A FISH HAWKER IN JAPAN
The altruism and self-effacement, born of the family system, fostered by the division of the nation into clans—now officially abolished, but still binding huge groups of families with strong ties—and culminating in the most complete devotion to the head of the national family, the Emperor, are the causes of a peculiar defect in the Japanese character—the lack of individuality. It may be said of the Japanese that, on most important matters, they feel and think by millions. The whole system of their civilisation tends to make individual effort subservient to the common cause; the reverence and obedience inculcated from early childhood are not likely to develop the spirit of individuality. Hence the wonderful facility with which the Japanese combine to carry out any policy they recognise as needful for the public welfare once that course has been clearly indicated by their trusted leaders as one that has the Emperor’s approval.
A PEASANT IN A RAIN CLOAK
(Made of straw.)
Japan is, for this reason, the land where leagues, unions, guilds, trusts and “combines” work with astonishing efficiency, such institutions being, by their very nature, well suited to the national character. There are, of course, exceptional Japanese who chafe under the repression of their strong individuality; these occasionally break through the national custom and strike out an independent line. Their fate is not encouraging to those who might be tempted to follow their example. Public opinion reproves them, and they are soon made to feel that their conduct is looked upon as anti-national. Those amongst them who will not bow their heads to the popular verdict, and refuse to be reduced to the level at which the nation strives to keep the individual, soon find life in their own country unbearable. In various cities of Europe, still more in those of North America, such Japanese individualists may be found living in self-imposed exile, shunned by their compatriots, until the day, which comes to most of them, when they submit and go home to resume their place in the ranks of a nation that abhors eccentricity and expects every man to fit into his proper groove in the great national machine.
The mental activity of the Japanese, their respect for knowledge and for all intellectual pursuits, causing them to admire keen wits and exercise of brainpower, have probably contributed in a large measure to form one of the traits in their character that is repellant to Occidentals—their inclination to be cunning and deceitful. In spite of the high and pure ideals of their chivalry, they have not our loathing for deceit, our contempt for chicanery, our respect for the truth. A Japanese convicted of an untruth merely conceals his annoyance at being found out by a smile, sometimes by a laugh, and is not deterred from another statement at variance with facts should he consider it useful to make one. Low cunning is frequently looked upon as cleverness; the suppression of facts is so common that there is no other country where it is so difficult to arrive at the truth. The national failing of intense secretiveness arises, no doubt, from the suspicious nature of the people, who distrust not only all foreigners, but even most of their own race—a condition of mind due, to a great extent, to the widely ramified system of spying that flourished during the rule of the Tokugawa Shōguns, and still exists to a lesser degree.
Their infinite capacity for attention to the most minute details leads to a certain pettiness, a disinclination to consider great abstract questions, and, consequently, to a narrowness of view that accounts for some of the blunders which occur in the execution of the otherwise marvellously efficient policy of the rulers of Japan.
Manners of the Haughty Samurai
The exquisite politeness of the Japanese is responsible for a great part of that insincerity with which they are taxed by Occidentals who have been much in contact with them. This extreme courtesy makes them so anxious to avoid any speech that might possibly give offence that they frequently distort the truth, suppress it entirely, or replace it by polite fiction, intended to give pleasure. It should be remembered that, in the knightly times of old—they continued until the early ’seventies of the nineteenth century—a Japanese had to be very guarded in his speech and demeanour; quite unintentionally, a word lightly spoken, an incautious gesture, might give dire offence to a Samurai—one of the gentry, privileged to wear two swords—who would be quick to resent the fancied slight to his punctilious sense of personal dignity. Insults, real, and often imaginary, were wiped out with blood. Hence the endeavour to avoid any possible cause of offence, for the same reason that made Europeans very circumspect in their behaviour in the days when gentlemen wore swords and drew them on small provocation.