The great Chinese philosopher Ch'eng Hao (1032–1085) once set forth in a A memorial to the throne a three-point training program for statesmen. His formula for success is as valid today as it was for the Sung emperors nearly a thousand

years ago:

understand the principles taught in books;

find out the right and wrong in history;

know how to deal with men;

—more briefly, knowledge and wisdom.

The introduction and operation of the cultivation (culture) system in Java were closely tied to the collection of landrent. Reinsma has noted this clearly and succinctly in his contention diat “the landrent served as the lever for making use of an important part of the labor and land of the people.” Yet die closeness of this relationship has frequently been overlooked. An all-too-frequent impression today is that landrent was superseded by a requirement to cultivate ground. The fact that landrent continued to be collected is regarded as an abuse of the system, a sort of double taxation. As a result, a certain confusion about how landrent functioned within the cultivation system now pervades the thinking on die subject. This confusion is especially apparent in die English-language histories dealing with the system, but is by no means limited to these. The fundamental source of confusion can be traced back to the writings and pronouncements of Johannes van den Bosch, the man who conceived and breathed life into the cultivation system during his years in Java from 1830 to 1834.

The fact that England, the home of the Industrial Revolution and modern economic growth, was also a leading shipping and trading nation, at one time prompted the notion that flourishing overseas trade and modern economic growth are somehow related. There are, of course, plenty of examples in European history of once flourishing trading nations which failed to industrialize. Spain, Portugal, the Hanseatic ports, and the Italian trading cities never became centres of industry. Moreover, such comparatively industrialized areas as Czechoslovakia and Prussia were not leading trading centres.

From about 1373 to 1570, or for nearly two centuries, the kings of Ryukyu engaged in a prosperous and active trade between East and Southeast Asia. Several hundred Ryukyuan ships voyaged to Southeast Asian ports, from Siam to Patani, Malacca, Sumatra, Java, and elsewhere. These were in addition to, and indeed complementary to, hundreds of trading voyages to China, Japan, and Korea.

However, there are only scattered references to the Ryukyuan trading expeditions to Southeast Asia in Portuguese, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean records. What is more, Ryukyuan chronicles compiled in the seventeenth century contain only fragmentary notices of these voyages. This was most puzzling to modern scholars, for other records showed that tremendous quantities of goods of southern origin were carried frm Ryukyu to China, Japan, and Korea in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, indicating that there must have been a correspondingly large trade with southern regions. It had to be presumed that in connection with such trade, countless records and documents must have been compiled. And yet the official histories of Ryukyu made only passing mention of old contacts with countries in the southern seas.

The Shimazu daimyo of Satsuma-han maintained indirect contact with the China mainland throughout most of the Tokugawa period. This contact was possible despite the seclusion policy of the Tokugawa government which prohibited Japanese from going abroad and the policy of the Ming dynasty which would not allow Chinese to trade with Japanese. The link between Satsuma and China was die Ryukyu kingdom. Through the Ryukyu Islanders, the Shimazu daimyo obtained valuable Chinese commodities which were then sold for a profit to other parts of Japan. This commercial activity was a breach in the shogun's monopoly of foreign trade, which was supposed to be confined to the single port of Nagasaki.

It is reasonable to assume that Kaga han, in view of its size, large rice and other exports, and central coastal location, provided the lion's share of ships and shipowners operating in the Japan Sea during the two centuries before Perry. Villagers were going from Noto to North Honshu and Hokkaido both for temporary occupation and for permanent residence in the mid-seventeenth century and diereafter; and some of these emigrants became useful Kaga han trade agents. Moreover, transport of rice and salt respectively to Tsuruga and Echigo from Noto villages early in the Tokugawa period can be documented. Kaga han needed an all-water route to Osaka because of the high cost of transshipping rice by land from Tsuruga to Osaka. This may have been the main reason for the development in the latter part of the seventeenth century of nishi mawari, the route for ships going from the Japan Sea through the Inland Sea.

In the study of social integration, there is continual interplay between fact and concept. As new societies come into the ken of social science, theory and method are stretched or hammered to take account of the novel modes of social solidarity. We have not yet come to terms with the diversity, the breaks in social organization, or the social norms that give Southeast Asian societies their particular forms of integration.

One of the earliest general apprehensions of the nature of social organization in Southeast Asia was put forth in 1910 by J. H. Boeke. This keenly observant Dutch administrator held that there existed from the Indian subcontinent to Japan a special sort of Asian society and culture, the dual society, based on die following major features: it was governed by tradition, and its people were spatially immobile; it was a rural society based on a corporate land tenure system; it was a consumer economy; and it was integrated by religious norms. In Boeke's widely known one-line summary, Asian society is essentially a “religious community of food-crop cultivators all belonging to the same clan or social unity.” There is a sort of Gemeinschaft, an organic unity of peasant cultivators, held togetlier by a value system of a sacred order and subordinating economic activity to the continuity of the social structure.

It is now ten years since I wrote my own initial critique of the theory of sociological dualism presented by J. H. Boeke. In the intervening decade, all of us who are concerned with the problem of economic development and cultural change have, I trust, learned more about the nature of the phenomenon and hence the reopening of discussion by Professor Manning Nash at this time is very welcome. I should like to deal first with his main theme, and then with a few details of his paper.

Professor Nash shows the usual reluctance of the cultural anthropologist to generalize; he is unwilling to “deal with anything as complex, heterogeneous, and refractory as Southeast Asia as a whole.” The really interesting question, however, is surely how general tiie phenomena of dualistic society, multiple society, technological dualism, and underdevelopment are, and what the relationships are among them. Being less inhibited than Professor Nash, let me say at once that in my view technological dualism appears in all countries which can be regarded as underdeveloped. By this I mean that all such countries have two clearly distinguishable sectors, one with a capital-intensive and modern technology with high levels of man-year productivity, consisting of large scale manufacturing, plantation agriculture, mining, and the services associated with these; and die other, the “traditional” sector, consisting of peasant agriculture, small scale manufacturing and handicrafts, and the services connected with these.

AS hard as I try, I cannot comfortably arrive at the conclusion that Manning Nash's concept of “multiple society” is really in conflict with Boeke's and Furnivall's notion of the “dual society.” The two concepts deal with somewhat different problems and thus they tend to highlight different phenomena. I must quickly add, however, that if either or both concepts are treated in a diffuse and fuzzy manner—and I believe that this has frequently been the fate of the “dual society” concept—then they may seem to overlap and conflict. And in the spirit of the Editor's search for controversy and drama, I will cooperate to the extent of saying that between Manning Nash's formula and the vague, general, and almost sentimentalized way in which the dual society concept has been used, I would put my support fully behind Nash. In short, if both are to be loosely used, I suspect that Nash's concept will prove to cover a broader range of reality and yield more rewarding insights than imprecise use of the dual society concept; and in this sense it is to be hoped that a valuable secondary consequence of Nash's effort will be to expose the weak and irrelevant ways in which the dual society concept has been used.

One often has the impression that young Japanese writers today are more eager to follow Western fads than to explore the Japanese tradition. Far from being devotees of Zen Buddhism, they are more likely to come to it through translations of Kerouac and other beatniks. In this paper, I propose to examine the cultural and psychological bases for this curious situation, which I suggest stem largely from the Japanese obsession with being up-to-date or Westernized. Young Japanese writers are never free from the pressure of the reading public that they should be au courant with the latest trend in Western literature, and this imposes such a heavy burden that it is no wonder that they have no time to go to a monastery and practice Zen.

Historians of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom (or the Taiping Rebellion) have so far discovered forty-two books officially published by that regime. About thirty more titles are verified, but the books have not been found. Students working with archives and other sources should be on the lookout for these unfound documents.