大塩中斎 3Chusai Oshio, Part 3
Over the past two days, in order to transmute lived history into lessons for our modern existence, we have traced the trajectory of a figure who poured his entire life force into navigating a turbulent epoch. This is not a mere flood of content designed to satisfy the intellectual curiosity of excavating historical facts or figures. It is a praxis to cultivate the contemplation of life—what it means to be a "living human"—a dimension that has slipped from the grasp of the modern consciousness. It is, so to speak, a fundamental displacement from intellectual curiosity to intellectual inquiry.
The history of a nation or an ethnos demands the utmost reverence when approached. Yet, the present reality is overrun by fools who possess no such respect, reducing history to convenient fodder to be commodified. A nation or a people does not exist to be cooked up as material for one's fame, intellectual appetite, or monetary gain. It is nauseating that such axiomatic truths are still trampled upon in so-called advanced nations.
Modern Japan, in particular, may seem a suitable prey, a convenient repository of materials from various perspectives. However, my gaze remains fixed not on the content presented, but solely on the character of the narrator presenting it. It is time we admonished the barbarism of those who, with slovenly disregard, arbitrarily interpret other nations and peoples.
With this unwavering conviction, I will write the final chapter of the historical figure we have walked alongside since the day before yesterday.
We find Oshio Chusai (1793–1837) now past the age of forty. In an era where a lifespan was considered fifty years, this was the time one had to commence their final work. Indeed, as we traced in volumes 1 and 2, Chusai questioned the meaning of true living more deeply than anyone. He wandered the abyss of life and death in a fog of delusion, and though bereft of worthy masters or peers, he clawed his way up through autodidactic immersion in books. Yet, why is fate so cruel to those who possess the resolve to truly live? You may recall various historical figures who bore similar burdens, but the final task Heaven assigned to Chusai was of an extremity that defied description.
I superimpose the late Edo period in which he lived upon the figure of modern Japan. It may appear superficially stable, perhaps even peaceful. But once you peel back this skin, a miserable panorama spreads before you—a landscape where hatred, envy, jealousy, anxiety, rage, and irritation spread quietly like a plague, eroding the hearts of a hundred million. Bureaucratic malignancy, focusing solely on the maintenance of social systems while ignoring the people, runs rampant, and the statesmen responsible for politics pretend that nothing is amiss. It is exactly the same as current Japan. Chusai’s era was in the midst of this downward spiral, but from my vantage point of knowing history, the conclusion is the abyss. Due to the petty cleverness of those who sought to maintain the corruption of this system, the 300-year history of the Tokugawa Shogunate met its end, leaving Japan exposed to the ferocity of Western-led Westernization, causing Japan to become alienated from itself.
Considering the symbolic Meiji Restoration of 1868, roughly 150 years have passed. Given the acceleration of all velocities, I believe that in the next 20 to 30 years, Japan will experience the chaos of the late Edo and early Meiji periods in a condensed form. And this is not merely a tale of a distant country’s collapse. I view the collapse—or rather, the decline—of Japan as a consequence of Westernization in a significant aspect, and I believe it will serve as a precedent affecting various nations. It signifies the end of the Western-led era in the complete sense of "modernity." This does not carry the generally disseminated, fear-mongering nuance of "the end of the West," but rather implies that Western influence will cease in historically unrelated, distant regions, and people will realize it was an illusion. In Japan’s case, this will be perceived as the liquidation of history from the Meiji Restoration to the present day.
In fact, Chusai’s era coincided with the collapse of the Tokugawa Shogunate’s systemic structure. The greatest symbol of this was natural disaster. History teaches us that the more humans abandon true living, push forward their self-domestication into systems, and allow the corruption and egoism of leaders—whose mission is to guide—to fill the earth, the more certainly Heaven hands down judgment. Natural disasters always stem from the disorder of the human heart. Even regarding current movements surrounding climate change, while it is inevitable that attention turns to correcting social systems, it does not appear they consider that the real problem lies in the human heart. History conveys through countless examples that unless one begins with the praxis of identifying and correcting one's own mind, the result will be the same.
Heaven is not designed to be convenient for humans.
In 1833, the year Chusai wrote to Sato Issai with his last hope, the worst natural disaster of the Edo period raged against a corrupt populace. It was a severe famine. The primary cause of the collapse of the 300-year Tokugawa system was not the provocation by Western powers in Japanese waters from the early 19th century, but the fact that the Shogunate and domains fell into functional paralysis when famine struck, leading to life-or-death rebellions erupting across the land. The historical view that Commodore Perry’s Black Ships built Japan’s new era is too sloppy and haphazard. In short, Japan merely destroyed itself (and the same is happening now).
The genesis was the massive flooding in Kyushu in 1828, followed by intermittent natural disasters, crop failures, and famine, causing rice prices to soar. This disturbing current destabilized the public mind. Just as in our present time, where things seem superficially stable, people were driven by anxiety to lose themselves, gradually heading toward a hellish landscape where they would kill parents, siblings, or neighbors to ensure their own survival.
This goes without saying, but it is because they were selfish even in times of peace. In essence, those who live selfishly in a peaceful society will inevitably expose that true nature when a crisis directly threatens their lives. That is precisely why introspection and the accumulation of thought and practice on "truly living" are critical when one is not facing a crisis. The cultivation of the mind through introspection is a lifelong discipline; it is too late once the crisis has begun. Because history repeats the same things over and over again. Knowing this fact, it is the duty of a human being to accept that the time will naturally come, and to thoroughly cultivate one's mind. The question of guarantees during a crisis is a secondary issue.
The social unrest triggered in 1828 gnawed at the people slowly until it exploded in the 1830s. The Great Tenpo Famine occurred, and it is said that over 300,000 people starved to death across Japan. The situation, as seen in various records and documents, was a horror beyond words. Slaughter was rampant in rural areas; people carved up and ate the flesh of the starved; they ate any living thing. At this time, those who had been wealthy and arrogant sold all their household goods for a mere handful of rice, but money had become trash, bereft of value, and these people too starved to death. I believe a similar situation will approach advanced nations in the near future (especially Japan, with its low food self-sufficiency and lost international competitiveness).
Furthermore, in the Edo period, completely unrelated to international trends, Japan had developed a unique financial market where the world’s first rice futures and speculative trading took place in Nakanoshima, Osaka. However, the Shogunate no longer possessed the capacity to regulate the violently fluctuating rice prices, and the famine became chronic. In that turbulent period about 200 years ago, compounded by abnormal weather much like today, it is thought that the population decreased by 1.25 million in just five years.
The misery of mass starvation was not limited to rural areas but dealt a massive blow to the economic capital, Osaka, and the cultural capital, Kyoto. It may be hard to imagine now, but the area from Osaka to Kyoto was scattered with corpses. The waves of social unrest caused by this Great Famine peaked in 1833 and 1836. Interestingly, Osaka managed to survive the turmoil of 1833. The reason was clear: an excellent leader addressed the problem swiftly. Amidst the nationwide tremors of 1833, a man named Yabe Sadanori (1789–1842) wielded the baton with magnificence at the Osaka Magistrate's office, saving many lives.
At that time, Yabe, realizing he could not solve the situation alone, sought the cooperation of a man he had long revered. Here, Oshio Chusai entered the stage. By 1833, he had already passed his official duties to his adopted son and retired, but he could not turn a blind eye to Osaka falling into chaos and the people suffering. Chusai responded to Yabe’s request and cooperated fully with everything he could do. Since Yabe’s subordinates included economic experts, Osaka succeeded in weathering the crisis without major chaos. The people of Osaka escaped the danger thanks to Yabe Sadanori’s capability. However, Osaka’s reputation from this time would become a major problem during the next famine.
The problem was the subsequent year of 1836. Once again, people began to starve on the roadsides, and social unrest heightened. However, Yabe Sadanori, who had shown such splendid skill, had been transferred. His successor was a man named Atobe Yoshisuke (1799–1869). Despite the mass starvation in Osaka, Atobe looked only to the Edo Shogunate and did absolutely nothing for the locals (thinking only of his own career advancement). Shockingly, he sent all the rice reserves—stored for emergency relief of the Osaka people—to Edo to curry favor with the Shogunate authorities. Yet, people from Kyoto, hearing of Osaka’s reputation from 1833, gathered there thinking they could buy rice, leading to the worst deterioration of public order in Japan. Atobe then began the atrocity of arresting those who came to buy rice and throwing them into prison one after another. Thus, Osaka became a mountain of corpses.
Compounding this was a problem arising from Osaka’s ethos. As the economic capital that had developed since before the Edo period, Osaka was a city where merchants most skilled in discerning commercial opportunities gathered. Their family businesses were completely specialized and controlled down to the finest detail, forming a highly advanced economic society. But as everyone knows, social unrest and human destitution are, for those who make business their livelihood, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—then as now. Merchants bought up rice, causing it to disappear from the market, and prices skyrocketed to abnormal levels. As a result, the price went beyond what people could pay, and the famine reached extremis. The people gathered in Osaka had no choice but to starve on the roadside, starve in prison, or resort to violence and looting. Public security collapsed dramatically.
It is said that Osaka saw over 150 to 200 starvation deaths daily. Historians misread this: the famine or natural disaster is not the problem. The true problem is the selfish people who did not cultivate their minds during peacetime. Moreover, having a selfish person lead problem-solving is outrageous. Heaven simply exposes the mindset of peacetime during a crisis. This remains true today. Reflecting on the modern world, it is easy to assume what will happen if some global catastrophe strikes. Can we survive a near future where family, siblings, or close friends suddenly go mad one day? We live in a world that still appears peaceful, so while we anticipate such crises, we rarely prepare. However, by reflecting on this history, if we truly have the spirit to survive, we see that we must dedicate ourselves to preparation now.
Chusai, who never neglected his moral cultivation, acted before thinking upon facing this situation. Here lies the decisive difference between the Zhu Xi school and the Yangming school, as I define them. Those influenced by Zhu Xi, lacking the habit of cultivating their minds daily, can only debate logically like bureaucrats. Even as people starve and social unrest erupts, they cannot take effective measures, wavering left and right while looking only at their own social self-preservation. However, those influenced by Yangming act immediately, as if to say that peacetime cultivation exists for this very moment. For them, knowledge and action are not separate. This is the basis for my reverence for Yangmingism over Zhu Xiism (what people generally think of as Confucianism). Scholarship exists for such times, not for social status. This should be universal, even if the current times are an aberration. Put simply: in a crisis, "Zhu Xi = Unprepared" and "Yangming = Fully Prepared."
Chusai, a devotee of Wang Yangming who never missed a day of discipline, was exactly so. He immediately sold the 50,000 volumes in the library of his private academy, Senshindo, along with his household goods, raising a massive sum of 620 ryo to distribute to 10,000 people. It is difficult to convert to modern currency, but you may consider it roughly 100 million yen. Yet, even this could not save the multitude suffering from hunger. Then as now, epoch-moving crises serve as historical proof that charity cannot save the masses. Therefore, seeing officials and merchants who, despite the crisis, did nothing and thought only of their status and self-protection, he revealed a fierce rage. He marched into government offices and merchant houses to negotiate directly, but talking to selfish, farcical bureaucrats was futile. Thus, Chusai finally resolved to overthrow the officials and merchants.
In fact, while distributing this money, he was fomenting a revolutionary movement to topple the merchants and the Shogunate, secretly distributing pamphlets urging people to gather for a rebellion in Osaka where the hoarded rice and gold would be redistributed. As he was also excellent in martial arts and strategy, he purchased explosives and cannons, secretly advancing military training with his disciples at his academy, awaiting the moment for revolution. The ones who became fervent here were the young disciples. For young samurai living idle days in a peaceful era with no war, having a once-in-a-lifetime event to stake their lives on was considered the ultimate happiness.
Behind this lies the influence of Chushingura, based on the Ako Incident of 1701, which popularized the aesthetics of death among samurai, but I will omit the details for now. In short, young samurai were seeking a time to die. In a world where most samurai simply died of old age, the samurai ethos taught one to contemplate life from the perspective of death. Thus, at Chusai’s single command, the hot-blooded disciples, forged by the strict master, became delirious with enthusiasm—the time had finally come.
This was not a mere citizen's riot as recorded in history textbooks. It was an existential objection hurled by a single "living human," staking his entire being against a rotten system in the harshest era of the Edo period. The event itself is accessible in English, so I will be brief: the plan was betrayed by two fearful disciples, forcing Chusai to set fire to his own residence and launch the uprising prematurely. As a result, merchant houses were raided, and one-fifth of Osaka burned to the ground. The looted gold and goods were handed to the poor, and the force grew to 300, but they were immediately counter-attacked by 2,000 Shogunate troops from Osaka Castle and suppressed within a day.
Chusai evaded capture for 40 days, but when his hideout was surrounded, he blew it up with gunpowder, committing suicide. The date was May 1, 1837. Chusai was 44. Because his body was charred beyond recognition, rumors spread that the hero Chusai was still alive—a common trope even today. His way of life, acting for the people, transmitted a life force to those suffering elsewhere, triggering a chain reaction of rebellions across the country that caused the functional paralysis of the Shogunate and domains. Interestingly, the event in Osaka was known instantly nationwide, and rebel forces everywhere claimed to be remnants or disciples of Oshio Chusai. It can be said that Oshio Chusai brought about the end of the Tokugawa era.
Above all, the Shogunate was most shaken by the baseless theory of Chusai’s survival. A few days before the rebellion, Chusai sent a secret letter to the Roju (the highest post in the Shogunate government). The letter detailed the corruption involving everyone from lower officials to the Roju themselves, expressing a sentiment akin to Confucius: if this corruption were exposed, those involved would be punished, and correct politics could be restored. However, in a Zhu Xi-type system, internal whistleblowing is the ultimate betrayal. Naturally, the dignitaries, their brains colonized by Zhu Xi ideology, did not give a moment's thought to his words. Instead, it was inevitably perceived as treason against the Shogunate.
Physically, the rebellion may have been suppressed. However, that explosion of spirit—abandoning all property, discarding status, and burning one's entire existence solely on the point of "saving the people"—strongly demonstrates the archetype of the "living human" that we moderns have lost. He divorced his wife before the rebellion, severed all ties, and acted with the resolve to die. In this vacuous modern era, a world filled with hypocritical egoists who care only for themselves, is it not this "living human" like Chusai that we must reclaim? Rather than consuming information and being tamed by the system, we must confront the magma at the bottom of our gut, engage in learning, and live. Standing upon the ruins bereft of humanity, we must once again touch that fierce way of life and light the fire in our inner, silent sanctuary.
There is much to learn from the turmoil of the 1830s, but it has been determined that one cause of the climate change behind the most severe famine of 1836 was not domestic, but likely the massive eruption of the Cosigüina volcano in Nicaragua in January 1835. Indeed, weather diaries from the time note "abnormal morning glows seen daily" in April 1835, followed by cold summers and long rains that rendered crops barren. In other words, just because one’s own country is stable does not guarantee immunity from crisis. Having passed through globalization, it is impossible to solve problems within a single nation; a fire ignited in another country can, and likely will, affect people on the opposite side of the earth simultaneously.
And the crucial point is that we possess neither the ability nor the method to avoid such risks. Therefore, it is most realistic to live with the premise that such things will happen suddenly one day. Will you neglect preparation because it is peaceful now, only to panic when the crisis arrives? Or will you conduct thorough preparation and cultivation during peacetime, establishing a mindset that remains unshaken no matter the crisis?
It will be too late once the turbulent era opens its curtains. We, who can still sing the praises of this final peace, must learn from lived history and act. Now.