User:English 392

Aimai: Ambiguity and the Japanese
The purpose of the Aimai group is to use different course texts from English 392: Mixed English Representations of Japan to discuss whether civilization exclusivity exists between the West and Japan.

The Question of Civilization Exclusivity

 * What is civilization exclusivity, or, cultural exclusivity?
 * 1) The basic idea of civilization exclusivity states that: at the civilization level, cultures have exclusive first principles or foundational values.
 * 2) Additionally, that one's own culture is not a valid standard for understanding another's.

Japanese Aesthetic Concepts
Madame Butterfly

Madame Butterfly recounts the tale of Cho-Cho-San, a young Japanese geisha, who falls in love with an American man, Pinkerton, who, after quickly marrying Cho-Cho-San and impregnating her, leaves Japan. Written in 1898 by  John Luther Long, Madame Butterfly uses many Japanese aesthetics to aid in evoking the sense of tragedy the reader feels when reading Madame Butterfly.

Mono No Aware and Silence

In Madame Butterfly, the Japanese aesthetic of mono no aware is very evident. Mono no aware is described as the poignant sadness of things and, in Japanese culture, is seen as the awareness of sadness in everyday life and the understanding that constant change is a part of life and is good. In Japanese literature mono no aware is the emotion that moves readers to feel sadness or empathy. Madame Butterfly evokes a sense of sadness throughout the entire text. In the beginning, Cho-Cho-San understands that Pinkerton must leave her to take care of important political matters in America however, as time wears on, her maid, begins to question whether Pinkerton is ever going to return: We giving up all our august ancestors, an’ gods, an’ people, an’ country, - oh aeverything, - jus’ for him, an’ now he don naever come no more! Oh, how that is sad! Is it not? Also, he don’ even divorce us, so that we kin marry with ‘nother mans an’git some food. He? He don’ even thing ‘bout it! Not liddle bit! He forgetting us- alas! (41).

Despite her maid’s constant protests that Pinkerton is never going to return, Cho-Cho-San remains hopefully that he will come back. Her hopefulness is used to set up the eventual sadness that comes later in the text. When Cho-Cho-San receives news that American ships are coming into the harbor, she becomes overly excited that Pinkerton is finally coming back to her. Her passion and happiness about is impending return is very evident in the text: Then, all at once, the gilt name on her bow was before Cho-Cho-San’s eyes. It was tragically sudden. With a hurdling cry, she fell to the floor…“I – I di’n’ know I so – glad,” softly laughed Cho-Cho-San (69) . But, then, her excitement is destroyed by having to wait forever and ever to see his ship: The hour passed. Then two – four. Night fell. They ceased to chatter. Later came perfect silence; then that other silence of the dead of night. The pulses of terror quickened. Suzuki noiselessly lighted the lanterns (71). This excerpt shows how the aesthetic of silence is used to create a sense of sadness. Cho-Cho-San, her maid and her son, waited for hours on end for Pinkerton to come into the harbor – she sat in silence doing nothing but watch for him to return. By using contrasting emotions in the excerpt – happiness and sadness – the aesthetic of mono no aware is very clearly depicted.

Even when Cho-Cho-San discovers that her husband has married another woman, Cho-Cho-San does her very best to keep a smile on her face and remain dignified: “Cho-Cho-San rose presently, and staggered toward him. She tried desperately to smile, but her lips were tightly drawn against her teeth” (76). Throughout Cho-Cho-San’s waiting for her husband to return and eventual discovery that he is never coming back, mono no aware is used to create a sense of sadness. Cho-Cho-San is an optimistic woman who loves the idea of her absent American husband and longs for his return. Yet, even when everything seems to be going wrong, Cho-Cho-San is able to stay strong and act brave even though it is clear that her heart has broken. Mono no aware is used to captivate the horrible emotions Cho-Cho-San is going through – to have such a contrast in her and see the pain she must be going through clearly evokes the aesthetic of mono no aware. Further to this, Cho-Cho-San’s choice to commit suicide re-enforces the aesthetic of mono-no-aware: “To die with Honor - ” She drew the blade affectionately across her palm. Then she made herself pretty with vermilion and powder and perfumes; and she prayed, humbly endeavoring at the last to make her peace (78) Cho-Cho-San herself permanently by killing herself as she sees killing herself is a form of triumph. Mono no aware is not a concept that is evident in every culture. In North America, people do not appreciate or look for the sadness of life – being sad is seen as a bad thing. And, people would never look at killing one self as dying with honor – committing suicide is considered something bad in the eyes of religion and is not something people consider honorable. In Madame Butterfly it is clear that there are distinct cultural elements that demonstrate that cultural exclusivity does indeed exisit.

Shin-Gyo-So

The aesthetic of shin-gyo-so, is described as the “Japanese manner of reacting to any discrete new foreign encounter.” Shin-gyo-so is found throughout Madame Butterfly as Cho-Cho-San encounters aspects of American culture that are different from her own. When Cho-Cho-San and Pinkerton are first married, Pinkerton leases a house and has it fixed up to meet his American standards: Some clever Japanese artisans then made the paper walls of the pretty house eye-proof, and, with their own adaptations of American hardware, the openings cunningly lockable. The rest was Japanese (31). The idea of locking the doors is absurd to Cho-Cho-San as no one locks doors in Japan but when Pinkerton responds by saying that the locks are “to keep out those who are out, and in those who are in” Cho-Cho-San simply accepts the new custom without further questioning (31). Shin-gyo-so is found in other places throughout the text as Cho-Cho-San becomes more accustomed to American culture. Again, this concept is clearly shows that cultural exclusivity exists. As the text clearly says, Cho-Cho-San was not accustomed to locking the door to her house, something that is done by people all over the world – yet another example of cultural exclusivity.

Japanese Aesthetic Concepts
One case against civilization exclusivity is Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day. This book is commonly thought to portray the Japanese aesthetic concept mono no aware or “the sadness of things.” So much so, in fact, that it is even cited on the Wikipedia entry for mono no aware. However, there are several reasons why The Remains of the Day is not a suitable case to make any statement about civilization exclusivity.

True, Ishiguro was raised in England, having left Japan at age five, so it is arguable that little impression was made on him in his early life. This early exposure and indeed his upbringing, however, would pose a serious problem to anyone attempting to argue for this book as 'detached from Japan.' Ishiguro was raised in England but by two Japanese parents. Also, Ishiguro said himself on the Charlie Rose show (November 24, 2000) that he distinctly remembers his childhood, likely better than most people. This means that any Japanese concepts that appear in his writing are more than likely deliberate and did not arise autonomously. In fact, Ishiguro’s first two novels are set in Japan and The Remains of the Day is his first novel set in England. The idea behind civilization exclusivity is that each civilization is profoundly different and not just in language or appearance. In order to prove this false, one would have to show how two entirely separate cultures held the same values and had the same motivations. Ishiguro is directly writing about Japan and is not coincidentally using Japanese aesthetic concepts.

Furthermore, all the values that can be called Japanese in The Remains of the Day can also be seen as British ones. A prominent example is that of honne to tatemae. Honne being the internal truth and tatemae being the facade that the rest of the world sees. Maintaining this tatemae is essential for Stevens, the main character, and the most poignant passages are those in which he fails to do so. One such example is when Stevens begins weeping while serving port after hearing of his father's death. Mr. Cardinal asks Stevens if he is alright and he replies, “Yes, sir. Perfectly” (Ishiguro 105). Mr. Cardinal goes on to say that it looks as if Stevens has been crying to which Stevens laughs and blames his tears on “the strains of a hard day” (105). While this is an example of honne and tatemae it is also a value held by the Edwardian butler. The job of the butler was to ensure the house ran smoothly and maintain a kind of homeostasis. A large part of doing this requires a repression of personal feelings. This may at cursory inspection seem to further the point of the anti civilization exclusivity argument but upon closer examination it does not. Only the serving class maintains this tatemae in the novel. The upper class appear to express their feelings openly with the possible exception of when they engage in international affairs. The Japanese honne and tatemae is not merely a class observance but is universal.

The dominant Japanese aesthetic of The Remains of the Day is the aforementioned mono no aware. The story is very sad but sadness is used differently in the Japanese culture than in western ones. For the Japanese, the sadness throws the happiness into sharper relief. One case that exemplifies this is the mono no aware in Genji where it arises from waiting for a lover. It is the absence of the lover that is sad but this sadness only makes it happier when they return. This is entirely different from the love in The Remains of the Day. Here, Stevens and Miss Kenton are in love but fail to act on it because of social obligations inherent to their profession. Miss Kenton seems ready to break these obligations but Stevens does not. This is sadness for the sake of sadness and not to contrast with the happy moments. Once again, this novel seems unfit as an argument against civilization exclusivity.

A strong argument for civilization exclusivity is drawn from Thomas Nagel's essay “What is it Like to be a Bat?” In this Nagel says that no matter how much one knows about bats it is impossible to imagine being one. It is only possible to imagine yourself being one. The intellect of a bat is innately different and incomparable to that of a human so even if you knew how sonar worked and how bats flew it would never be possible to imagine being an 8 ounce rodent hanging upside down on the roof of a cave. This is similar to the argument for civilization exclusivity. Being raised in one culture with that culture's ideals and fundamental principles, one can only look out from that vantage point. Take, for example, slavery. This is considered beyond the pale for western civilization but it has strong historic roots. Clearly, slavery in not universally condemned. It is only condemned because egalitarianism is a very strong western ideal and slavery is in direct violation of that. A modern westerner can imagine what it would be like to guiltlessly keep slaves but will never really know what it is like to hold something other than egalitarian ideals.

“It’s true I moved from Japan to England at an early age. Maybe that’s got something to do with it. The fact that I can readily identify my early childhood in a geographical space that I call Japan. Other people might not be able to do that so distinctly.” Ishiguro

Japanese Aesthetic Concepts
In James Clavell’s King Rat, the concept of civilization exclusivity is arguably present. The reinforcement of civilization exclusivity is made clear by the experiences and interactions between the prisoners in Changi and the Japanese guards. Within the interactions between Japanese guards and prisoners, the Japanese concept of bushido is apparent, which helps to illustrate cultural exclusivity.

The concept of bushido, the way of the warrior, refers to the “ethics that were formed among samurai” (Davies, Ikeno, 41). Within bushido there is a large emphasis placed on the importance of honour and courage. These values play a key role in the relationship between the prisoners of Changi and the Japanese guards. The code of bushido also makes clear the motives behind the treatment of the prisoners in Changi.

The importance of humanity is emphasized in both Western and Japanese cultures. However, the notions of what humanity consists of differ between cultures. The bushido code of honour and courage is essential to the humanity of the Japanese in war time. Although it represents important values in the West as well, the West places a lesser importance of these values within humanity. Captain Yoshima tells one of the prisoners “No man of honour would allow himself to be captured. You are all animals and should be treated as such” (Clavell, 122). For the Japanese it is honourable for one to kill himself as opposed to surrendering and allowing one’s self to be captured. The act of surrendering is considered to be a cowardly and dishonourable act. Thus if humanity is connected with honour and courage, then to be dishonourable is to be lacking in humanity. Moreover, the act of choosing surrender over death by those captured has reinforced in the eyes of the Japanese guards that the prisoners are less than human and should be treated as such.

The code of bushido is again reinforced by the discovery of a radio and the actions of those held accountable. The discovery of the radio ultimately leads to whoever held responsible being sent to Utram Road Jail; almost surely a death sentence. Both Daven and Cox are held accountable for the radio and the Japanese guard Yoshima remarks upon their reactions to their fate. Cox who is “sobbing with terror” is looked at with repulsion, which is clear when Yoshima says, “Look at him. Disgusting” (126). Yoshima displays an entirely different attitude to Daven who is just smoking, and tells Daven “You are in control. You have courage” (126). Unlike Cox, who has broken down, Daven displays what Yoshima considers courage, therefore redeeming his humanity and manhood in the eyes of the Japanese. The show of courage by Daven reinforces the importance placed on the code of bushido by Yoshima – “Before a man, even an enemy, there was a code” (126), referring to the high level of importance that bushido has toward the concept of humanity.

Again the code of bushido and concepts of humanity are reinforced by Peter Marlowe when he talks about himself being captured, “They said we were without honour-the officers-because we had allowed ourselves to be captured. So they wouldn’t consider us POW’s. They cut off out hair and forbade us to wear officers’ insignia” (104). By surrendering, Marlowe had become less than human to the Japanese and is treated as such. Ultimately, the code of bushido and the conflicting ideals and values of humanity between the west and the Japanese solidify the cultural exclusivity that Clavell presents in King Rat.

When Marlowe reaches a small village in Java and asks for refuge the tribe elder tells him the following: “You may stay….You will work in the paddy and work in the village, the work of a man. No more and no less than any man. You will learn our language and speak only our language and wear our dress and dye the color of your skin. Your height and the color of your eyes will shout that you are a white man, but perhaps color, dress and language may protect you for a time”(197). From his passage it is clear that Marlowe will not actually become Javanese by acting like them. This is, again, Clavell’s statement about civilization exclusivity. Marlowe may work, act and live exactly as the natives do but he will never be one of them. He will always be different; he will always be ‘Other.’ Even when Marlowe is given N’ai (the Javanese woman to share his hut) he is still not Javanese himself and, as we see from his classist attitude toward Grey, has not lost his inherently British nature.

The examples of civilization exclusivity are also made clear when the prisoners discuss amongst themselves the actions of the Japanese guards. Both cultures find each other’s actions entirely nonsensical. The actions of the Japanese seem completely irrational to the Westerners this is made clear by Peter Marlowe when he says “that’s why I don’t like them…I’m afraid of them, because you’ve no yardstick to judge them. They don’t react the way they should. Never”(102). This quote seems to be a strong argument towards civilization exclusivity; this direct lack of understanding by a Western man towards a Japanese behaviour is precisely what the terms of civilization exclusivity are.

The prisoners in Changi think the actions of the Japanese don’t “make sense” but realise “it does to them. That’s the Oriental mind. To them that’s complete sense” (102). Rationalisation of the actions of the Japanese and the cultural differences are made clear when King and Peter Marlowe discuss the occurrence between a Japanese guard and his puppy, where the puppy misbehaves resulting in the torture and death of it by the guard. After a brief, and apparently profound, mourning for the puppy by the guard, life quickly goes back to the way it was before the incident took place. The King questions whether the guard was “crazy. Syphilitic” (103). However Peter Marlowe explains that the Japanese “just look at things as a child does. Their perspective is oblique-to us- and distorted” (104). Peter demonstrates how little the Westerners know about the Japanese mind. The treatment of the dog enforces this idea. Within the West, a dog is often elevated in status as member of the family, whereas although the Japanese guard had some emotional attachment to the dog, it is just seen as an animal.

Clavell showing conflicting ideals between the West and the Japanese, and the relationship between the prisoners of Changi and the Japanese guards, makes the validity of civilization exclusivity clear.

Japanese Aesthetic Concepts
“Tesshu’s explanation of magical abilities was almost dismissive: ‘It’s nothing – if your mind is empty, it reflects the distortion and “shadows” present in others’ minds. In swordsmanship “no mind” allows us to see the perfect place to strike; in daily life it enables us to see into another’s heart.’” (43) “Tesshu claimed he was at last fully enlightened when ‘no-mind’ or instinct, rather than intellect, became his sole guide in swordsmanship and life. This lesson had been taught not by a warrior but by a successful businessman who told him: ‘Merchants should never be timid or concerned with victory or defeat, profit or loss. If one thinks only of making money, his heart pounds with anticipation; if he fears taking a beating, he will shrink and cower. Nothing can be accomplished by worrying about such things. It is best to keep one’s heart clear, face the work at hand directly, and act boldly.’” (96)

The concept of “mindlessness”, or mushin, a sort of zen-like state, is an important idea both in Japanese culture in general, and in Angry White Pyjamas in particular. In order to submit the body to the physical attacks aikido inflicts on its students, practitioners of aikido enlist this empty mind ideal to assist in dealing with pain. Robert Twigger incorporates this aesthetic value in the learning of aikido, which seems to be an allusion to the mentality of all of Japan.

Mushin, or “no mind” is a state that is the extension of the positive presence of absence in Japanese aesthetics. This ideal for martial artists and warriors allows for intuition to take over from intellect; rather than thinking about what to do next, mushin allows a fighter to react without hesitation. In the case of Twigger, mushin allows him to act without thought of the pain that is likely to accompany his training, leaving him to continue onwards in the intense sessions. The absence of mind allows Twigger to recognize that “the senshusei course was a lot about coping with pain, about losing the pain (2) experience and getting pain under control” (111). By achieving a mental state in which the mind is not focused on thought or emotion (like fear of pain), a martial artist becomes open to everything and capable of reacting instantly to an attack.

The relationship between mushin in the martial arts world and in real life is briefly explored in Twigger’s reference to Tesshu: “In swordsmanship “no mind” allows us to see the perfect place to strike; in daily life it enables us to see into another’s heart’” (43). This distinction between applications of mushin is intriguing as it expands the definition of mushin in the Japanese aesthetic. Not only is Twigger using mushin to mean “no mind” but he is furthering this definition to include the aspect of mushin that relates to the clarity of an empty mind to perceive another’s heart, or inner thoughts. This perception works both in the dojo, and outside of it; within the dojo, this perception allows an intuitive anticipation as to another’s movements, and outside the dojo, reveals motivations that would otherwise remain unknown.

This concept that is so commonly understood throughout Japan as being integral to their culture is something very difficult to understand from a Western perspective. In Angry White Pyjamas the struggle of Twigger to continue on in the dojo with the training explains how different it is for a Westerner to encounter the dedication that the Japanese commit to not only aikido but all of their martial arts. For a Westerner it is much simpler to give up; a concept the Japanese refuse to think of as an option in life.

Japanese Aesthetic Concepts
Honne to Tatemae: The Japanese Aesthetic of the Private and the Public:

“In his or her own way, each person I saw before me looked happy. Whether they were really happy or just looked it, I couldn’t tell. But they did look happy on this pleasant early afternoon at the end of September...” (Norwegian Wood, 79)

In this passage, the honne to tatemae principle is being demonstrated before the eyes of the protagonist and narrator, Toru. There are two important aspects to be aware of. To start, Toru states that each person before him “looked happy,” which indicates that each person is exhibiting a socially acceptable public appearance or front. This is the tatemae portion of the honne to tatemae principle. By identifying this uniformed public appearance, Toru has also revealed his awareness of the existence of honne, the true, private feelings contained within the people before him. This is emphasized further, as he relates that he is uncertain whether or not the happiness these people are expressing is authentic, thus establishing the notion of private feelings retained within the individual. It is interesting to note that Toru is unable to distinguish who is truly happy from those who are not. This demonstrates how deeply rooted the honne to tatemae concept is in the Japanese mindset.

In North American culture and many European cultures it is often the individual’s choice to conceal or disclose private information when in a public environment. For the Japanese, however, this concept is far more profound, and is exercised to a far greater degree. To the Japanese, concealing one’s private feelings while maintaining socially ascribed standards of appearance is necessary for proper interpersonal communication. There are two primary reasons for this preference. Firstly, it offers a uniform public appearance that individuals, who are all intrinsically distinct, can assume. This coincides with the obsession Japanese have for like-mindedness and group identity. So, the idea of conforming to a public image and concealing one’s uniqueness and individuality is more agreeable to the Japanese. Secondly, this principle makes human interaction less abrasive. Straightforward communication of one’s thoughts, opinions or feelings is discredited in Japan, as there is greater possibility for someone to be offended. However, by communicating one’s honne through tatemae, it is less likely that offence will be given or received in an interaction.

Seijaku: The Japanese Aesthetic of Lonely Silence:

“The villages along the road were far smaller now, and the level areas under cultivation far more narrow. The mountain was steeper, its walls pressed closer to the bus windows. [...] At the stop where I got off, there was nothing – no houses, no fields, just the bus stop sign, a little stream, and the trail opening.” (Norwegian Wood, 92)

The Japanese have different meanings and interpretations of silence, such as chinmoku and, as demonstrated above, seijaku. This aesthetic principle signifies the silence exhibited by a hermit or recluse. In essence, it is the silence born from loneliness. The passage above describes the terrain around which the protagonist finds himself as he journeys into the mountains skirting the Kansai district. The diction justly represents the seijaku concept. The world around him is getting “smaller,” “more narrow,” and “pressed closer.” This signifies the movement out of the public environment and into a much more cramped, isolated, and private place. This movement continues until he has reached a place completely removed from mainstream society–or even agricultural society for that matter–and what he observes in the landscape before him is a sense of nothingness. This is, in essence, the seijaku principle. The idea of removing or isolating one’s self from the artifices of mankind and finding stillness in that found space. The experience elicits a profound loneliness, yet it is thought of by the Japanese to be exceedingly peaceful.

Other cultures are certainly familiar with loneliness, but their definition of the term and the feelings it evokes in their society are incomparable to its Japanese interpretation. So, by reading this passage, a non-Japanese would be unable to come to an understanding or experience an emotion which coincides with the seijaku aesthetic. The fact that silence and nothingness hold meaning to the Japanese–multiple meanings, in fact–is paramount to comprehending the distinction between the Japanese perspective of loneliness, and the perspective of other cultures. It is therefore evident that the seijaku aesthetic supports the concept of civilization exclusivity, as there is no concept existing in other others which corresponds succinctly with this Japanese aesthetic value.

Possible Argument Against Civilization Exclusivity in Norwegian Wood:

The main claim which intimates this novel is not an example of civilization exclusivity is that Murakami is writing in a Western sensibility. That is to say, the story represents the mood which is evoked from the Beatles melody, “Norwegian Wood.” If, in fact, the overarching aesthetic of the novel, mono no aware, coincides with the Beatles melody, then this would suggest that the Japan’s civilization is not exclusive. However, a counter argument can be made against this assertion. Murakami is adapting the mood of the song as it is translated in Japanese. In English the title, the “wood” being referred to actually means lumber, yet it became “forest” when the title was translated into Japanese. This variation in the meaning of the word “wood” has a substantial impact on the manner in which the song is interpreted. In the novel, the character Naoko relates that when she listens to the song “Norwegian Wood”, she imagines she is “wandering in a deep wood,” and that she is “all alone and it’s cold and dark, and nobody comes to save [her]” (109). So, even thought the feeling of sadness is evoked in both Western and Japanese listeners of this song, the image it calls to mind is far different, and ultimately two different types of sadness are experienced.