7 May 2004 (16 Iyar 5764)
At the outset I must say that I have no blind faith in the so-called cultural relativism, however correct it may be politically these days. A certain cultural aspect may be consistent and functioning more or less well within the culture in question, but when two or more cultures meet, there is generally an imbalance of power between them, which betrays that cultural relativism is often an illusion.
Although I do not deny that I appreciate certain aspects of Japanese culture in both relative and absolute terms, there is at least one aspect that I find very problematic and badly in need of drastic change, especially in crosscultural contexts: verbal communication.
I would characterize typical verbal communication in Japanese as follows: what you say is not always what you mean; emotional language is more dominant than logical language; how you say something is more important than what you say; silence is as important as speech. This type of communication serves to maintain status quo instead of pursuing truth by affirming what you have in common with your interlocutor(s) rather than what differentiates you and them.
One of the rationales for this type of communication is to avoid conflicts by respecting the "spirit of harmony" as conflicts may be interpreted erroneously as attacks ad hominem and those who lose their temper and feel offended may appeal to nonverbal means such as violence as the ultimate way to counterargue.
I have been wondering these days whether the "spirit of harmony", which is often said to be one of the positive characteristics of Japanese culture, can often be violence ipso facto. I cannot agree more with the definition of this spirit by Prof. Yoshimichi Nakajima, whom I greatly admire for his courage to put his thoughts into practice: "The "spirit of harmony" is not a spirit to harmonize conflicts that have arisen but a spirit not to produce conflicts, a spirit not to recognize conflicts that have nevertheless arisen and a spirit to eradicate them."
Average speakers of Japanese seem to be in constant fear of violating this "spirit of harmony". As a result, indirect or "pareve" speech (as well as nonverbal behavior) is preferred with nothing intellectually significant exchanged between "participants" in communication.
Swimming entails the danger of drowning. Which approach is healthier as a way to minimize this danger: never to swim, or to learn how to swim? Likewise, communication entails the danger of conflicts if something significant is to be exchanged and learned. Which approach is healthier as a way to minimize possible damages resulting from conflicts: to avoid conflicts at all costs, or to polish one's logical communicative skills so as not take intellectual criticisms emotionally?
14 May 2004 (23 Iyar 5764)
As is generally known, learners of a foreign language pass the following three stages. In the first stage, they still think in and are influenced by their native language when they speak the foreign language they are learning; many learners do not go beyond this stage. In the second stage, they can express themselves more or less freely in the foreign language in question, but are heavily influenced by it, hence the verbal and nonverbal behaviors they exhibit when they speak it are different from those they exhibit in their mother tongue. In the third stage, they reach an equilibrium where they speak and behave in the same manner regardless of the languages they speak.
Although I started learning Hebrew more than twenty years ago, and it is the non-native language I speak more fluently than any other foreign language, it was not such a long time ago that I could finally reach the third stage. In retrospect, it seems to me that I was in the second stage for quite a long time. I remember feeling and behaving differently, depending on the language I speak. Fortunately, what influences my verbal and nonverbal behaviors now is not what language I speak but with whom I speak, at least as long as I speak Japanese, Hebrew or English; I am more or less equally argumentative and sarcastic in all the three.
This relates to the issue of culture. When one encounters and learns a new culture not in a purely academic setting but in real life situations, one also passes three stages similar to those that one experiences in learning a new language. When one reaches the second stage, one is liable to suffer from one of the following two extreme symptoms: one develops blind faith in the new culture and totally denies the one in which one was born and raised; or one excludes everything foreign and becomes chauvinistic. Both of them seem to be reactions to protect oneself from conflicts of cultural values one is forced to cope with. A lot of time, effort and patience are required to reach the third stage where one can see all the cultures one has to cope with not as something that is always good or always bad but as something with both advantages and disadvantages.
As language and culture are reflections of each other, the learning curves of a foreign language and its culture generally go hand in hand. I am not sure whether it is more difficult to reach the third stage in language or in culture. At least as far as I am concerned, culture came later. It is only in the past few years that I can cope with Japanese and Israeli/Jewish cultures more or less equally objectively though I have certain cultural preferences in certain areas. This may be far from being spiritual enlightenment, but I am more relaxed and natural than before in switching between the two cultures seamlessly, and feel that I can always be what I am in whatever language and culture I find myself.
21 May 2004 (1 Sivan 5764)
Since childhood I have never liked playing or watching group sports such as baseball and soccer, nor have I respected athletes very much. These days, however, I am changing this attitude toward them, especially toward those who accomplished fame in Japan but chose to play in a much more competitive condition abroad aspiring to higher standards. I have just read books that describe how two world-class athleses Japan can be proud of, Ichiro Suzuki (baseball) and Hidetoshi Nakata (soccer), spent their first years in the most competitive leagues in the world (Major Baseball League in the US and Serie A in Italy respectively).
Although the life of researchers may not be free from pressures until they acquire tenure, these pressures must be endurable compared to those that these two athletes and others in the same leagues are experiencing as their skills are tested on a daily basis. Athletes have a much shorter professional life than researchers. Naturally, there is no tenure system for them, so they have to think constantly not only about the present but also about the future.
Although I am for tenure system in the academic world, I think it wrong to give it automatically to every researcher immediately after he or she is employed as a lecturer as in Japanese universities. Of course, there are many diligent researchers who continue to publish even though they have tenure from the very beginning of their academic career, but there are more who are not motivated enough to do research because of their tenure.
I believe that fair competition is perhaps (almost?) always good for our advancement. We human beings are basically lazy animals; if our income is secured regardless of what we do, many of us will not work so hard. It is ironical that in the Japanese educational system competitions disappear precisely where they must start. Lifelong employment system in Japanese commercial companies is rapidly becoming a myth rather than a reality. Giving tenure to everyone upon his or her employment in a university should also be changed, and the principle of fair competition should be introduced as a way to decide to whom to give tenure after the first several years of his or her academic career. This change alone, which does not require spending any extra yen, would make Japanese universities much better places on a par with their counterparts in other developed countries.
28 May 2004 (8 Sivan 5764)
Although I cannot explain in scientific, let's say psychological, terms, telling someone's secret to someone else, which may sometimes take the form of a gossip or even a slander, must be an almost instinctive impulse whose temptation not many people can resist. It seems that the more confidential the secret in question is, the stronger the temptation one has to resist is. It even seems that the news of someone's secret often travels by word of mouth much faster than light.
I was rather shocked to witness this very process before my eyes this week; only about an hour after I told someone something confidential, he told it to someone else even in my presence. It occurred to me then that one of the most efficient ways of spreading some news might be to call it confidential.
Since this is such a strong temptation that even those who are otherwise worthy of respect cannot always resist it, a really trustworthy friend will be someone who can keep your secret (as well as his words); he will try to resist the temptation if he considers his friendship with you is important. But if the friendship is not close enough for him to resist the above temptation, your secret will surely spread further from him.