HISTORICAL REFLECTIONS

          HISTORICAL REFLECTIONS:  A Need for the Past

     Several years ago, I was required to read a book for a history class written by John W. Dower entitled War without Mercy; Race and Power in the Pacific War.  That book has resonated within me ever since—so much so that I recently read the book for a second time.  Although I will often reread a short story, essay, or article to gain a sort of “global” view of the author’s message, rereading an entire book is something I seldom do.  But this book was different. This book challenged me to think in different terms; it challenged me to lay aside preconceived ideas about past and present; it challenged me to appreciate the art of history.  The historian is an artist, a painter of the past—pens and keystrokes serve as brushes; shades of Literature, Philosophy, Psychology, Sociology, and Anthropology comprise his palette.
In light of the violence in which the United States is once again embroiled, it occurred to me that we, as a civilized people, cannot afford to eschew history and conveniently dismiss its relevance to the present.  No…to see beyond, we must look behind.  We must stand on the shoulders of giants.  Friends and compatriots—this is a time for reflection.  It is a time for unity.  It is crucial that we collectively attempt to understand, and thereby avert, the pervasive patterns of thought that have fomented so much bitterness and bloodshed throughout time and space.  Please don’t get me wrong.  
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I’m not claiming that the study of history per se is sufficient for the realization of lasting peace.  However, I am claiming that the discipline provides an effective method of acquiring insights into human similarities and differences--insights that are paramount to mutual respect and tolerance--and civilized life. In hopes of illustrating the historian’s craft—in hopes of illustrating its relevance to this brave new world--I would like to take a moment to share with you some of the impressions I have obtained from that “global” reading of Dower’s War without Mercy.  

History has repeatedly shown that human experience is unquestionably volatile and that men and women adopt whatever attitudes are necessary to maintain a sense of purpose and self-righteousness.  This penchant to adjust ones outlook relative to a given situation manifests itself not only on an individual level, but on a societal level as well.  Indeed, it is this flexibility of mind that ensures our survival as a species; for if this phenomenon was not to exist, any single event might lead to en masse apathy and the extinction of life as we know it.  The point to be made here is simple:  the mind is continually healing itself.  Although the “mind” is an abstract and ambiguous concept, it suffices for now to describe it as a sense of awareness.  Proceeding from this argument, it follows that a mental “disorder” is, at least to some degree, a relative term insofar as the “disorder” itself can be viewed as a healing process.  This idea can perhaps be made more concrete by way of example.  A highly stressed young woman is continually complaining about pains in the back of her neck.  Physicians are unable to locate any neurological damage and therefore conclude that the pain is strictly psychosomatic.  The question now
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becomes “If the pain cannot be described in neurological terms, is that pain in fact “real”?”  The answer can only be given in metaphysical terms, since any physical source of pain has eluded the realm of “hard” science.  However, we can take license to assume that our hypothetical patient is in fact lying and actually feels no physical pain whatsoever.  Being entirely aware that no such pain exists, why would she risk embarrassment and proceed to seek medical attention?  The answer may well be that her mind has mysteriously responded to an urgent need for compassion and has acquired a unique mode of reasoning in order to accommodate that need.
     John W. Dower explores the enigmatic mechanisms of the human mind as he soars above the subjective human condition and gives an intellectual account of the psychology of humankind before, during, and after one of the most horrific events to transpire upon the face of the planet in modern times—World War II.  He stands aloof and successfully juxtaposes the similarities and the differences that necessarily exist between races and cultures.  It is his belief that such ubiquitous rancor arising amongst “civilized” beings can be quelled through empathy, and that understanding can best be achieved by means of detached analysis.  He explains the motives behind the war from two disparate vantage points—the Western view and Japanese view—as he inquires the inseparable issues of racism, egoism, and superiority / inferiority complex.
     As already implied, a red-letter similarity between the two warring forces was that of ineffable animosity toward the opposing power.  However, it now becomes necessary to collapse the general category of “animosity” and to scrutinize the stereotypes that each
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side attached to the other.  To begin, let’s look at the way in which the Westerners perceived the Japanese—as inferior adolescents prone to obsessive fanaticism and devoid of analytical capacity—or, more tersely, as madmen.  At the time, this description was offered not only by the layman, but also by the highly-trained therapist.  In short, the mature Japanese mind was believed to operate in a fashion comparable to that of a Westerner still in an adolescent stage of life.  Many Freudian analysts were inclined to diagnose the Japanese race as mentally disturbed people trapped in an anal or phallic stage due to unresolved conflicts arising in early childhood—specifically, during the time of toilet training.  The symptoms displayed by the Japanese indexing childlike behavior, claimed Westerners, were tendencies for duality, secrecy, compulsiveness, and general fickleness.  Clinicians also pointed out the blatant Japanese inability to contribute substantially to the sciences and the fine arts.  Although we will return to this topic later, it is of merit to note here that the propensity for Westerners to employ clinical terminology in reference to others may have helped buttress their own feelings of superiority.
     In keeping with the theme that the human mind exists in a continual state of flux, let’s examine the Japanese as mystical supermen.  This view, seemingly in stark contrast to the outlook just described, was adopted in the mainstream following a series of impressive and unexpected Japanese victories over the Allied forces.  Rumors were rampant concerning the indomitable Japanese will and capacity to convene occult spiritual forces in times of crisis.  However, it should not be taken that Westerners either
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lowered their own status of superiority or raised the status of Japanese inferiority.  Rather, the view of the Japanese superman became compatible with the view of the Japanese subhuman.  Since the superman image had emerged from esoteric Oriental religions (such as Zen Buddhism), which emphasize the importance of instinct and intuition over logic and reason, Westerners found it convenient and appealing to assert that the Japanese had not yet evolved as a rational people.  The sentiment that the Japanese were an evolutionary laggard people in turn incited a trend of “scientific racism”.  Myriad theories were proffered that might account for Japanese mental inferiority, and not surprisingly, “empirical” evidence was found in support of several.  Unfortunately, science is governed by human beings and is subject to their inherent biases.  The “empirical” science of just fifty years ago is today considered unduly racially biased and is generally discredited—yet another example of how subjective bias and objective fact often become indistinguishable.  Dower’s razor is this:  whether subhuman or superhuman, the Japanese were definitely not human.  
     Now that a cursory overview of the typical Westerner’s attitude toward the Japanese has been provided, what can be said about the typical Japanese attitude toward the Westerner?  In sum, the Westerners (as well as all other races) were inferior.  This in and of itself may not be so surprising, for it would be difficult to envision a war in which both parties actually believed the other to be equivalent in all respects.  What is somewhat surprising, however, is that the Japanese did not feel the Westerners to be inferior mentally, but rather felt them to be so morally and spiritually.  The white man
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was perceived as a creature capable of both great beneficence and unutterable iniquity.  On the one hand, the white man played the role of a benign educator, and on the other hand, he was a ravaging demon.  This fact per se is noteworthy, for it suggests a willingness on the part of the Japanese to learn from a former enemy under more affable conditions.  Nevertheless, to a provincial Westerner, the notion may appear logically incompatible with the Japanese idea that they themselves were the superior people.  This may be partly due to the Westerner’s preconceived idea that superiority implies superior intellectual aptitude.  Again, the Japanese school of thought did not require this assumption.  On the contrary, veritable superiority should not be expressed in terms of analytical and rational capacity, but rather in terms of spiritual purity.  From the Japanese point of view, it was they who were blessed with an innate sense of unity and ultimate wisdom, and hence it was their moral obligation to demonstrate the inner bliss to a tranquil, albeit subservient, world.  From these devout sentiments emerged what Westerners declared a mad nation bent on bloodletting and death.  As argued here, however, the Japanese were clearly not devoid of logic (for this, in effect, would be analogous to declaring a day devoid of weather); the Japanese simply extended their logic from a different collection of underlying assumptions.  In passing, it is interesting to note also that although Western propaganda belittled the Japanese as a culture, the Japanese were more inclined to attach a specific face, such as that of Theodore Roosevelt or Winston Churchill, to the “Demonic Other.”
     
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Giving heed to this description of the Japanese mind-set, perhaps it is feasible to make some sense of yet another striking phenomenon.  World War II was irrefutably fraught with intolerance, menace, and ungodly hatred toward the opposition.  However, once the war was over and the brutality had ceased, amiable, and cooperative relations commenced forthwith.  The stereotypes had not completely dissipated, but they did take on new and friendlier connotations.  The Japanese were no longer depicted as irrational and stupid children; rather, their childlike qualities were exactly what enabled them to be such capable learners of newly instilled Western ethics.  They were no longer frenetic monkeys and apes raging through jungles; they were instead adorable little pets awaiting the white man’s beck and call.
     By what possible rationale could such emotional vicissitudes occur?  How could a people once so willing to embrace death in the name of a sacred emperor and a sublime nation now be so patently obeisant to an impious demon?  And how could the emperor himself so readily surrender his aspirations for a Utopian world functioning under the leadership of his virginal people?  Many may have predicted episodes of mass suicide or perhaps even interracial genocide on the part of the fanatical “Japs”.  The fact that such a tragedy did not occur is perhaps suggestive of an indigenous desire for peace common to all people. Although this idea may appear overly optimistic at first glance (and indeed it may be), let’s again observe the change in psychology that occurs and specify exactly what is gained and what is lost in respect to both sides.  The Westerners have obviously won the war and have, at least in their own minds, demonstrated dominance by means of
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superior technology, endurance, and might.  With their status of superiority no longer jeopardized, their individual minds relax and become more tolerant of disparate worldviews.  Finally, concrete stereotypes soften in order to receive more agreeable and peaceful sentiments.  
     The Japanese framework must also endure attitudinal transformations.  Innately proud survivors, these people do not think in terms of what has been lost.  At the war’s culmination, the white man, being a dual entity, dons the guise of the magnanimous teacher.  The emperor now envisions his proper role as a figure of peace, and because he depicts himself in this way, it is only fitting that his loyal followers adopt the same ideology.  In this way, the Japanese as a people do not succumb to crestfallen feelings of inferiority.  They now exist in a different spiritual realm where they contend with new and different challenges. They have not lost in war but have won in peace.  This notion is embraced by the entire nation, and rejuvenating energy expands exponentially, propelling the Japanese to new stellar heights.
     Although the model just presented is admittedly abstract and supposes an entity not yet scientifically testable (the presence of actual “mental energy”), it does adequately fit the empirical observations and describes the phenomena illuminated by Dower and other revered historians.  Whether “mental energy” will ever exist in the scientific vernacular is hardly the topic of the foregoing discussion.  The crux is that individuals and societies alike mentally respond to an ever-changing world.  In turn, these responses dictate the direction of the future world; they must therefore be placed under the
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microscope today for discreet analysis.

     In closing this discussion, allow me to share some final thoughts that I hope will arouse an intuitive understanding of history’s ongoing merit.  It has been asserted by many authorities that human beings can be distinguished from other animals by their ability to reflect upon their own existence.   Similarly, the late martial artist and philosopher Bruce Lee once mused, “All knowledge is in fact self-knowledge.”  Finally, my history teacher, the same man who compelled me to read Dower’s work several years ago, one day said something most striking and profound, “History is what people say it is, and what people say it is changes”….  Although these final thoughts may at first glance appear random and illogically construed—unrelated to my thesis--I urge you all to take a second, deeper, glance.  I believe you will see the relationships; I believe you will paint your own portraits.








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                    NOTES ON RHETORICAL STRATEGY

Vision:  My intention for this essay was to present a multifaceted piece of rhetoric.  I aimed to embed arguments within arguments and thereby coax the reader into experiencing firsthand my overarching argument:  The study of history allows us to understand the present and is therefore conducive to civilized development.  In addition, I wanted my concluding thoughts to echo my introductory thoughts—but I also wanted to continue inviting the audience to draw conclusions from personal experience and reflection.  I wanted to engage them in the process.  I wanted to persuade them into forming their own rhetoric thereby stimulating their creative faculties.  In other words, I wanted to instill the idea—or the feeling—that logic, like history, is a product of art.
     The list of rhetorical tools, terms, and techniques is long, and the concepts are intricately interrelated.  Therefore, what follows is a mere cursory overview of my rhetorical design.  I hope that it reflects something of what I have learned this semester.

Ethos—arguments from intelligence, moral character, and good will toward the audience; arguments that establish the appropriate voice and distance for the pertinent situation.
Demonstration:  I hoped to convey intelligence by immediately referring to books and reading habits.  I attempted to convey good will and appropriate voice and distance by establishing myself not only as a teacher, but also as a student.  The message I want to
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instill is that I can relate to you; I want to share something about myself with you; you are important to me; you can trust me.  To do this I have considered the various uses of punctuation, grammatical person, verb tense and voice, qualifiers, and word size.  All of these factors influence the distance I strived to create with the audience.  On some occasions, I desired to step back from the audience and invoke the role of “teacher”, or even “preacher”; on other occasions, I preferred to close the gap and become more intimate with the reader so as not to be portrayed as pompous or condescending.  Achieving appropriate balance is the key to all successful art.  In short, I wanted to reveal that I, like they themselves, am a perpetual “student”.  

Pathos—arguments that appeal to emotions by painting vivid pictures and using honorific or pejorative language.
Demonstration:  By depicting Dower as an artist and by using metaphor to compare his craft to that of a painter, I aimed to create a vivid picture in the reader’s mind.  This picture should allow the audience to connect familiar ideas and objects to the ones I am currently attempting to stress and indoctrinate.  To emphasize and reinforce the idea of pathos, I provided a type of “ring structure”; I first alluded to the image of the painter in the final sentence of the introduction, and I again summoned the image in the final sentence of the essay.  


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Logos—arguments available in the issue itself—enthymemes, inductive arguments, maxims, examples, signs.
Demonstration:  I used a commonplace maxim when I mention the need to stand on the shoulders of giants to see beyond.  The idea of logos is demonstrated throughout this article, since the entire product is hinged upon an example of a modern historian’s piece of literature.

Extrinsic Proof—data and testimony from authority.
Demonstration:  Extrinsic proof is a subcomponent of the idea of logos.  By writing about Dower’s exploits within the realm of history, I have attempted to represent him as an expert in the field.  I invoked him not only as a source of authority, but also as a source of inspiration.

Kairos—a multidimensional term that suggests a notion of space and/or time.  
Demonstration:  This entire article is dedicated to the concept of time and to the relationship that exists amongst the past, present, and future.  I have drawn upon the concept of kairos by providing experiences of my own; I have also shown how these experiences have related to the past.  In so doing, I have attempted to demonstrate that the importance of a study of history is valuable today insofar as it provides a means of achieving tolerance and respect.

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Stasis—comparable to the English word “issue”, this term refers to a point about which all parties to an argument can agree to disagree.  
Demonstration:  I have purposefully avoided explicitly stating a counterpoint.  Although the implicit counterpoint can be understood as something like “history is dead and irrelevant” or “the present is all that matters”, I felt it counterproductive to my intentions to bring it to the fore.  Rather, I opted to concentrate my efforts on creating an environment in which the audience draws its own conclusion through self-discovery.  I felt it unnecessary to draw attention to a potentially distracting and/or insulting counterargument.

     FURTHER COMMENTARY ON INTRODUCTION AND PERORATION     Bearing in mind the lasting impact that the introduction and the conclusion (the peroration) of a piece of rhetoric has upon the audience, I was particularly attentive to their construction.  As I have mentioned, my ambition was to coerce the reader into feeling the spirit of my message for herself; I vied for audience participation.  In order to accomplish this, I needed to establish her trust and confidence; I wanted her to relate to me.  In short, I wanted to establish a tone and distance that was friendly and sincere, and above all, conversational.  For this reason, I frequently used punctuation that suggests the pauses and breaks that occur in common discourse—pauses that represent my own spontaneous reflections.  Furthermore, I wanted to create an image in the reader’s mind that would excite her creative nature.  The image of the painter and her tools seemed a
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good metaphorical device for the historian. To ensure that this image was most penetrating, I placed it in an emphatic position—at the end of the introductory paragraph.  I also wanted to make use of a “ring structure”, meaning I wanted to emphasize various aspects of my work by emphatically returning to them in the conclusion.  For this reason, I ended my article with yet another allusion to the art of painting.  In regards to the peroration itself, there was a method to my madness—or perhaps a madness to my method.  The references to my history teacher and to Bruce Lee, and the quotes issued by them were not arbitrary—nor was the statement concerning the distinguishing feature of human beings.  The latter reference was made as a general statement.  The person who first suggested the idea is not known, and therefore I chose to use a passive construction.  I then decided to return to my history teacher—again, utilizing the idea of ring structure.  The name of my history teacher is not important; the important thing is that he is connected to my experience—my history--, and my reference to him emphasizes the fact that I was once (and still am) a student of history who gained insights and inspiration from an “everyday” person.
I also conjured up the image of the late Bruce Lee—a world-renowned icon and inspiration to many.  I chose Bruce Lee because he so well embodies the essence of my message.  In effect, he serves as a personification of the yin and yang of war and peace, of motion and stillness, of body and mind, of structure and spontaneity, of past and future.  Because of the lingering mystique that surrounds Bruce Lee, and

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because of his nearly “immortal” status in the eyes of many, he seemed the ideal candidate to juxtapose against my everyday history teacher.