on profound importance in the early twentieth century as a symbol of the German people as a nation. In the late nineteenth century, Theodoric's tomb, long neglected and falling apart, was carefully renovated. Monuments to Bismarck began to appear that looked much like Theodoric's tomb. These monuments typically adorned the borders of the German empire, emphasizing the spatial dimension of the nation's "homeland." Other public monuments and buildings were constructed in the manner of Theodoric's tomb, an example of which is shown in the slide show. The intent was to link Germany's current (early 20th century) power and prosperity with its alleged ancient national roots. Just like the tombs of unknown soldiers today, notice that Theodoric's tomb became a shrine to the idea of the nation. Also notice that it does not really matter who, if anyone, actually lies within or under Theodoric's tomb—we know (i.e., believe) he was German.⁷

Let us consider yet another example of national imagining, this one from France. During a recent stay in Paris, I walked through some of the famous cemeteries. My interest was in those grave stones that attributed a specific purpose to or significance of the life/lives of the deceased. The vast majority of inscribed grave markers make no mention of such things, though they often list various honors of the deceased (awards, important positions in government, et cetera). In those cases, however, when a specific meaning was ascribed to the dead person's life, there is an interesting pattern that reflects the emergence of the idea of nations into the general consciousness of ordinary people. Specifically, prior to the middle or late nineteenth century, nobody died for France. In other words, "France" was not an abstraction of sufficient importance for which to sacrifice and die. People did die for abstractions prior to the middle or late nineteenth century, but "France" was not one of them. Instead, people died for liberty, honor, justice, and, of course, various moral and religious entities, causes, or qualities. Even if the death took place in battle, it was a death for "honor" or some religious purpose, not for "France." Study this slide show, *Dying for France:*

But by approximately the turn of the twentieth century, it had become common to die (and thus to live) for "France." Of course, the obvious reason for so many such deaths for France was the First World War. But it is significant that during this war was it typically "for France" that the soldiers died (this idea first emerged during the Franco-Prussian war of 1870–71). Early twentieth-century "France," in other words, had become a nation, and, as such, it had taken on quasi-religious qualities. Especially interesting is one case in which a husband and wife both explicitly died "for France," one in 1975 and the other in 1990, both after having lived long lives. In other words, these were almost certainly not wartime deaths. And if they died for France, then they must also have lived for France. In this grave stone we see the ultimate logic of nationalism and one reason some writers call it "the modern religion."

One reason that this material on nations and nationalism is so difficult to understand for many contemporary students is that because we live in a world of nations, the idea seems so natural and obvious that it is hard to step back and analyze it with any sense of an objective vision. Another reason for the difficulty of this material for students from the United States is that the United States is an anomaly in the world of nations. It has some pseudo-national qualities, but it is essentially a multi-nation state, not a nation-state. Indeed, European anti-American rhetoric has sometimes seized precisely this point as a way of criticizing the United States. James W. Ceaser, for example, points out that:

Pursuing a similar nationalistic logic, some Europeans argued that the very foundation of the United States is flawed because of its universalistic presumptions:

Being a multi-nation state, the United States is is typical of most other states in the world. Most U.S. citizens, however, routinely refer to the United States as a nation, and--in the rare event that they might be pressed to think about the matter--typically assume that it is a nation-state. Americans like to believe that "we" are "a nation of immigrants," cast into a great, egalitarian "melting pot." Without the belief in a common ancestry, however, an essential element in national imagining is missing. In fact, social and political life in the United States was long dominated by one social group (the so-called "WASP"s), which tended to imagine its ancestral origins in certain parts of the British Isles, or, more broadly, Western Europe. As Walker Connor points out:

Waving the flag and appealing to pride in being American can, under certain circumstances, bring forth a warm, fuzzy feeling in some residents of the United States. Of course, after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, the tendency to imagine the United States as a nation and to display its national symbols has markedly increased. Even factoring in the post 9-11 boost in quasi-national sentiment, however, at the level of daily life the intensity of the feeling of being "American" is not usually as strong or poignant as national sentiment in its complete form. Incidentally, today the separate nations, or potential nations, that exist within the borders of the United States are gradually becoming more apparent and are beginning to demand sovereignty, even though the September 11 terrorist attacks may have pushed this tendency back temporarily. Whether and how the state will adapt to this increase in national sentiment from diverse groups remains to be seen.

(For a useful look at contested issues of national sovereignty in the United States, as well as how such issues commonly intersect with the politics of physical appearance ["race"], money, and different visions of history, see: http://www.nytimes.com/2001/01/29/national/29SEMI.html. The link might not take you straight to the article if you are not registered with the NY Times Online, but registering is free, takes only a few seconds, and does not require any divulging of important personal information.)

We have already mentioned that another characteristic of modern thinking about nations is that it often merged with certain notions of "race." In some cases, in other words, the nation became synonymous with the race:

Especially in the case of humans, "Race" has always been a terribly difficult thing *to define*. This difficulty is even more apparent today, since relatively *few geneticists recognize the existence* of human races based on strict biological criteria (#scientific article on this matter#). But despite the vagueness of the term, most people still assume that human races are real things, which mean something important. Here is how one thoughtful writer expressed the situation circa fall, 2004:

Since the early emergence of the idea of nations, there have been close historical and mental ties between national imagining and racial imagining. This nation-race connection is another reason for the difficulty many citizens of the United States typically experience in defining an American nation when "nation" is used as a technical term following the definition worked out in the preceding paragraphs of this section, not simply as a synonym for "country." (#Wikipidia's sophisticated article attempting to define the various meanings of "race"#)

Nations and the psychological associations tied to them are powerful motivators. In connection his point that we imagine nations as communities, as "deep, horizontal comradeship[s]," Anderson links the sense of "we ______" with this power to motivate behavior. "Ultimately," he says, "it is this fraternity that makes it possible, over the past two centuries, for so many millions of people, not so much to kill, as willingly to die for such limited imaginings"¹⁰ Nations, in other words, are powerful. They motivate or enable us to do things we might not otherwise even contemplate. One of many possible examples is the group suicides by Japanese civilians during the battles of the Pacific War. In part these suicides were motivated by fear of bad treatment at the hands of oncoming enemy soldiers, but the strong sense of fraternity in Anderson's sense of the term also informed these acts (as well as coercive group psychology). For example, a boy on the island of Tokashiki during the Battle of Okinawa in 1945, six years old at that time, later recalled how people around him began to kill each other as American soldiers drew near. "We determined," he said, "we would choose a way of dying appropriate for subjects of the Emperor." The emperor was Japan's most important national symbol at that time, and was regarded as a *living embodiment of the nation itself (i.e., the kokutai--a term we shall examine later).* As a result:

Not only did national imaginings play a major role in here and elsewhere in these kinds of gruesome deaths, but in this case, the national identity of the civilian victims was not entirely clear.

Okinawans and other Ryukyu islanders resided in land that had been a separate kingdom until 1879, when Japan annexed the territory by force. In the 1940s, few mainland Japanese considered Ryukyu islanders to be authentic or true Japanese. For their part, most of the islanders saw no other strategy than to redouble their efforts at being Japanese—for no other national identity seemed a practical alternative. There is a grotesque irony to the stories of Okinawan civilian "suicides," such as that quoted above. Many such deaths were in part the result of what we might call hyper-nationalism, an intense striving to be Japanese at all costs, despite, and because of, (mainland) Japanese tendencies to view Ryukyuans as less than full members of the national family. Today, many residents of the Ryukyu islands affirm some sense of Ryukyuan identity, sometimes to the point where this identity conflicts or competes with a sense of Japanese identity. *Conflicting and competing national identities* are common in many areas of the world.

In addition to its tremendous power to shape the behavior of individuals, that nations are imagined as fraternal communities has the following additional consequences:

Skillfully employed by those who govern a country, the idea of a national community can engender hard work and sacrifice, even the ultimate kinds of sacrifice, among the population.

When the boundaries of a single nation and a single state are congruent or nearly congruent, the result is a nation-state. (In journalistic writing, authors sometimes use the term nation-state more loosely, in the meaning of a state in which one nation predominates.) During the twentieth century, the nation-state became the gold standard of human social and political organization (what sociologist Michael Mann usefully calls #"nation-stateism"#). Despite its hold on our minds as an ideal, in reality, nation-states are relatively rare owing to there being many more potential nations than there are potential viable states.

The percentage of nation-states is now slightly higher, but they remain the rarest type.

But what about multi-nation states, which are much more common than nation-states? How do nationalisms and the state interact? There is no single answer, but there is always some degree of tension. Consider some of the possibilities. The state could employ its coercive force to establish the majority nation as "the" nation, thus suppressing the members of minority nations to one extent or another—even trying to wipe them out in extreme cases. Japan's attempt, largely successful, to force Ryukyuans to become Japanese is one example. Or, the state might try to accommodate more than one nation, using its coercive force to keep the peace, Tito's Yugoslavia being a good example, especially in hindsight. Another strategy is an attempt to appeal to some broader or more abstract common ground that might unite the different nations, sometimes heard in the context of Canada's nationalism problems or in U.S. appeals to "strength in diversity." In any case, national sentiment can be a powerful force in excluding certain people or groups from full membership in a state. It is not uncommon, for example, to hear people in the United States speak of "true" or "real" Americans. What sorts of things are meant by such rhetoric?

Because of its power, the idea of nations and the model of the nation-state spread rapidly throughout the world during the nineteenth century. The rulers or ruling groups of countries and empires had no choice but to adapt to a world of nations--both in response to changing internal conditions and to external threats--owing to the tremendous power nations can have in marshaling the human resources of a country. Japan became a nation in middle and late nineteenth century; China in the early 20th century. Japan's process of nation-building (as distinct from state-building or country-building) took place relatively quickly, speeded by a high degree of top-down direction from the state. The chapters of this book examine this nation-building process from a variety of perspectives.

Before leaving the topic of nations in general, we examine examples of national consciousness in music. Let us start with three popular songs. The first two are of relatively recent vintage from Taiwan. Taiwan is a particularly interesting case because it is an area of ambiguous national identity. If ever Taiwanese stop telling themselves that they are Chinese, there is a danger that they might forget this "fact." Until recently, the state has rigidly maintained that "we" are "Chinese," and that is still its official line. Furthermore, Taiwanese are able to imagine a relatively pristine, ideal "China," since the physical territory of the Chinese state is something outside of Taiwan. The instructor will play the songs in class, but here are the lyrics, in translation.

Virtually every point about nations and national thinking made in the previous paragraphs can be found in these songs. If you can identify and explain them, you probably understand this material well. If not, more study is needed. Be sure that you understand what nations are and how they both differ from and interact with states before moving on to the following sections and chapters of this book.

To use another music example, here is a WWI-vintage song, *There'll Always Be an England*. As an exercise, try composing a short essay analyzing the rhetorical strategies in the song with respect to what we have studied above about national imagining. (Optional: you can probably find mp3 files for this song if you do a search.) For an excellent, concise article on music and nationalism, one that includes a very good definition of nationalism in its first two paragraphs, #click here#. For a thorough analysis of nearly all aspects of nationalism, including a very useful list of definitions of nationalism, see #The Nationalism Project.#

The Meiji state had two broad objectives. First, it sought to establish itself firmly as the undisputed government of Japan. It is with respect to this goal that the money, power, and (metaphoric) sex appeal were relevant. Additionally, the leaders of Japan's new government sought to make or create Japan as a nation. After its first decade, the Meiji state could lay a secure claim to Japan, but the task of making Japanese—that is, creating a citizenry who consciously thought of themselves as "Japanese," as part of the national family—was just beginning. In some sense, the task is still ongoing, as it is in all nations. The following chapters of this book seek to shed light on different aspects of this process of nation-building, that is, of making Japanese. Although examining Japan from this angle will not result in a comprehensive survey, it will include a vary large portion of its modern history. Furthermore, specific facts, ways of thinking, and insights gained from this analysis of modern Japan can serve as a general blueprint and aid for analyzing many other modern societies or modern world history in general.

One reason the Meiji state was so intent on creating Japanese as fast as possible was because of the external threat. The second Taiwanese song above makes vague reference to China's troubled modern history, the details of which would be too painful to tell explicitly in a popular song. Much of China's misery was the result of imperialism, initially British, and later also French, Russian, American, German, and Japanese. The Meiji leaders did not want Japan to end up like China, a victim of imperial aggression. They knew that one reason for the power of many European states was national sentiment, and they sought to make Japan into a nation-state as part of a broader program summed up by the slogan "fukoku-kyōhei" 富国強兵 "enrich the country; strengthen the military."

Some of the general steps that the Meiji state took to strengthen itself vis-à-vis a potentially aggressive world included:

Although the power of the Meiji state was great, much greater than the power of previous governments, it was not so great as to silence opposition to its programs. All of the steps mentioned above proved controversial to one extent or another. After all, "Japan" was a diverse territory that included many types of people, many local cultures, and a variety of points of view. With its increased contact with the broader world, more and more Japanese became exposed to an ever wider range of ideas. The process of making Japanese was not smooth or easy. It consisted of the clash of different points of view and different political interest groups within a broader world context.

In 1800, very few of the residents of the Japanese islands would have considered themselves "Japanese." By 1900, nearly everyone did. What happened to bring about such a change, and what were some of the consequences of it? The following chapters explore these questions.

To reinforce some of the points made in this section by examining certain aspects of the modern imagined community in contexts you might not ordinarily think about, study this slide show: *The Nation in Modern Japanese Advertising Posters:*

1 "Race," may be an exception to "possible in most cases." "Race" is such a vague, crude term that it is virtually impossible to pin down, and, to the extent that it might be definable, it is only definable in specific historical or rhetorical contexts..

2 Here is a dictionary definition of "sovereignty:" "1. Supremacy of authority to rule, as exercised by a sovereign or a sovereign state. . . . 3. Complete independence and self-government. 4. A territory existing as an independent state." I might add my own: "The quality by which a bounded entity, normally a state, derives its authority to exercise rulership within its boundaries from its own existence and not from an outside entity or source."

3 Ernest Gellner, #Nations and Nationalism# (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983), p. 4. Hereafter cited simply as "Gellner."

4 The term "imagined communities" is associated with Benedict Anderson, perhaps the most influential of the many scholars who study nations. See Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Revised Edition (New York: Verso, 1991).

5 Belief in common ancestry as a key element in national construction is an insight from Walker Connor. See Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994).

6 Anderson, Imagined Communities, pp. 9-10.

7 This paragraph is based on Barbara Miller Lane, "National Romanticism in Modern German Architecture," in Richard A. Etlin, ed., Nationalism in the Visual Arts (Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 1991), pp. 111-139.

8 Ethnonationalism, p. 95.
9 Ibid., p. 94.

10 Imagined Communities, p. 7.

11 Haruo Taya Cook and Theodore F. Cook, Japan at War: An Oral History (New York: The New Press, 1992), p. 365.