A literary society is a proof of weakness—not a combination of force. The strong worker and thinker works and thinks by himself. He does not want help or sympathy or company. His pleasure in the work is enough. No great work ever came out of a literary society,—no great original work.
A literary society, for the purpose of studying literature, is utterly useless. The library is a better place for the study of literature. The best of all places is the solitude of one’s own room.
I should not say anything against a society organized for the translation and publication of the whole of Shakespeare’s plays,—for example. But translation is a practical matter—not original work, nor even literary study in the highest sense.
Even in the matter of making a dictionary, no society, however, can equal the work of the solitary scholar. The whole French Academy could not produce a dictionary such as Littré produced by himself.
I have said that I think these Japanese societies mean a mischievous waste of time. Think of the young scholars who go from Japan to Europe for higher study. They are trained by the most learned professors in the world,—they are prepared in every way to become creators, original thinkers, literary producers. And when they return to Japan, instead of being encouraged to work, they are asked to waste their time in societies, to attend banquets, to edit magazines, to deliver addresses, to give lectures free of charge, to correct manuscripts, to do everything which can possibly be imagined to prevent them from working. They cannot do anything; they are not allowed to do anything; their learning and their lives are made barren. They are treated, not like human beings with rights, but like machines to be used, and brutally used, and worn out as soon as possible.
While this rage for wasting time in societies goes on there will be no new Japanese literature, no new drama, no new poetry—nothing good of any kind. Production will be made impossible and only the commonplace translation of foreign ideas. The meaning of time, the meaning of work, the sacredness of literature are unknown to this generation.
And what is the use of founding a new journal? There are too many journals now. You can publish whatever you want without founding a journal. If you found a journal, you will be obliged to write for it quickly and badly; and you know that good literary work cannot be done quickly,—cannot be made to order within a fixed time. A new journal—unless you choose to be a journalist, and nothing but a journalist—would mean not only waste of time, but waste of money.
I am speaking in this way, because I think that literature is a very serious and sacred thing—not an amusement, not a thing to trifle and play with.
Handicapped as you now are,—with an enormous number of class-hours,—you cannot attempt any literature work at all, without risking your health and injuring your brains. It is much more important that you should try to get a position allowing you more leisure.
And finally, I have small sympathy with the mere study of English literature by Japanese students and scholars. I should infinitely prefer to hear of new studies in Japanese literature. Except with the sole purpose of making a new Japanese literature, I do not sympathize with English or French or German studies.