Part 12
It now seems to me that I was partly wrong in a former letter to you about business morality: I took much too narrow a view of the case, perhaps. The comparison between the Western and Oriental brain--which everybody is forced to make after a few years' sojourn here--now appears to me appalling in its results. The Western business man is really a very terrible and wonderful person. He is the outcome, perhaps, of a mediæval wish. For types are created by men's wishes--just as men themselves are created. The greatest teaching of science is that no Body made us,--but we made ourselves under the smart stimulus of pain. Well, as I was saying, the business man is an answer to a wish. (You know about the frogs who asked Jupiter for a King.) In the age of robber-barons, racks, swordmills, and _droit de cuissage_,--men prayed Jupiter for Law, Order, System. Jupiter (in the shape of a very, very earnest desire) produced the Business man. He represents insatiate thirst of dominion, supreme intellectual aggressive capacity, faultless practical perceptivity, and the art of handling men exactly like pawns. But he represents also Order, System, Law. He is Organization, and is King of the Earth. The pawns cry out, "We are not pawns." But he always politely answers, "I am sorry to disagree with you, but I find it expedient for our mutual interest to consider you pawns; besides, I have no time to argue the matter. If you think you are not pawns, you must show the faculty of Organization."
The tyranny of the future must be that of Organization: the monopoly, the trust, the combination, the associated company--representing supremely perfect mathematical unification of Law, Order, and System. Much more powerful than the robber-baron, or Charlemagne, or Barbarossa, these are infinitely less human,--having no souls, etc. (What would be the use of souls!--souls only waste time.) Business is exact and dangerous and powerful like a colossal dynamo: it is the extreme of everything men used to pray for,--and it is _not_ what they did _not_ pray for. Perhaps they would like the robber-baron better.
We little petty outsiders--the gnats hovering about life--feel the world is changing too quickly: all becoming methodical as an abacus. There isn't any more room for us. Competition is of no use. Law, Order, and System fill the places without consulting us,--the editorial desks, the clerkships, the Government posts, the publishers' offices, the pulpits, the professorships, the sinecures as well as the tough jobs. Where a worker is unnecessary, a pawn is preferred. (Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness!--provided with a good table and a regular supply of reading from Murray's circulating library!) One thing is dead sure: in another generation there can be no living by dreaming and scheming of art: only those having wealth can indulge in the luxury of writing books for their own pleasure....
Faithfully ever, LAFCADIO HEARN.
TO ELLWOOD HENDRICK
KUMAMOTO, May, 1894.
DEAR HENDRICK,--So far from your letters not being interesting, they are always full of interest--first, simply because they are _your_ letters; secondly, because they tell the evolution of you--showing how, after all, we are made by the eternal forces. That you become a business man, in every sense of the word, is inevitable. It would be wrong if you did not. It would be wrong not to love your profession. The evil of becoming a business man exists only for small men--dries small men up. Surely you are not small! There is nothing to regret--except perhaps a temporary darkness which may yield to enormous light later on. Some would say to you, "Always keep one little place in your heart from hardening." I would say nothing of the kind now: I think you are too large to be talked to in that way.
[Illustration]
Suppose I try to illustrate by reference to the scope of human thinking in general. Ethical theology might be represented then as an inverted pyramid,--thus [Illustration: inverted triangle]; hard, skeptical science by a larger figure, pressing it down; the highest philosophy by a circle,--something like this figure. The largest thought accepts all, surrounds all, absorbs all,--like light itself. The ugly and the beautiful, the ignorant and the wise, the virtuous and the vile,--all come within its recognition; nature and sins as well as societies and clubs,--prisons and churches, brothels and houses. The very duties of observation forced upon you compel two things: the study of all moral and material details; the study of all combinations and wholes. And the larger the grasp of the whole the larger must become your power and value; for you will have to see eternal laws working down out of the unknown and thereafter ramifying and inter-ramifying into innumerable actions, reactions, disintegrations, and crystallizations. The horrible thing about business, men say, is that it considers men as pawns. But if your sight becomes large enough,--if your thought widens enough,--you _must_ look upon men as pawns. To be a brother to all you cannot. To be a friend to many you cannot. You become the agent--not of the Commercial Union Assurance Co. only,--but the special agent of infinite laws; and if you act efficiently in that capacity, you cannot do very wrong. The Cosmos will be responsible for you.
The business man to-day is the king of the earth; merchants and bankers are the rulers, and will for all time be, while industrialism continues necessary. They seek and win power, and all the good things of life; they also prevent others from getting either. They may not be poets, philosophers, didactic teachers, artists; but their mental organization is undoubtedly the highest,--because its achievements represent the mastery of the highest difficulties, the deepest problems, the most intricate riddles. Certainly this higher organization is obtained at a heavy cost in the majority of cases. The emotions dry up in the evolution of it, and the moral sense weakens. But because this must happen in the majority of cases when any _new_ faculty is being developed, it is far from happening in all. The man whose vision is vast enough can scarcely do more evil than a god. He cannot injure his world voluntarily without suffering from his own action. He must study his world as a naturalist his ant-hill. And even as a God he must feel the ultimate evil and good is not of him; but is being forever viewlessly woven in Shadow by the Fates of the Infinite,--whose distaff twists the thread of his own life, and whose will guides his own courses.
The great desire would be for the combination of emotion with knowledge, of philosophy with mathematics, of Plato with a Napoleon, or Spinoza with a Gould. This will come. Now it is very rare....
You might reply, "In the present order of things the combination would ruin the working-power of the man. The Gould could not act the Gould if combined with the Spinoza,--nor could the Napoleon _se foule de la vie d'un million d'hommes_ if crossed with a Plato."
I would answer, "Not in the elder generation, but why not to-day? If the moral laws that in a Spinoza would have checked a Gould, or in a Plato checked a Napoleon, were essentially limited in other years, are they so to-day? If the two philosophers had had larger horizons of thinking, would they have recognized a tether,--or would they not rather have viewed themselves as mere force-atoms in an infinite electric stream? Are there not now recognitions of laws transcending all human ethics?--laws of which Goethe threw out such weird suggestions?--and must not business, from its very nature, drift into the knowledge of these laws?"
To-day, it is true, the highest possible type of business man would have to follow the small policy of the majority. But certainly he can be like one of those compound double-engines,--whereof the best half is kept idle in reserve,--always oiled and speckless and ready for rare emergencies or opportunities. If something within you regrets something else that is passing away, that need not be any alarming sign. The mere fact that the regret exists, indicates higher possibilities. Don't you remember Emerson's extraordinary lines,--
"Though thou love her as thyself-- As a self of purer clay,-- Though her parting dim the day Stealing grace from all alive,-- _Heartily know, When half-gods go The Gods arrive!_"
The dear little psyche is going? Well, let her go! Regret her a little--that is sweet and good. Feel lonesome for her awhile. Wait. Then make yourself a new soul, large enough to wrap round the whole world, like the Æther.
Faithfully ever, LAFCADIO HEARN.
TO PAGE M. BAKER
KUMAMOTO, 1894.
DEAR PAGE,--Though I never hear from you directly, the _T.-D._ brings me occasionally very emphatic proof that I am not forgotten, and am perhaps forgiven. So I venture a line or two, hoping you will not show the letter to anybody.
I told you some years ago I was married; but I did not tell you I had a son,--who is, of course, dearer than my own life to me. Curiously, he is neither like his mother nor like me: he takes after some English ancestor,--for he is grey-eyed, fair-haired (curly chestnut), and wonderfully strong: he is going, if he lives, to be a remarkably powerful man; and, I hope, a more sensible man than his foolish dad.
Well, now two perils menace me. First, the immense reaction of Japan,--reasserting her individuality against all foreign influence, which has resulted in the discharge of most of the high-paid foreign employees; secondly, the war with China. The Japanese--essentially a fighting race, as Bantams are--will probably win the battles every time; but if China be in dead, bitter earnest, _she_ will win the war. (Probably her chances will be snatched from her by foreign intervention.) But whatever be the end of this enormous complication, Japan is going to empty her treasury. The chances for Government employees are dwindling: my contract runs only till March, and the chances are 0.
Of course, I can peg along somehow,--getting odd jobs from newspapers, etc., doing a little teaching of English, French, or Spanish. I can't help thinking I would do better to go abroad--especially at a time when every American 100 cents is worth nearly 200 Japanese cents.
Here goes. Could you get me anything to do if I started in the spring for America? I mean something good enough to save money at. I am past all nonsense now, and for myself only would need very little. But it would not be for myself that I should go. I should want to be sure of being able to send money to Japan, by confining my own wants to good living and an occasional book or two. If you could get me something anywhere south of Mason and Dixon's line, I should try to be practically grateful in some way. I am not in the least desirous of seeing Boston or New York or Philadelphia--or being obliged to exist by machinery. I would rather infinitely be in Memphis or Charleston or Mobile or--glorious Florida.
Or can you get me anything educational in Spanish-America? I could scarcely take my people to the U.S.,--but to South America I might try later on. I am now 44, and all grey as a badger. Unless I can make enough to educate my boy well, I don't know what I am worth,--but I feel that I shall have precious little time to do it in. Add 20 to 44,--and how much is left of a man?
Perhaps you will think--if I am worth thinking about at all: "Well, why were you such a d----d fool as to go and have a son?" Ask the gods! Really _I_ don't know.
Ever faithfully--or, as the Japanese would say, _un_faithfully,--yours,
LAFCADIO HEARN.
TO ELLWOOD HENDRICK
KUMAMOTO, June, 1894.
DEAR HENDRICK,-- ... We were chatting last time about the morality of business. Now let me tell you how the question strikes an intelligent Japanese student.
"Sir, what was your opinion when you first came to our country about the old-fashioned Japanese? Please be frank with me."
"You mean the old men, who still preserve the old customs and courtesy,--men like Mr. Akizuki, the Chinese teacher?"
"Yes."
"I think they were much better men than the Japanese of to-day. They seemed to me like the ideals of their own gods realized. They seemed to me all that was good and noble."
"And do you still think as well of them?"
"I think better of them, if anything. The more I see the Japanese of the new generation, the more I admire the men of the old."
"But you must have, as a foreigner, also observed their defects."
"What defects?"
"Such weaknesses or faults as foreigners would observe."
"No. According as a man is more or less perfectly adapted to the society to which he belongs, so is he to be judged as a citizen and as a man. To judge a man by the standards of a society totally different to his own would not be just."
"That is true."
"Well, judged by that standard, the old-fashioned Japanese were perfect men. They represented fully all the virtues of their society. And that society was morally better than ours."
"In what respect?"
"In kindness, in benevolence, in generosity, in courtesy, in heroism, in self-sacrifice, in simple faith, in loyalty, in self-control,--in the capacity to be contented with a little,--in filial piety."
"But would those qualities you admire in the old Japanese suffice for success in Western life--practical success?"
"Why, no."
"The qualities required for practical success in a Western country are just those qualities which the old Japanese did not possess, are they not?"
"I am sorry to say they are."
"And the old Japanese society cultivated those qualities of unselfishness and courtesy and benevolence which you admire at the sacrifice of the individual. But Western society cultivates the individual by a competition in mere powers--intellectual power, power of calculating and of acting?"
"Yes."
"But in order that Japan may be able to keep her place among nations, she _must_ adopt the industrial and financial methods of the West. Her future depends upon industry and commerce; and these cannot be developed if we continue to follow our ancient morals and manners."
"Why?"
"Not to be able to compete with the West means ruin; yet in order to compete with the West, we must follow the methods of the West,--and these are contrary to the old morality."
"Perhaps--"
"I do not think there is any 'perhaps.' To do any business on a large scale, we must not be checked by the idea that we should never take any advantage if another be injured by it. Those who are checked by emotional feeling, where no check is placed upon competition, must fail. The law of what you call the struggle for existence is that the strong and clever succeed, and the weak and foolish fail. But the old morality condemned such competition."
"That is true."
"Then, sir, no matter how good the old morality may seem to be, we can neither make any great progress in industry or commerce or finance, nor even preserve our national independence, by following it. We must forsake our past, and substitute law for morality."
"But it is not a good substitute."
"It seems to me that it has proved a good substitute in Western countries--England especially--if we are to judge by material progress. We will have to learn to be moral by reason, not by emotion. Knowledge of law, and the reasons for obeying law, must teach a rational morality of some sort at last."
Pretty good reasoning for a Japanese boy, wasn't it? He goes to the university next month,--a splendid fellow. Later the Government is to send him abroad.
Ever faithfully, LAFCADIO HEARN.
TO SENTARŌ NISHIDA
KUMAMOTO, August, 1894.
DEAR NISHIDA,--Many, many best thanks for the excellent photograph of yourself, and your kindest letter. The photograph brought so vividly before me again the kind eyes that saw so much for me, and the kind lips that told me so many wise, good things, and advised me and helped me so much,--that I could not but feel more sorry than ever at having missed you.
Mr. Senke has sent me the most beautiful letter, which I hope to answer by this same mail. What a divine thing the old Japanese courtesy was! and how like _Kami sama_ the dear old men who remember it, and preserve it. Of course Mr. Senke is a young man, but _his_ courtesy is the old courtesy. The high schools seem to me to be ruining Japanese manners, and therefore morals--because morals are manners to a certain extent. Those who lose the old ways never replace them; they cannot learn foreign courtesy, which is largely a matter of tone,--tone of voice, address, touch of minds, and benevolence in small things, which is our politeness. So they remain without any manners at all, and their hearts get hardened in some queer way. They cease to be lovable, and often become unbearable. I hope the great reaction will bring back, among other things, some of the knightly old ways.
I send a reprint of my last Japanese story. Hope my book will reach you soon, and will not displease you. Of course, you will find in it many mistakes--as any book written by a foreigner must be rich in errors. But the general effect of the book will not be bad, I think. I am now trying to write a sketch about Yuko Hatakeyama, the girl who killed herself at Kyōto in May, 1891, for loyalty's sake. The fact is full of wonderful meaning--as indicating a national sentiment.
Kazuo is crawling about, opening drawers, and causing much trouble. His eyes have again changed colour,--from blue to brown, like my own; but his hair remains chestnut. His upper teeth are well out, and everybody wonders how strong he is. He has one Japanese virtue: he does not cry, and keeps his self-control even when hurt. I hope he will keep all these traits. My whole anxiety is now about him: I must send him, or, if possible, take him abroad--for a scientific education, if he prove to have a good head. That will be expensive. But I hope to do it. I do not think a father should leave his son alone in a foreign school, if it can be helped: he ought to be always near him, until manhood. And Setsu would feel at home soon in France or in Italy,--at least at home enough to bear the life until Kazuo could get through a course or two.
The foreign community sorrows about the war,--naturally. Business is paralyzed. Every one feels the Japanese will win the fights. But who will win the war? That might be a question of money. Japan is daring to do what the richest country in Europe fears to do--because it costs so much to fight China. And some of the Izumo boys are out there in the rice-fields of Chosön. I trust they will pass safely through all perils. Please send me any news of them you can.
LAFCADIO HEARN.
TO ELLWOOD HENDRICK
MATSUE, September, 1894.
DEAR HENDRICK,--If ever I must go to America, I hope I can keep out of New York. The great nightmare of it always dwells with me,--moos at me in the night, especially in the time of earthquakes. Of London I should be much less afraid. But in such great cities I do not think a literary man can write any literature. Certainly not if he has to stay in the heart of the clockwork. Society withers him up--unless he have been born into the manner of it; and the complexities of the vast life about him he never could learn. Fancy a good romance about Wall Street,--so written that the public could understand it! There is, of course, a tremendous romance there; but only a financier can really know the machinery, and his knowledge is technical. But what can the mere littérateur do, walled up to heaven in a world of mathematical mystery and machinery! Your own city of Albany is a paradise compared to the metropolis: you are really very fortunate--very, very happy to be able to live at home.
Of course, there is a philosophy of good manners--too much of it, eh? There is Emerson, all suggestive,--but touching eternal truths in his essays on conduct, behaviour, etc.; and there is Spencer, who traces back the history of nearly all good manners to the earliest period of savagery and perpetual war. (You know about the origin of the bow, of our forms of address, and of the forms of prayer.) Politeness survives longest and develops most elaborately under militant conditions, and diminishes in exact proportion as militancy decreases. That there should be less politeness in America than in other countries, and less in the Northern States than in the Southern, might be expected. This was true as to both conditions: it is now true probably only as to the first. With the growth of industrialism,--the sense of equal chances, at least of equal rights before the law,--the abolition of class distinctions,--fine manners vanish more or less. Nevertheless I fancy that under all the American roughness and lack of delicacy, or of that politeness which means "benevolence in small things," there is growing up a vast, deep feeling of human brotherhood,--of genuine kindliness, which may show itself later under stabler conditions. All now is unsettled. It is said that nearly all our _formal_ politeness must eventually disappear under conditions of industrialism, and be replaced by something more real and more agreeable,--kindly consideration, and natural desire to please. But that will be in ages and ages only after we are dead. There must be an end of all fighting first,--of cruelty in competition, and this cannot happen until with intellectual expansion, population ceases to so increase as to enforce competition without mercy.