Kokoro – Lafcadio Hearn
At the turn of the 19th and 20th
centuries journalist Lafacdio Hearn published magazine pieces on Japanese life
and folklore. These articles were collected in books such as Kokoro.
For fear of being embarrassed for lack of literary taste,
I don’t want to be caught reading Hearn because of his arts for art’s sake, fin
de siècle prose. Ornate. Needless hard words. Word order funny. In the piece A Street Singer, he writes as the ugly
blind samisen player plays, “A tenderness invisible seemed to gather and quiver
about us.” And more: “For out of those ugly disfigured lips there gushed and
rippled a miracle of a voice—young, deep, unutterably touching in its
penetrating sweetness. ‘Woman or wood-fairy?’ queried a bystander.” Yish. So many
“sensations of places and of times forgotten” and things intangible and
evanescent and ineffable that rolling our eyes, we readily believe one of his
favorite writers was Poe.
I feel embarrassed at not being more skeptical after I
find out that reporters I believed have played fast and loose with the facts.
Hearn kicks off Kokoro with the
story that Hearn says he saw with his own eyes. At a train station, a killer is
confronted with the four-year-old son of his victim. The killer breaks down in
repentance, providing proof of, Hearn asserts, "that potential love of
children which is so large a part of the soul of every Japanese." A
Japanese scholar, Ōta Yuzō, looked up the original newspaper accounts of this
incident. He reports that the killer did not address the boy, gave only a curt
apology to the widow, and generally acted with as little remorse as the
cold-blooded thugs that have shot somebody to get an iPhone.
That otherwise bright people believe woo-woo such as the
collective unconscious is embarrassing. Years before he arrived in Japan at the
age of 40, Hearn came under the influence of the philosophy of Herbert Spencer.
A Lamarckist of sorts, Hearn considered genetic memory to be a fusion of memory
and heredity. Kokoro is dotted with
numinous, preternatural notions like this:
·
How deeply-reaching into the life of the race
some of these sensations are, such as the pleasure in odors and in colors,
Grant Allen has most effectively suggested in his "Physiological
Aesthetics," and in his charming treatise on the Color-Sense.
·
Scientifically we know that within one tiny
living cell may be stored up the whole life of a race,—the sum of all the past
sensation of millions of years; perhaps even (who knows?) of millions of dead
planets.
·
The strength of Japan, like the strength of her
ancient faith, needs little material display: both exist where the deepest real
power of any great people exists,—in the Race Ghost.
·
The explanation [of acceptance of impermancy] is
in the race character,—a race character in more ways than one the very opposite
of our own.
·
Well, the emotion of beauty, like all of our
emotions, is certainly the inherited product of unimaginably countless
experiences in an immeasurable past.
Millions of dead planets. The Race Ghost. As an ex-Jungian, I blush.
Clearly, I feel acute embarrassment when I see others
embarrassing themselves in ways in which I embarrassed myself in the past. Not
just me. Any sojourner who has lived and studied or worked in a foreign country
for a couple of years has gone through the same stages Hearn went through.
First is initial excitement and infatuation. For Hearn, everything
Japanese was polite, graceful, quaint, small, tidy, tastefully artistic, as
well as clean and smelling like a gardenia. But we squirm when we recall our
first reactions to a new place were just as smitten, with a tendency to gush as
Hearn did in the above story about the killer.
Second is culture shock. For Hearn, it was maddening that
traditional Japan was being mindlessly Occidentalized. Hearn frankly states, “I
confess to being one of those who believe that the human heart, even in the
history of a race, may be worth infinitely more than the human intellect, and
that it will sooner or later prove itself infinitely better able to answer all
the cruel enigmas of the Sphinx of Life.” I for one shudder a bit when I recall
my youthful romanticism, nostalgic for times long past, places to flee where I
didn’t have to worry about finding a job in the downsizing Eighties.
Third is the realization that the local people exhibit
all the strengths and faults, commonsense and quirks of folks back in the old
hometown. After about four years in Japan, Hearn was writing to his friend
Basil Hall Chamberlain (a much more clear-minded observer of Japan):
"Lowell says the Japanese have no individuality. I wish he had to teach
here for a year, and he would discover some of the most extraordinary
individualities he ever saw." Having taught in Japan for six years myself
(1986 - 92), I can only agree whole-heartedly that is better – in the sense of easier on
the stomach – to accept people and places as they are.
As I grow older, I consider the will to avoid
embarrassment to be a motivator in life. Not as strong as greed, lust, love and
hate. But strong enough to make people procrastinate out of fear of failure and
its perceived damage to self-confidence and reputation.
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