In the first years of the postcolonial era, students of politics in the new nation- states often assumed that “primordial” ties of kinship, language, ethnicity, and religion would gradually give way to a more encompassing sense of national political community. The emergence of such an expanded civic sense, it was hoped, would be paralleled by the development of economic, educational, and even religious institutions similarly premised on a broader, more socially accommodative, and self-consciously sustained concept of community. The expansion of political and economic opportunities made possible by the departure of European nationals, of course, might result in momentary incidents of communal competition. Ultimately, however, the social bases of conflict and solidarity would shift from their earlier organization to newly created bonds of class and profession, and the potential political divisiveness of these would be constrained by an overarching allegiance to national community and common interests. Although Marxist students of nation building rejected the integrative optimism of this model, they tended to assume that, in Asia as in Europe in earlier centuries, regional, ethnic, and religious allegiances would eventually give way to those of class and economic interest. Politics and social identity in Asia's new states were, in a word, “posttraditional,” and posttraditionalism was, almost by definition, political community in search of a new self.

When the marco polo bridge incident occurred near peiping on july 7, 1937, japan was not prepared to launch a long-term war with china. on the contrary, she was hopeful that a little military pressure would result in a local settlement providing for North China autonomy and economic co-operation with Japan, which she had been demanding for several years. When the incident developed into a fullscale war toward the end of July, she declared that her army was only punishing the anti-Japanese 29th Army and particularly its 37th Division. Even after the war spread to Shanghai in August, Japan still insisted that the military operations were undertaken with the limited purpose of urging the Chinese National government to reconsider and to correct its attitude toward Japan. Although these were absurd explanations, they did reflect to a certain extent the true intention of the Japanese government. On the one hand, a war with China would not be favorably received by the Japanese people. Financial, circles stressed that only a general settlement with China would bring economic prosperity to Japan. Even the General Staff, which had Russia in mind, advised against it. On the other hand, however, the young officers in the army, with War Minister Sugiyama as their leader, advocated war, at least a limited one. They felt that the rising nationalism and the growing unification of China must be checked before China would accept Japanese leadership.

The present analysis presupposes that in the flow of history there is recognizable societal structure (cultural type) and recognizable societal change (development). It also recognizes the theoretical and practical significance of major societal types, societies—operational units whose peculiarity is determined by the interaction of a number of essential technical, organizational, and social elements. Some of these essential elements are not necessarily specific: they may be compatible with several types of society. But they may become specific through their magnitude or the institutional setting in which they function. For instance, though slaves were present in many societies, in only a few did the institution of slavery become an essential feature. And serfs (peasants attached to the soil or to the village) were present in several societies: they appeared in oriental civilizations long before they were conspicuous in Greek antiquity or in the European and Japanese Middle Ages. But they were essential mainly in feudal societies and in the “helotage” society of Sparta. Similar diversities in compatability characterize corvee labor, irrigation economy, and commercial and industrial capitalism.

Vietnamese historians in North and South Vietnam have, in writings since 1954, given considerable attention to the problem of reassessing and interpreting developments during the nineteenth century. For historians in Hanoi the test of Vietnamese nationalism has been whether or not an individual resisted the French. Saigon historians have not applied such a restrictive standard of judgement. The approach of the two schools of history is exemplified in dieir respective treatment of two notable nineteenth century figures; the linguist and journalist Truong Vinh Ky, and the mandarin Phan Thanh Gian. Both these men are condemned by Hanoi historians for their failure to work against the French. Saigon historians are more ready to consider sympathetically the factors which led to these men acting as they did. Resistance-oriented scholarship along the Hanoi model presents a grave risk of distortion. In the case of Truong Vinh Ky it tends to disguise the extent to which his views on Vietnam's future development were echoed in the twentieth century. For Phan Thanh Gian condemnation of his failure to fight to the death against the French diverts attention from the extent to which his decision represented an important reflection of a widespread attitude among many members of the mandarinate.

It is difficult to expound in any pithy fashion on the imprint that James C. Scott's work has had on writing history in the orbit of Asia. Where to start? From The Moral Economy of the Peasant all the way to Against the Grain, Scott's work has found receptive and fertile ground among his peers in Asian studies, who have often proudly pointed out to their non-Asianist colleagues that Scott is “one of their own.” This has certainly been true “internally” as well, in the ways that Southeast Asianists have spoken to their fellow professionals in the larger, allied subdisciplines of South and East Asian studies. It does not matter that Scott's books have touched on a wide variety of subjects: the central concerns with power, agency, space, and the essence of a shared humanity have all resonated with his professional interlocutors.

These recent years have brought to Japan an array of new political institutions and procedures. If judged by the contents of the statute books alone, there would appear to be small resemblance between the basic legal structure and concepts of the prewar Japanese state and those of the present. The theoretic status of the emperor has been fundamentally altered, a new constitution of highly suspect paternity has appeared, civil rights have been accorded recognition and formal protection, and a system of government noted for its centralization and authoritarianism has been subjected to decentralization and democratization. All these are the works of the Occupation or, to be more precise, of the Japanese Government acting as a result of the directives or “suggestions” of the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP).

In comparison with other forms of Chinese religions, the study of Chinese Buddhism benefits from several factors. First, the international range of Buddhism allows for fruitful comparison with developments in other neighboring cultures such as India and Japan, and the contemporary identity of Buddhism as a missionary—or at least adoptable—religion provides a continuing audience and community of scholars. Second, the maturity of Buddhist studies as a field of scholarly inquiry, especially in Japan and Europe, has allowed for synergistic cooperation with colleagues having different educational backgrounds and points of view. And, third, the recent emphasis on the study of nonmainstream or popular religious practices has presented challenges that have led the field in new and exciting directions. An attempt to bring together scholars working in these different areas is reported in McRae and Armijo-Hussein et al. 1989.

Of the Many places on this globe that were touched by the withering blast of war, I doubt if in any the life of the people has been more completely changed than on Okinawa. This long, irregularly shaped island is just less than half the size of Rhode Island. In 1940 the population (435,681) was about the same as that of Newark, New Jersey. Its subtropical climate has a mean annual temperature of about 72° F. The humidity is excessive, and the rainfall is about 83 inches per year. Of the twelve to forty-five typhoons which affect it from May to October, three to six pass directly over it, usually causing widespread damage because they coincide with the growing season. Vegetation is generally dense and hard to penetrate. Pines abound on the forested hillsides, and thickets of pandanus, the leaves of which are used in various native handicrafts, are not infrequent. Wild life consists mainly of deer and wild pigs; rats, mice, and five species of deadly venomous snakes are also found, and mosquitoes, lice, fleas, and other insect pests abound. Its mineral deposits are of little consequence, but abundant limestone, sand, and gravel supply valuable construction materials. The northernmost section of Okinawa has a central high ridge with peaks ranging up to 1,650 feet. The slopes are very steep and cut by a maze of ravines. The central section is a ruggedly hilly plateau ranging up to 500 feet. The southern section is characterized by small plains and rolling hills.' Here the largest cities are found as well as most of the population and modern facilities.

To make a global survey of the study of Chinese literature today would hardly be possible within the space of a single article; apart from the sheer amount of material to be covered and the linguistic competence required, it would be very difficult to discuss—in the same breath—works carried out in radically different social and cultural environments and under radically different assumptions about the nature and purpose of literary scholarship. This survey, therefore, will be limited to the study of Chinese literature in the Western world, which, however, is not to be understood in a strictly geographical sense but rather in a cultural-linguistic one. Thus, works written in or translated into a Western language, and with a predominantly “Western” orientation, may be included irrespective of the author's nationality or the place of publication—whereas works by Chinese, Japanese, Soviet, and Eastern European scholars in their own languages will not be discussed. It should also be made clear—obvious though it may be—that this survey, not being a bibliography, cannot be exhaustive; it can only concentrate on works that appear to represent significant trends. Failure to mention a work, therefore, does not necessarily imply lack of esteem, nor does mention of a work necessarily imply unreserved agreement. Chronologically, this survey will cover works completed since i960, as well as a few works in progress and planned works. Finally, we may venture to take a glance at future possibilities and problems.

In September 1965, there occurred between the armies of India and Pakistan a fierce clash which each side attributed to the aggressive designs of the other. This undeclared war lasted only a short time; first a ceasefire ordered by the United Nations, and later the pact signed at Tashkent, brought the hostilities to a formal close. It was by no means a spontaneous or unexpected flareup, the hatred and antagonism that caused it had been festering for a long time. Similarly, its effects have not been short-lived; neither have they been restricted to the area of military logistics and high diplomacy. In this paper I intend to review the consequences of that conflict for Urdu language and literature. I shall proceed by showing why it was necessary for Urdu writers, especially the poets, to respond to this war, and what sort of attitudes were displayed in the poetry written exclusively in response to it. I shall then discuss certain subsequent developments in the general area of Urdu language and literature and end by presenting my own conclusions with regard to the future.