I was well acquainted. She proved to be out; but a daughter of whom I
had not before heard was at home, and I began to talk with her.
Contrary to all my previous experience, this young girl of less than
twenty years looked me straight in the face with perfect composure,
replied to my questions with clear voice and complete sentences, and
asked questions in her turn without the slightest embarrassment. I was
amazed. Here was a Japanese girl acting and talking with the freedom
of an American. How was this to be explained? Difficult though it
appeared, the problem was easily solved. The young lady had been in
America, having spent several years in Radcliffe College. There it was
that her Japanese demureness was dropped and the American frankness
and vivacity of manner acquired. It was a matter simply of the
prevailing social customs, and not of her inherent nature as a
Japanese.
And this conclusion is enforced by the further fact that there is a
marked increase in vivacity in those who become Christian. The
repressive social restraints of the old social order are somewhat
removed. A freedom is allowed to individuals of the Christian
community, in social life, in conversation between men and women, in
the holding of private opinions, which the non-Christian order of
society did not permit. Sociability between the sexes was not allowed.
The new freedom naturally results in greater vivacity and a far freer
play of facial expression than the older order could produce. The
vivacity and sociability of the geisha (dancing and singing girls),
whose business it is to have social relations with the men, freely
conversing with them, still further substantiates the view that the
stolid, irrepressive features of the usual Japanese woman are social,
not essential, characteristics. The very same girls exhibit
alternately stolidity and vivacity according as they are acting as
geisha or as respectable members of society.
This completes our direct study of the various elements characterizing
the emotional nature of the Japanese. It is universally admitted that
the people are conspicuously emotional. We have shown, however, that
their feelings are subject to certain remarkable suppressions.
It remains to be asked why the Japanese are more emotional than other
races? One reason doubtless is that the social conditions were such as
to stimulate their emotional rather than their intellectual powers.
The military system upon which the social structure rested kept the
nation in its mental infancy. Twenty-eight millions of farmers and a
million and a half of soldiers was the proportion during the middle of
the nineteenth century. Education was limited to the soldiers. But
although they cultivated their minds somewhat, their very occupation
as soldiers required them to obey rather than to think; their
hand-to-hand conflicts served mightily to stimulate the emotions. The
entire feudal order likewise was calculated to have the same effect.
The intellectual life being low, its inhibitions were correspondingly
weak. When, in the future, the entire population shall have become
fairly educated, and taught to think independently; and when
government by the people shall have become much more universal,
throwing responsibility on the people as never before, and stimulating
discussion of the general principles of life, of government, and of
law, then must the emotional features of the nation become less
conspicuous.
It is a question of relative development. As children run to extremes
of thought and action on the slightest occasion, simply because their
intellects have not come into full activity, weeping at one moment and
laughing at the next, so it is with national life. Where the general
intellectual development of a people is retarded, the emotional
manifestations are of necessity correspondingly conspicuous.
Even so fundamental a racial trait, then, as the emotional, is seen to
be profoundly influenced by the prevailing social order. The emotional
characteristics which distinguish the Japanese from other races are
due, in the last analysis, to the nature of their social order rather
than to their inherent nature or brain structure.
XV
AESTHETIC CHARACTERISTICS
In certain directions, the Japanese reveal a development of æsthetic
taste which no other nation has reached. The general appreciation of
landscape-views well illustrates this point. The home and garden of
the average workman are far superior artistically to those of the same
class in the West. There is hardly a home without at least a
diminutive garden laid out in artistic style with miniature lake and
hills and winding walks. And this garden exists solely for the delight
of the eye.
The general taste displayed in many little ways is a constant delight
to the Western "barbarian" when he first comes to Japan. Nor does this
delight vanish with time and familiarity, though it is tempered by a
later perception of certain other features. Indeed, the more one knows
of the details of their artistic taste, the more does he appreciate
it. The "toko-no-ma," for example, is a variety of alcove usually
occupying half of one side of a room. It indicates the place of honor,
and guests are always urged to sit in front of it. The floor of the
"toko-no-ma" is raised four or five inches above the level of the room
and should never be stepped upon. In this "toko-no-ma" is usually
placed some work of art, or a vase with flowers, and on the wall is
hung a picture or a few Chinese characters, written by some famous
calligraphist, which are changed with the seasons. The woodwork and
the coloring of this part of the room is of the choicest. The
"toko-no-ma" of the main room of the house is always restful to the
eye; this "honorable spot" is found in at least one room in every
house; and if the owner has moderate means, there are two or three
such rooms. Only the homes of the poorest of the poor are without this
ornament.
The Japanese show a refined taste in the coloring and decoration of
rooms; natural woods, painted and polished, are common; every post and
board standing erect must stand in the position in which it grew. A
Japanese knows at once whether a board or post is upside down, though
it would often puzzle a Westerner to decide the matter. The natural
wood ceilings and the soft yellows and blues of the walls are all that
the best trained Occidental eye could ask. Dainty decorations called
the "ramma," over the neat "fusuma," consist of delicate shapes and
quaint designs cut in thin boards, and serve at once as picture and
ventilator. The drawings, too, on the "fusuma" (solid thick paper
sliding doors separating adjacent rooms or shutting off the closet)
are simple and neat, as is all Japanese pictorial art.
Japanese love for flowers reveals a high æsthetic development. Not
only are there various flower festivals at which times the people
flock to suburban gardens and parks, but sprays, budding branches, and
even large boughs are invariably arranged in the homes and public
halls. Every church has an immense vase for the purpose. The proper
arrangement of flowers and of flowering sprays and boughs is a highly
developed art. It is often one of the required studies in girls'
schools. I have known two or three men who made their entire living by
teaching this art. Miniature flowering trees are reared with
consummate skill. An acquaintance of mine glories in 230 varieties of
the plum tree, all in pots, some of them between two and three hundred
years old. Shinto and Buddhist temples also reveal artistic qualities
most pleasing to the eye.
But the main point of our interest lies in the explanation of this
characteristic. Is the æsthetic sense more highly developed in Japan
than in the West? Is it more general? Is it a matter of inherent
nature, or of civilization?
In trying to meet these problems, I note, first of all, that the
development of the Japanese æsthetic taste is one-sided; though
advanced in certain respects it is belated in others. In illustration
is the sense of smell. It will not do to say that "the Japanese have
no use for the nose," and that the love of sweet smells is unknown.
Sir Rutherford Alcock's off-quoted sentence that "in one of the most
beautiful and fertile countries in the whole world the flowers have no
scent, the birds no song, and the fruit and vegetables no flavor," is
quite misleading, for it has only enough truth to make it the more
deceptive. It is true that the cherry blossom has little or no odor,
and that its beauty lies in its exquisite coloring and abounding
luxuriance, but most of the native flowers are praised and prized by
the Japanese for their odors, as well as for their colors, as the
plum, the chrysanthemum, the lotus, and the rose. The fragrance of
flowers is a frequent theme in Japanese poetry. Japanese ladies, like
those of every land, are fond of delicate scents. Cologne and kindred
wares find wide sale in Japan, and I am told that expensive musk is
not infrequently packed away with the clothing of the wealthy.
But in contrast to this appreciation is a remarkable indifference to
certain foul odors. It is amazing what horrid smells the cultivated
Japanese will endure in his home. What we conceal in the rear and out
of the way, he very commonly places in the front yard; though this is,
of course, more true of the country than of large towns or cities. It
would seem as if a high æsthetic development should long ago have
banished such sights and smells. As a matter of fact, however, the
æsthetics of the subject does not seem to have entered the national
mind, any more than have the hygienics of the same subject.
In explanation of these facts, may it not be that the Japanese method
of agriculture has been a potent hindrance to the æsthetic development
of the sense of smell? In primitive times, when wealth was small, the
only easy method which the people had of preserving the fertilizing
properties of that which is removed from our cities by the
sewer-system was such as we still find in use in Japan to-day. Perhaps
the necessities of the case have toughened the mental, if not the
physical, sense of the people. Perhaps the unæsthetic character of the
sights and smells has been submerged in the great value of fertilizing
materials. Then, too, with the Occidental, the thought is common that
such odors are indications of seriously unhealthful conditions. We are
accordingly offended not simply by the odor itself, but also by the
associations of sickness and death which it suggests. Not so the
unsophisticated Oriental. Such a correlation of ideas is only now
arising in Japan, and changes are beginning to be made, as a
consequence.
I cannot leave this point without drawing attention to the fact that
the development of the sense of smell in these directions is
relatively recent, even in the West. Of all the non-European nations
and races, I have no doubt Japan is most free from horrid smells and
putrid odors. And in view of our own recent emancipation it is not for
us to marvel that others have made little progress. Rather is it
marvelous that we should so easily forget the hole from which we have
been so recently digged.
In turning to study certain features of Japanese pictorial art, we
notice that a leading characteristic is that of simplicity. The
greatest results are secured with the fewest possible strokes. This
general feature is in part due to the character of the instrument
used, the "fude," "brush." This same brush answers for writing. It
admits of strong, bold outlines; and a large brush allows the
exhibition of no slight degree of skill. As a result, "writing" is a
fine art in Japan. Hardly a family that makes any pretense at culture
but owns one or more framed specimens of writing. In Japan these rank
as pictures do or mottoes in the West, and are prized not merely for
the sentiment expressed, but also for the skill displayed in the use
of the brush. Skillful writers become famous, often receiving large
sums for small "pictures" which consist of but two or three Chinese
characters.
No doubt the higher development of appreciation for natural scenery
among the people in general is largely due to the character of the
scenery itself. Steep hills and narrow valleys adjoin nearly every
city in the land. Seas, bays, lakes, and rivers are numerous;
reflected mountain scenes are common; the colors are varied and
marked. Flowering trees of striking beauty are abundant. Any people
living under these physical conditions, and sufficiently advanced in
civilization to have leisure and culture, can hardly fail to be
impressed with such wealth of beauty in the scenery itself.
In the artistic reproduction of this scenery, however, Japanese
artists are generally supposed to be inferior to those of the West.
As often remarked, Japanese art has directed its chief endeavor to
animals and to nature, thus failing to give to man his share of
attention. This curious one-sidedness shows itself particularly in
painting and in sculpture. In the former, when human beings are the
subject, the aim has apparently been to extol certain characteristics;
in warriors, the military or heroic spirit; in wise men, their wisdom;
in monks and priests, their mastery over the passions and complete
attainment of peace; in a god, the moral character which he is
supposed to represent. Art has consequently been directed to bringing
into prominence certain ideal features which must be over-accentuated
in order to secure recognition; caricatures, rather than lifelike
forms, are the frequent results. The images of multitudes of gods are
frightful to behold; the aim being to show the character of the
emotion of the god in the presence of evil. These idols are easily
misunderstood, for we argue that the more frightful he is, the more
vicious must be the god in his real character; not so the Oriental. To
him the more frightful the image, the more noble the character. Really
evil gods, such as demons, are always represented, I think, as
deformed creatures, partly human and partly beast. It is to be
remembered, in this connection, that idols are an imported feature of
Japanese religion; Shinto to this day has no "graven image." All idols
are Buddhistic. Moreover, they are but copies of the hideous idols of
India; the Japanese artistic genius has added nothing to their
grotesque appearance. But the point of interest for us is that the
æsthetic taste which can revel in flowers and natural scenery has
never delivered Japanese art from truly unæsthetic representations of
human beings and of gods.
Standing recently before a toy store and looking at the numberless
dolls offered for sale, I was impressed afresh with the lack of taste
displayed, both in coloring and in form; their conventionality was
exceedingly tiresome; their one attractive feature was their
absurdity. But the moment I turned away from the imitations of human
beings to look at the imitations of nature, the whole impression was
changed. I was pleased with the artistic taste displayed in the
perfectly imitated, delicately colored flowers. They were beautiful
indeed.
Why has Japanese art made so little of man as man? Is it due to the
"impersonality" of the Orient, as urged by some? This suggests, but
does not give, the correct interpretation of the phenomenon in
question. The reason lies in the nature of the ruling ideas of
Oriental civilization. Man, as man, has not been honored or highly
esteemed. As a warrior he has been honored; consequently, when
pictured or sculptured as a warrior, he has worn his armor; his face,
if visible, is not the natural face of a man, but rather that of a
passionate victor, slaying his foe or planning for the same. And so
with the priests and the teachers, the emperors and the generals; all
have been depicted, not for what they are in themselves, but for the
rank which they have attained; they are accordingly represented with
their accouterments and robes and the characteristic attitudes of
their rank. The effort to preserve their actual appearance is
relatively rare. Manhood and womanhood, apart from social rank, have
hardly been recognized, much less extolled by art. This feature, then,
corresponds to the nature of the Japanese social order. The art of a
land necessarily reveals the ruling ideals of its civilization. As
Japan failed to discover the inherent nature and value of manhood and
womanhood, estimating them only on a utilitarian basis, so has her art
reflected this failure.
Apparently it has never attempted to depict the nude human form. This
is partly explained, perhaps, by the fact that the development of a
perfect physical form through exercise and training has not been a
part of Oriental thought. Labor of every sort has been regarded as
degrading. Training for military skill and prowess has indeed been
common among the military classes; but the skill and strength
themselves have been the objects of thought, rather than the beauty of
the muscular development which they produce. When we recall the
prominent place which the games of Greece took in her civilization
previous to her development of art, and the stress then laid on
perfect bodily form, we shall better understand why there should be
such difference in the development of the art of these two lands. I
have never seen a Japanese man or youth bare his arm to show with
pride the development of his biceps; and so far as I have observed,
the pride which students in the United States feel over well-developed
calves has no counterpart in Japan--this, despite the fact that the
average Japanese has calves which would turn the American youth green
with envy.
From the absence of the nude in Japanese art it has been urged that
Japan herself is far more morally pure than the West. Did the moral
life of the people correspond to their art in this respect, the
argument would have force. Unfortunately, such does not seem to be the
case. It is further suggested as a reason that the bodily form of
Oriental peoples is essentially unæsthetic; that the men are either
too fat or too lean, and the women too plump when in the bloom of
youth and too wrinkled and flabby when the first bloom is over. The
absurdity of this suggestion raises a smile, and a query as to the
experience which its author must have had. For any person who has
lived in Japan must have seen individuals of both sexes, whom the most
fastidious painter or sculptor would rejoice to secure as models.
It might be thought that a truly artistic people, who are also
somewhat immoral, would have developed much skill in the portrayal of
the nude female form. But such an attempt does not seem to have been
made until recent times, and in imitation of Western art. At least
such attempts have not been recognized as art nor have they been
preserved as such. I have never seen either statue or picture of a
nude Japanese woman. Even the pictures of famous prostitutes are
always faultlessly attired. The number and size of the conventional
hairpins, and the gaudy coloring of the clothing, alone indicate the
immoral character of the woman represented.
It is not to be inferred, however, that immoral pictures have been
unknown in Japan, for the reverse is true. Until forcibly suppressed
by the government under the incentive of Western criticism, there was
perfect freedom to produce and sell licentious and lascivious
pictures. The older foreign residents in Japan testify to the
frequency with which immoral scenes were depicted and exposed for
sale. Here I merely say that these were not considered works of art;
they were reproduced not in the interests of the æsthetic sense, but
wholly to stimulate the taste for immoral things.
The absence of the nude from Japanese art is due to the same causes
that led to the relative absence of all distinctively human nature
from art. Manhood and womanhood, as such, were not the themes they
strove to depict.
A curious feature of the artistic taste of the people is the marked
fondness for caricature. It revels in absurd accentuations of special
features. Children with protruding foreheads; enormously fat little
men; grotesque dwarf figures in laughable positions; these are a few
common examples. Nearly all of the small drawings and sculpturings of
human figures are intentionally grotesque. But the Japanese love of
the grotesque is not confined to its manifestation in art. It also
reveals itself in other surprising ways. It is difficult to realize
that a people who revel in the beauties of nature can also delight in
deformed nature; yet such is the case. Stunted and dwarfed trees,
trees whose branches have been distorted into shapes and proportions
that nature would scorn--these are sights that the Japanese seem to
enjoy, as well as "natural" nature. Throughout the land, in the
gardens of the middle and higher classes, may be found specimens of
dwarfed and stunted trees which have required decades to raise. The
branches, too, of most garden shrubs and trees are trimmed in
fantastic shapes. What is the charm in these distortions? First,
perhaps, the universal human interest in anything requiring skill.
Think of the patience and persistence and experimentation necessary
to rear a dwarf pear tree twelve or fifteen inches high, growing its
full number of years and bearing full-size fruit in its season! And
second is the no less universal human interest in the strange and
abnormal. All primitive people have this interest. It shows itself in
their religions. Abnormal stones are often objects of religious
devotion. Although I cannot affirm that such objects are worshiped in
Japan to-day, yet I can say that they are frequently set up in temple
grounds and dedicated with suitable inscriptions. Where nature can be
made to produce the abnormal, there the interest is still greater. It
is a living miracle. Witness the cocks of Tosa, distinguished by their
two or three tail feathers reaching the extraordinary length of ten or
even fifteen feet, the product of ages of special breeding.
According to the ordinary use of the term, æsthetics has to do with
art alone. Yet it also has intimate relations with both speech and
conduct. Poetry depends for its very existence on æsthetic
considerations. Although little conscious regard is paid to æsthetic
claims in ordinary conversation, yet people of culture do, as a matter
of fact, pay it much unconscious attention. In conduct too, æsthetic
ideas are often more dominant than we suppose. The objection of the
cultured to the ways of the boorish rests on æsthetic grounds. This is
true in every land. In the matter of conduct it is sometimes hard to
draw the line between æsthetics and ethics, for they shade
imperceptibly into one another; so much so that they are seen to be
complementary rather than contradictory. Though it is doubtless true
that conduct æsthetically defective may not be defective ethically,
still is it not quite as true that conduct bad from the ethical is bad
also from the æsthetical standpoint?
In no land have æsthetic considerations had more force in molding both
speech and conduct than in Japan. Not a sentence is uttered by a
Japanese but has the characteristic marks of æstheticism woven into
its very structure. By means of "honorifics" it is seldom necessary
for a speaker to be so pointedly vulgar as even to mention self. There
are few points in the language so difficult for a foreigner to
master, whether in speaking himself, or in listening to others, as the
use of these honorific words. The most delicate shades of courtesy and
discourtesy may be expressed by them. Some writers have attributed the
relative absence of the personal pronouns from the language to the
dominating force of impersonal pantheism. I am unable to take this
view for reasons stated in the later chapters on personality.