Japanese in Depth vol. 1
Shigekatsu Yamauchi
Copyright 2006 by Shigekatsu Yamauchi
Smashwords Edition
1. Why study Japanese
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
Anyone having a go at learning Japanese must have done so for a reason. I feel safe in saying it was primarily for practical reasons, like asking where the bathroom is; getting along well with your Japanese in-laws; getting a better job; conducting business in Japan; making Japanese friends; enrolling in a Japanese university; or reading manga.
However, there is another important reason for studying Japanese, one which is often overlooked or neglected.
First, let me pose a question:
You have heard, no doubt, that Sir Isaac Newton discovered the universal law of gravity by watching an apple fall from a tree. But how could this be? Surely this phenomenon was not newly observed by him – it must have been previously observed by many other people. Which brings me to my question: Why did he, and not someone else, discover the law?
My big brother told me Newton’s story when I was a schoolboy. Subsequently, I have always wondered about this question. At the time I thought maybe I was just too stupid to understand the significance of the story. But even so, the question constantly bothered me.
I asked many adults about it as I grew up here. Later, when I lived in Britain, I posed the same question to the British as well. The answers were much the same as those I got in Japan, such as:
This is just a metaphorical story that teaches you that a very commonplace occurrence could lead to a world-changing, great discovery.
This story is to illustrate what a genius Sir Isaac Newton was.
Somehow, these answers did not convince me. Something was missing in the logic. The apple’s fall did NOT logically lead to the discovery of universal gravitation, no matter how I thought it through.
Then, one day, I had a revelation.
As long as your point of view is several meters away from the apple tree, it is impossible to really see the workings of gravity in the scene. Imagine yourself watching the same phenomenon from somewhere far out in space – from the moon, for instance. Would apples in Britain, the United States, Australia, Japan and other countries all seem to be “falling down”? You can place a globe in front of you to help illustrate the phenomenon. The Australian apple would “fall up,” unless you were to flip the globe upside down. Even a child could see that the apple was pulled by the Earth.
I am pretty sure that Isaac Newton set his point of view somewhere farther out in space when he saw the apple fall off the tree. His greatness lies not only in his instinct, but also in that he was able to control his point view to objectively view what he saw from a wider perspective.
The lesson I take from this is that by controlling one’s points of view, anybody can readily see deeper truths.
Now, let us come back to our original theme, and discuss another important reason for studying Japanese.
People say, and you would probably agree, that you can see your own country better and more objectively when you are out of that country. This is a result of the above effect. It is what we gain by assuming a wider, objective perspective. It should come as no surprise that this same effect takes place when we study languages.
Language is a natural and historical product nurtured among, and cultured by, the people who speak it. It contains their culture and is a record of their mind-sets, their points of view. Their perspectives on life, the world, living, values and other topics are woven deeply into their language.
In important ways, English and Japanese are two extreme ends of a continuum of point of view: One assumes directness, while the other, indirectness. The Japanese language is comprised of a number of mindsets which are hardly present in English or rarely encouraged by English speakers. It contains certain points of view which are beyond the experience of ordinary English natives – in fact, they may hardly believe that such points of view could even exist. By studying Japanese correctly, you will get a new perspective on English and get to know more about it. In the process, I fully expect you will realize things you have take for granted.
Expanding your horizons like this is a very important aspect of learning a foreign language. Thanks to the great difference between English and Japanese – arguably greater than between any other two living languages – Japanese may be the best choice for those wanting rediscover English, especially if you are a native.
Typically, when Japanese people study English, they are not taught the importance of understanding the English-language mindset, nor are they made aware of it, unfortunately. Rather, this critical element is disregarded completely. It is regrettable that such a great opportunity to expand one’s horizons is being lost and wasted.
I will write the articles in this monthly column with an eye to addressing various Japanese mindsets woven into the language. I will of course explain the mechanisms of the language, too. It is my hope that these short articles will help you better understand your own language and the way of thinking ingrained in it, while at the same time deepen your understanding of the Japanese language and its points of view.
2. Language is essentially sound
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
When people speak of the difficulty of the Japanese language, one of the major points they raise is the difficulty associated with the writing system, saying that it has three different sets of characters (hiragana, katakana and kanji), of which the kanji set is particularly confusing, for reasons that include each character having many different readings and meanings.
The argument that a language is difficult because of its writing system, however, is not valid, because language is intrinsically sound; fundamentally it has nothing to do with the characters used to write it with. Let me provide you below with several examples to help back up this somewhat startling statement.
The Japanese language was first written only Chinese characters around 5 A.D. after they were introduced to the country from China. However, the Japanese language itself had existed for more than 10,000 years in some form. When the Chinese characters were introduced, each kanji was used as a phonetic symbol to represent each Japanese mora, the basic sound units of Japanese (like English syllables).
Even now, there are a good number of languages in the world which do not have a writing system. Absent a writing system, languages still function perfectly as a means of communication – language’s primary role. Recall that illiterate people can communicate as effectively as the literate.
An important reason why people tend to associate language with writing systems is because when they first studied their own language consciously, they studied its writing system. However, by the time they started to learn their ABC’s, they were already speaking English perfectly. Think of an American child 5 or 6 years of age. You know that they can use all the basic grammatical structures, tense, pronouns, articles and prepositions quite skillfully. All the grammatical elements that foreign learners of English struggle with have already been mastered by the little child.
Similarly, any difficult grammatical element of the Japanese language which one may be struggling with has already been mastered by 5 or 6-year old Japanese child. When children begin to study their own language at school, they are learning not the language – they already know it – but the artificially created set of rules used for writing.
The writing system of any language is arbitrary and is not an essential part of the language itself. You could, in fact, write any language in the world with any set of characters in the world. Yes, you could even write English with kanji, too, as long as we set up certain rules for which characters represent which sound. In fact, if we were to do so, we might be able to write English in a much more regular and consistent fashion, with minimal or no exceptional spelling. How wonderful that would be!
When it comes to the Japanese language, most Japanese people are actually writing the language using the Roman alphabet. To prove this, ask any Japanese person what kind of keyboard they use when typing Japanese. Chances are very high that more than 95% will answer “alphabet.” So they are writing Japanese using Roman letters. It is the machine that converts these letters into appropriate hiragana, katakana and kanji.
Before computers became available, international business communication was carried out using telex, which had nothing but a keyboard with the Roman alphabet. Therefore, between Japanese people, telexes were written in Japanese, but using the Roman alphabet. The telexes dealt with complex issues such as complicated business strategy discussions. These communications were all written in the Roman alphabet in those days. In fact, there was once a serious discussion among the Japanese to convert the writing system to using the alphabet even.
Following are some cases from around the world that show how arbitrary writing systems are:
Vietnamese, under Chinese influence, used to be written in Chinese characters, but it has been written using the Roman alphabet, since French colonization. Koreans also used kanji for a long time, but not anymore. The Indonesian languages used to be written in Arabic script, but while under Dutch colonization, this was converted to Western alphabet. The same thing happened to Turkish as well. I don’t think I need to go on further. I’m sure you can now see that writing systems are arbitrary in relation to the language they represent.
The only reason that English is written the way it is, is because England was occupied by the Romans. If their big neighbor had been China, I’m pretty sure you’d be writing English in kanji or a derivative.
Coming back to the original issue, the only reasons why the Japanese writing system is complex is that Japanese is written in Chinese characters; and Chinese is a completely different type of language from Japanese. The two make a bad match, unfortunately. If Rome had been our neighbor, things surely would have been much simpler when it comes to writing Japanese. You cannot reverse history, however.
Apart from the complexity of the writing system, which again has nothing to do with the language itself, Japanese is not such a structurally complex language. Compared with other languages in the world, it is an exceptionally regular and consistent language, as long as its own mechanism is viewed properly for what it is. If it is viewed in terms of the grammatical tools and notions common to European languages, however, it looks deceptively irregular with many exceptions. I will address this regularity, and other issues, in future articles.
3. Funny pronunciation no joke
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
Having discussed in my last article the fact that language is intrinsically sound, I now will speak about the sound of Japanese, that is, its pronunciation.
In terms of pronunciation, Japanese is relatively simple. Japanese uses a good deal fewer sound elements than most languages of the world.
For vowels, the language only distinguishes five (a, i, u, e, o), which just so happen to correspond to the five vowels of the Roman alphabet, a, e, i, o and u (following the Roman order).
Just because there are only five vowel symbols, however, should not be taken to mean that there are only five vowels that exist; the overlap between the Roman alphabet and the Japanese sound system is, of course, a sheer coincidence.
English, for instance, distinguishes among at least 10 different vowel sounds, but only uses these five vowel characters, having borrowed an alphabet with only five vowel letters; unlike some other European languages, English has not developed ways to show different vowel pronunciations by modifying some of the letters.
By the way, this fact makes English more confusing with respect to pronunciation and spelling correspondence, because the same letter ends up representing many different sounds.
Just think of how “banana” is pronounced. The letter “a” can be pronounced quite differently in each syllable. And “a” in “all” for instance, represents an utterly different sound.
Another big shortcoming of using the Roman alphabet for writing English is that it does not show where accents (or stresses) are. Accents play an important role in English in particular. This is a common problem for most writing systems, however. Just keep in mind that the writing system of any language is nothing but an incomplete and poor reminder of the actual sounds of the language.
To complement the shortage of vowel symbols in the Roman alphabet, German and Scandinavian languages add markings to certain vowel letters. French combines two different vowel letters together to create a new character – an attempt to cope with a sound that cannot be expressed with an existing letter.
But back to Japanese: Romanized Japanese is fairly straightforward, regular and systematic. This is partly because the number of sound elements in the language is much smaller and therefore, manageable, within the existing letters of the Roman alphabet, as compared with most languages in the world. English students of Japanese encounter very few sounds that are utterly unfamiliar.
Probably the only sound that do not exist in English are the Japanese sounds which are normally Romanized with r as in ra, ri, ru, re, ro. Those of you studying Japanese, I am sure, will agree with me, when I say that these certainly are not the English “r” sounds, whether the American or the British. In fact, the sounds are rather closer to the English “l” sound, in the sense that the tongue touches some part of the palate.
The difference is that the English “l” sound is produced by touching behind the upper teeth/gum area using the tip of the tongue, while the Japanese sound requires rolling the front part of the tongue, touching the middle of the palate and flapping (or rolling once) to produce the sound. Of course, whether written “r” or “l”, the actual sound is neither of the sounds we commonly associate with these symbols – at least not as they sound in English.
The rest of the sounds in Japanese should not be too unfamiliar to English speakers.
An important aspect of the Japanese pronunciation that is different from English is pitch, which is either high or low. Pitch is not accent or stress, like in English. In fact, in Japanese the accent (stress) is basically kept the same for each syllable-like sound unit or mora of the Japanese language. In terms of tone, ohayoo, for instance, can be illustrated as LHHH (L: low tone; H: high tone). Similarly hajimemashite would be LHHHHL.
Changes in pitch can be found at the level of individual words, too, like hashi can be “chopsticks” (HL) or “bridge” (LH).
In actual practice, however, you need not worry about this too much because regional accents flip the pitch anyhow, between Kanto and Kansai (the Tokyo and Osaka areas). Also, I think you will agree that there are very few situations where you might confuse “chopsticks” with “bridge” anyway.
A more important aspect of Japanese pronunciation is the number of mora. Japanese is very sensitive to how many more a word consists of. Differences in the number of mora could lead you to make a hilarious joke.
Once I was tutoring an American executive who was quite proficient in Japanese. He married his Japanese secretary. Shortly after he and his wife went to the ward office to register their marriage, I met him for a lesson and we talked, in Japanese, about his marriage. He said: Chotto taihen deshita. Boku niwa seeki ga nai kara. (It was a bit tough as I have no sexual organ.) Startled, with my mouth hanging open, I pointed out the meaning of what he had said, and he restated by adding another mora to the word in question:
A, boku niwa seeeki ga nai kara. (Oh, because I have no sperm.)
As some of you may have noticed, what he really meant to say was seki, a two-mora word that means ‘family registry’ or ‘Japanese nationality.’
Many other jokes, embarrassing stories and misunderstandings have come from mistakes in the number of mora.
Japanese sensitivity to mora is so acute that good control of “mora counting” is considered an art! Consider haiku and tanka: Haiku, as you probably know, is composed of 5, 7 and 5 mora; tanka, of 5, 7, 5, 7 and 7. Not only poetry but even slogans, mottos, and catchphrases tend to be created based on these numbers. To the Japanese mind, at least, it is a comfortable rhythm. When you come to feel the rhythm, you have made good strides toward in internalizing the language.
4. Precise Japanese offers 2,000 shades of I Am a Cat
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
One of the most famous modern Japanese novels is Wagahai wa neko dearu written by Natsume Soseki (the figure seen on the old \1,000 banknote). The book is so well known, it has been translated into English, with the title ‘I am a Cat’
Well, this is certainly a correct translation, but Japanese who see this translated title feel a bit frustrated, because it simply does not convey the entire meaning of the original title. Other than the fact that the speaker is a cat, the title gives us no more information. For example, from the phrase “I am a cat,” can you tell if the cat is male or female? What is its approximate age? Can you tell what its personality (or perhaps I should say “catality” or “felinality”) is like?
Suppose there were a novel titled I am a Cat, in the United States or Britain. How many options do you think I would have in translating this title into Japanese? Ten? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand? Wrong! I could translate ‘I am a cat’ into Japanese in more than 2,000 different ways! I’m not kidding; let me prove it.
First, to indicate the speaker “I” I have a good number of options, depending on the gender, age, locality, class, profession, position, social status, educational level and other traits of the speaker. They include: watashi, watakushi, boku, ore, temae, uchi, wate, washi, oira, uchi, wagahai, and ware. Unlike in English, where the speaker is always signified by the single word “I,” no matter who may be speaking to whom, Japanese choose the most appropriate word, depending on how the speaker wants to present himself/herself in a given situation. There are at least 20 words which can be used to signify someone in the first person.
Next, after selecting the appropriate word for “I,” I have to choose a phrase-particle. In this particular case I have three options: wa, ga or no phrase-particle at all. Suppose I were to have selected watashi for “I.” I would then have three choices: watashi, watashi wa, or watashi ga, each giving slightly different nuances in the way the “I” is presented. Since these three options apply to each of the 20 words, I now have 20×3 = 60 options.
The difference between these three options is the sort of difference you might make by stressing different words in the phrase, “I am a cat.” For example, “I am a cat,” as opposed to “I am a cat,” or even “I am a cat,” although these do not necessarily correspond to each of the Japanese options.
Translating “cat” is straightforward: neko, with no need to clarify its gender, kind and other information.
Our next choice is how to translate “am.” I have at least nine choices, depending on how politely or bluntly; strongly or softly; modestly or arrogantly; modern or old-fashioned, I want to express the word. They are da, desu, dearu, degozaimasu, dearimasu, degozaru, ya, nari, and the option not to use any of these. This creates 60×9=540 options.
Finally, at the end of a sentence, the Japanese language may add what are called sentence-particles. These add a specific nuance to the entire sentence. In this particular case our options include: yo, to give new information; zo, as a warning; or, wa, to give the statement a feminine quality or the feel of Kansai dialect. As I have an option not to use any of the sentence-particles as well, I have four options altogether. This gives me 540×4=2,160 options! (Though some combinations of these sentence-particles are also possible, I will not include them at this time.)
Although some of the 2,160 combinations are rather odd, like a supposedly soft-spoken woman speaking in a rough manner, theoretically you do have up to so many ways to say “I am a cat.” And by hearing each different combination, a native Japanese would be able to tell immediately, for example, whether the cat is a gentle lady cat introducing herself (Watakushi neko de gozaimasu wa), a conceited male cat warning people that he is the cat (Ore ga neko da zo), an emperor declaring that he is in fact a cat (Chin wa neko nari), a young gay revealing that he is a cat (Boku wa neko yo), or an elderly person from Kansai saying that she/he is a cat (Wate wa neko ya).
In comparison, you might realize how imprecise the English statement “I am a cat” is. It only expresses that the speaker is a cat and no more.
Many comment that English is the straightforward and precise language and that Japanese is vague and obscure. I disagree with this statement. Every language can be straightforward and precise in its own way, and every language can also be vague and obscure in its own way.
5. Japanese mind-set in greetings
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
You have heard, I am sure, that Ohayo gozaimasu means “Good morning.” But do these phrases really mean the same thing? Although they are both said at the same time of day, what each of them is saying is quite different. Today I’d like to analyze what the most common Japanese greetings really mean and focus on the thinking behind them.
While “Good morning” is an abbreviation of “Have a good morning” or “I wish you a good morning,” its Japanese equivalent has nothing to do with morning. All that ohayo gozaimasu says is “It is early” using very polite language. Those of you who have worked in Japanese restaurants or theaters (or some other fields) must have heard ohayo gozaimasu commonly used even in the afternoon or evening. It is frequently used when people work late in the day, or meet each other for the first time that day, no matter what the time is.
Another important aspect of this phrase is that it is an impersonal statement. “(I wish you) good morning” is English’s straightforward expression of your wishes for the person you address; it is personal. Compared with this, the Japanese equivalent “It is (politely) early” is, in fact, quite an impersonal, almost objective statement. In English, it sounds awfully cold, too. So how could such a bland statement make for a good greeting? After all, the first greeting of the day is rather important, as greetings go. The reason why this is in fact a greeting, a sign of goodwill, is because the statement is formed in a polite grammatical style. The fact that you are using the polite form implies that you are, in fact, showing care and concern for your counterpart.
The form of “ohayo gozaimasu” may remind you of “arigato gozaimasu.” Indeed, these two are constructed in the same polite style. Let’s take a look at this very common Japanese phrase. People will tell you that “thank you” in Japanese is arigato gozaimasu. But again, do these two really mean the same thing?
“Thank you” is an abbreviation of “I thank you” which is a straightforward expression of gratitude. The phrase arigato gozaimasu, however, contains no words of gratitude itself. A literal translation is “it is difficult-to-exist” or “it is rare.” You could also take it to mean “it is precious.” Just like ohayo gozaimasu, this statement is again in polite style, and that is why this rather impersonal phrase becomes a nice expression of gratitude. Here again, the expression is more of an objective statement, rather than a straightforward expression of gratitude.
When you know that the actual meaning is “it is rare,” you can readily understand why you say Arigato gozaimashita using “past tense” (more precisely, perfective tense), when you give thanks for something which has been done. Literally this means “it was rare” or “it has been rare” in polite language.
Now that we have seen Ohayo gozaimausu, it is only natural that we look at Konnichiwa. Konnichi is an old word meaning “this day” or “today,” and the ending wa is a phrase-particle, sometimes called the topic maker. Altogether, this phrase literally means only “as for this day.” This is clearly the start of a longer, more complete phrase that goes something like “(as for) today are you fine/how are you?)”
The psychology here is that the part left out (“are you fine/how are you?”) is understood via context, and so, is left unsaid. This means that the most important part of the message is not verbalized!
Kombanwa works the same way: Its literal meaning is “as for this evening.” The implied important following part, “how are you?” is again left unsaid.
Sayonara is no exception. The best literal translation of this old-fashioned Japanese expression is “if things are that way.” This is again the start of a longer sentence which goes something like “If things are (or, it is) that way, it must be/is time that I went.”
The above examples have ancient pedigrees, but the mind-set from which they came is still alive in modern Japanese. For example, call a company and ask to speak with Suzuki-san, and you will be met with Ano, shitsurei desu ga (“Well, excuse me, but…”) in rising intonation. In this instance, you are expected to realize that you are in fact being asked for your name.
The frequently used filler, chotto, is typical when starting sentences awkward to say, or negative in some way, like;
- Chotto (komarimasu). A bit (of problem).
- Chotto (dekimasen). A little (impossible).
The reason why domo is so versatile ― meaning “thank you,” “hello,” “how are you?” “good-bye,” “I’m sorry,” and so on, can also be explained using this psychology. Domo literally translates “every how” or “in every way,” and is commonly understood to start sentences like:
- Domo (arigato gozaimasu). In every way, it is precious. (Thank you.)
- Domo (sumimasen). In every way, I’m sorry.
This style of speech, starting sentences but leaving them hanging incomplete, is not peculiar to Japanese, of course, but it is very common in Japanese.
Another example is the first-time meeting greeting, hajimemashite. This simply means “for the first time,” which of course is the start of something like “for the first time, I have the pleasure of meeting you.” Again, the latter part is left unsaid.
So, as you become more fluent and people around you talk to you more naturally, be prepared to hear them speak to you without explicitly expressing the vital point in their communication.
6. ‘Love’ in the Japanese way
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
About 20 years ago when I was a manager for a Japanese trading company in London, I remember joining a business lunch with some British executives. One of them was curious about the Japanese language and asked me a question:
“What is the Japanese language like, Mr Yamauchi? I mean, how would you say ‘I love you’ in Japanese, for instance?”
My first response was:
“Well, we would not say such a thing because it is something we should feel intuitively rather than express verbally. Once we say it, it sounds rather cheap.”
He was not very convinced by my answer:
“Come on, Mr Yamauchi. I’ sure there must be occasions where you’d need to say that. What would you say in Japanese?”
I gave in and said:
“Well, when push comes to shove, you might say; aishitemasu.”
He was pleased and asked me further:
“All right. Now, please tell me which part of aishitemasu means ‘I,’ which part ‘love,’ and which part ‘you.’”
Asked this, I was at a loss. Feeling I had no alternative, I said:
“Well, aishitemasu does not contain any words equivalent to ‘I’ or ‘you.’”
He was very puzzled by my answer, but as I was not yet a teacher of Japanese, I could not explain properly beyond this.
However, now I can.
His puzzlement comes from the conviction that there must be a subject to construct a sentence. This error is virtually unavoidable to Westerners, because English and most European languages all believe in the necessity of a subject to make a sentence. Moreover, these languages also say that if the verb in a sentence is transitive, there must be an object, too. However, these are by no means universal rules shared by all languages.
Forget which language you use for a second, and just think of the situation in which “I love you” might be said. Generally, just you and your partner are present. Given such a situation, why do you have to say “I love you?” Isn’t the subject and object redundant?
While an English verb is just a word and cannot constitute a sentence unless there is a subject (even imperatives like “Eat!” or “Go!” the subject “you” is deemed to be implied and omitted), a Japanese verb constitutes a valid, perfect and proper sentence on its own. Unless the situation calls for designating who the subject is and what the object, words to describe these things are not uttered; similarly, additional information such as when, where, how, to what degree or why are not included unless there is a reason to do so. For whatever reason, English treats the subject (and the object if the verb used is transitive) as special and indispensable. Japanese, on the other hand, treats all information equally – i.e. things are said only when that information is thought to be necessary.
Let’s relate this back to “I love you.” If the situation calls for it, there are, of course, ways to indicate “I” and “you” in Japanese as well. So, we could say, watash wa anata o aishiteimasu. But we would need a special situation to make this appropriate. For example, a group of boys sit on one side with a group of girls on the other, and someone asks who loves whom. In such a highly unlikely situation, there would be a need for the speaker to say watashi wa anata o aishiteimasu. A literal translation for this would be: “(As far as I’m concerned) I (choose to) love you (among the others, and I am not responsible for who else loves who else).”
Japanese is a language in which a sentence is formed by either a verb on its own, an adjective on its own or a noun followed by da. A word equivalent to an English subject is not necessary. This rule applies not only to the spoken language, but is found in writing as well. One of Japan’s Nobel Prize-winners, author Kawabata Yasunari, started his famous Yukiguni (Snow Country) by writing: Kunizakai no nagai tonneru o nukeru to yukiguni deatta. In this, the very first sentence of a famous book, there is no subject! We have a verb, nukeru, which means “pass through,” but the sentence does not tell us what passes through. Later, we find out that it is in fact a train, but the real meant of the sentence is in the last two words, which translate to “(it) was the snow country.” Here again, there is no subject. To make a close translation of the original into English, I must avoid using the subject.
For instance: “Upon passing through the long tunnel of the country border, it was snow country.” Probably this English sounds a little odd to native English speakers. In that case, you could restate the sentence in this way: “When the train passed through the long tunnel of the border, there was snow country.”
Or: “Passing through the long tunnel at the border led to snow country.” (I don’t have room here to cover why I chose to use “led to”.)
Edward G. Seidensticker’s well-known translation of the book has a more traditional English subject for this sentence: “The train came out of the long tunnel into the snow country.”
Talking about subjects some more, think about English statements like “you never know.” Here, although you use “you” as the subject, it could reasonably be replaced by other pronouns.
So:
- You never know.
- We never know.
- One never knows.
- They never know.
- People never know.
Despite completely different word choices for the subject, these all mean virtually the same thing. Here again, an illustration that very often, mentioning the subject is redundant. And yet English demands it, and Japanese simply does not.
7. Proxemics: close or distant
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
If you have studied Japanese, I’m sure you have been told about something called desu/masu style. If you have never studied Japanese but have been living in Japan for a while, your ears have probably become attuned to hearing desu and masu at the ends of many Japanese sentences.
While Japanese themselves use the name “desu/masu style,” some Japanese textbooks call it “formal style,” and other textbooks “polite style.” I have even seen a textbook from a U.S. university that uses the term “normal style” (which makes me wonder if the other style should be called “abnormal style”).
What is desu? Some of you may have been led to believe that it is equivalent to the verb “to be,” because it is found in statements like watashi wa sensei desu, meaning “I am a teacher,” or kore oishii desu for “This is delicious.” However, removing the desu would not change the meaning of these phrases. This should be sufficient proof that desu is not the equivalent of “to be.”
If you ask a Japanese friend of yours what is the difference between wakarimasu and wakaru, or between oishii desu and oishii, you will likely be told that the former sounds more polite. To a degree, this is true. If you say wakarimasu to someone, you are showing a certain degree of politeness toward the person, as compared with when you say wakaru. If your Japanese friend speaks English, ask for a translation of each of the alternate forms into proper English. I’m pretty sure that both will end up translated as “I understand.”
While wakarimasu can be said to sound more polite, it is different from keigo, or polite language, which demonstrates respect to your counterpart or a third person. For example, if you wanted to show respect to someone who understands something, as in “the professor (honorably) understands Greek,” then you might choose owakari ni narimasu or owakarini naru as your verb.
Here again, you see the masu ending in the former, but not in the latter. Interestingly, even if you use the latter form (the one without masu), you are still showing your respect for the professor to the same degree.
This leads us to the reasonable conclusion that masu is not related to the person in question, i.e. the professor. So then, what function does masu have? And is it related to desu?
Imagine you are having a conversation. This implies you are (a) speaking to someone and (b) this person is listening to you. Now think about how far you and your counterpart stand or sit apart from each other. If you are with someone to whom you have just been introduced, you will probably maintain some physical distance from the person. On the other hand, if you are with a close friend or significant other, the same distance might feel annoying or frustrating and make you want to move closer to him or her.
The physical distance people keep when in conversation seems to be culturally dependent. It is said, for instance, that the Spanish tend to talk closer to each other than do other Europeans. Of course, we must also account for personality difference. Some may or may not be more comfortable being physically close to others.
Because language is spoken between people, it has developed some socially useful tools, including those that convey the distance between people in an interaction. Different languages, and therefore cultures, employ different tools and have different ideas about how much space is appropriate.
What are these tools like? As an example, many languages have two words for ”you”: vous and tu in French, usted and tu in Spanish and Sie and du in German. Virtually all European languages, except English, have two words for “you”. Even non-European languages share this idea; for example, the Chinese words for “you” are nin and ni.
Why do these languages have two ways of saying “you”?
Most people will explain that one is more polite than the other. However, if we were to go a step further, we could say that the two words exist to illustrate one speaker’s psychological distance from – or familiarity with – another.
English, as you well know, has just “you.” This means that whether you speak to your son, dog, or the president of the United States, you use the same word to address him. The mechanism of two words for “you” to show one’s familiarity with the other does not exist in English. Nevertheless, psychologically all people want to be able to demonstrate this; it is an important aspect of participation in society. In English, familiarity can be illustrated through calling people by their first or last name; “I understand, John” demonstrates more familiarity with the speaker than does “I understand Mr Robinson.”
You may be surprised to know that Japanese does not have any particular word for “you.”
Perhaps you may have thought that anata was the Japanese word for “you.” But anata is simply one term among many to identify the addressee. In conversation where it is understood who is speaking to whom, there is no need to use such terms at all. Anata is used when you regard your counterpart to be your peer or subordinate. It is also used when the counterpart is anonymous, such as in questionnaires, exams, and the like. It is in no way equivalent to the English “you.” The best way to address someone, if the need arises, is to use his or her name with –san. So, the tool most common to European languages does not exist here, either.
The use of names is also different in Japanese. If you address someone by name alone, without a polite suffix like san, or, if appropriate, an affectionate suffix like chan, you can come off quite rude. Unlike in English, names are not tools for demonstrating intimacy or respect.
By now you can probably see where we are headed: the Japanese tool for illustrating a psychological distance from the person you are addressing is the desu/masu style, or more appropriately the “distal style.” Learning when you don’t have to use the distal style is a very interesting cultural subject worthy of another article.
8. ‘Joshi,’ Japanese particles ― Part 1
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
In any language, ideas expressed using nouns, verbs or adjectives are relatively easy to grasp, as each of them represents an independent definable notion. But most languages also have so-called “instrumental words,” such as the articles and prepositions of English, which are more difficult to grasp as they do not represent any thing or state, which can be defined in some way.
In Japanese, these instrumental words are called joshi, or particles. Learners of Japanese often complain about the difficulties of using particles properly. This difficulty is comparable to the problem of proper use of articles in English, i.e. the use of ‘a’ or ‘the,’ or not using either. I’m sure you as an English-language native have seen many examples of misuse of articles and prepositions by Japanese people.
To start with, let us see why modern Japanese needs particles. First, I must surprise you by saying that, in principle, Japanese does not require the use of particles. In other words, particles are employed only when they are called for. Please do not think that there must always be particles in Japanese sentences.
See the following quite common discourse, for example:
Masao: Kesa Hiroki asagohan tabeta?
Hiroki: Uun, tabenakatta. Masao tabeta?
Or, see the following example if you think the above has no particles because it is in a casual style:
Suzuki: Kesa Suzuki-san asagohan tabemashita?
Tanaka: Iie, tabemasen deshita. Suzuki-san tabemashita?
No particles are used in these utterances, either.
Japanese has the following two golden rules about word order:
- The predicate comes at the end of the sentence.
- The modifier comes before the modified.
Other than these, Japanese word order is basically free. You’ll see why this is important in a moment.
So, what do I mean by “predicate”? A predicate is the shortest form of a sentence, and there are three types. In Japanese theses are: the verbal predicate, adjectival predicate and nominal predicate. These are equivalent to verbs, adjective and nouns in English, respectively. The reason to use these slightly modified terms is not be pedantic, but because in Japanese each predicate constitutes a valid and complete sentence on its own, while in English, verbs, adjectives and nouns are mere words. I will discuss predicates more in future articles.
For now, let’s use the verbal predicate, tabemasu, for our discussion. The past form (more precisely, “perfective form”) is tabemashita.
Using this, the following discourse is possible:
A: Tabemashita? (Did you eat?)
B: Tabemashita. (Yes, I did.)
As you see above, tabemashita itself constitutes a perfect sentence. It is not sloppy, rude or incomplete. This is the core of the Japanese language. If you want to define who ate what, when how, how much, etc., then just add the modifying nouns before the predicate tabemashita; thus:
Suzuki-san kinoo sushi takusan tabemashita.
(Mr Suzuki ate a lot of sushi yesterday.)
Each of those words modifies the predicate (tabemashita) according to its own meaning, and the order is basically free. Therefore, this sentence can be restated:
- Kinoo Suzuki-san sushi takusan tabemashita.
- Sushi Suzuki-san takusan kinoo tabemashita.
- Suzuki-san takusan sushi kinoo tabemashita.
Although there are certain preferences regarding order, these sentences and other different combinations are all valid and correct. No matter what the order may be, the sentence is understood correctly because we know that Suzuki-san is a person, sushi is food, kinoo refers to the time, and takusan to the amount.
What happens, though, if sushi is replaced by wani (alligator), for instance?
- Kinoo Suzuki-san wani tabemashita.
This sentence is confusing. Unless Suzuki-san is here with us alive, it is not clear whether he ate alligator meat or an alligator ate him! Here is where particles play their important, fundamental role. Because word order is completely free in Japanese, we need a way of illustrating what role each noun plays in relation to the predicate, which is verb here. By adding ga to Suzuki-san, i.e. Suzuki-san ga, we can tell that he is the eater. If we say wani ga, then we can immediately tell that the alligator was the one doing the eating. X ga indicates clearly that X is the doer of the action.
What happens if the predicate is not an action? Japanese has a good number of verbs which do not represent an action, several of which you probably know, including wakarimasu (understand, is comprehensible), dekimasu (can do something or is possible), chigaimasu (is different or wrong), etc. Here X ga indicates that X is the subject matter of each of the conditions the words represent, whether X is a person or a thing. Thus, the following utterances are all valid:
Suzuki-san ga wakarimasu. (‘Mr Suzuki’ is the subject matter for understanding or comprehension.)
Mr Suzuki understands (it).
Taigo ga wakarimasu. (‘Thai’ is the subject matter for understanding or comprehension.)
Thai is comprehensible. He understands Thai.
Suzuki-san ga Taigo ga wakarimasu. (‘Mr Suzuki’ is the primary matter and ‘Thai’ is the secondary matter for understanding or comprehension.)
Mr Suzuki understands Thai.
The same thing happens when X ga is used with the other two predicates, i.e. adjectival and nominal predicates.
Suzuki-san ga isogashii desu. (Mr Suzuki is the subject matter of being busy.)
Mr Suzuki is busy.
Shigoto isogashii desu. (The work is the subject matter of being busy.)
I’m busy with my work.
Suzuki-san ga suki desu. (Mr Suzuki is the subject matter of liking.)
Mr Susuki likes (it). OR, I like Mr Suzuki.
I’m sure that the last example makes you wonder about the ambiguity, which in fact leads to an evolution discussed in my article No.33.
I have stuck with the particle ga today, but likewise each of the other particles has its own role to play in determining the role of words in relation to the predicate. If you have any particles you want me to discuss here in the future, I would be pleased to honor your requests.
9. Sentiment wrapped in grammar
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
Sophisticated packaging is one of the things foreigners living in Japan find amazing, extravagant even. For environmental reasons “overpackaging” is decreasing, but there is still clearly a strong cultural desire to wrap things in a sophisticated way.
Why do we wrap things? To protect the contents? To carry them more easily? To some extent, of course, both must be true. These are physical and practical reasons for wrapping and packaging.
Think of yourself preparing for Christmas presents. Thinking about why we wrap Christmas presents, we find wrapping done for reasons beyond physical and practical ones. Clearly gift wrapping has psychological or spiritual implications. Gifts are wrapped nicely to show abstract qualities, such as goodwill, love and care, that accompany the physical gifts. Think of a time you gave a beautifully wrapped gift; now, compare that with a situation where you gave something without wrapping it. You’ll likely agree that wrapping makes the gift come more from the heart.
The same effect applies in the use of the Japanese language.
In a previous article, I covered how arigato gozaimasu (generally translated as “thank you”), for instance, does not include any words of gratitude, but translates literally as “it is difficult-to-exist” or “it is rare.” Similarly, ohayo gozaimasu merely means “it is early.” Nevertheless, the phrases convey the speaker’s gratitude or goodwill, respectively.
The secret here is found in the same effect we get from wrapping. The fundamental meanings of “it is rare” and “it is early” are wrapped in a “grammatical package.” When so wrapped, they deliver the speaker’s gratitude and goodwill, beyond the literal meanings of the words.
If you use this form with other adjectives, they become nice ways of showing concern or thoughtfulness toward your counterpart. These patterns demonstrate that you are showing more feeling toward the other. For example, oatsu gozaimasu (“it is hot”). By virtue of using this polite packaging, you are actually expressing your consideration.
Another grammatical package is seen in phrases such as go-chiso-sama and o-tsukare-sama. Go and o are polite prefixes; sama is the original word for san, used after a person’s name to show respect. The words sandwiched between the prefix and the title are “feast” (chiso) and “fatigue” (tusukare), respectively. Although literal translations are next to impossible, these phrases represent a way to offer thanks for food and to acknowledge or commiserate with another person for their hard work. Again rather than being verbalized in words of gratitude or commiseration, feelings are conveyed by being “wrapped.” Other examples of this type of package include: osewa-sama (“sorry for your trouble”), go-kuro-sama (‘”thank you for your hard work”), go-shusho-sama (‘”my condolences”) and o-kage-sama (“thank you for your concern”).
Another grammatical package is the honorific form, such as o-hanashi ni naru (“honorably speak”) or o-kiki-ni naru (“honorably ask”). Looking at the verbs’ humble forms o-hanashi suru (“humbly speak”) and o-kiki suru, (“humbly ask”) we can really only translate them as “speak” or “ask.” Unless we tack on the cumbersome “honorably” or “humbly,” the honorific and humble verb forms would translate the same way! But in Japanese, simply putting the verb into the different forms creates the connotation of respect or humility. The packaging of the words shows your emotional stance.
How might this work in a specific scenario? Imagine the following: A mother is waiting to take her little son out, and he is in his room playing Nintendo. If she says “sorosoro dekakeru kara…” (“we’ll get going , so…”), he knows that he still has some time to play. If she says, in the same calm voice, “sorosoro dekakeru n da kara…” (“we’ll get going, so…”), he knows he had better finish up right away! How does he know this?
The second declaration translates literally as “It’s that we’ll get going, so…,” but could more correctly be translated as “Come on! Hurry up! We’re going!” More realistically, if it were English, she could well be shouting at him. This is, again, packaging.
First a brief grammatical review: The particle kara combines the first clause (the reason) with the next clause (its outcome). The n da (when not followed by kara) changes the preceding clause into a noun clause; this subtly offers an explanation or reason for something. The two forms combined express a reason along with, typically, frustration or joy. Again, the form contains emotion.
Unlike the English subjunctive mood, where the politeness comes from an assumed, yet unspoken phrase (generally “if you don’t mind,” as in “I would like to go if you don’t mind”), Japanese doesn’t use any particular words, but form, to hint a hidden meanings.
In any package culture there is the risk of packaging as façade. Perhaps you once received an extravagant gift but did not feel it reflected the feelings of the giver. Combined with Japanese giri (obligations requiring social demonstration) packaging sometimes becomes formality without substance.
This also happens in the language, with many formal phrases used to mean virtually nothing. Take, for example, the recitations heard at McDonald’s. Formal, politely packaged phrases, they said without feeling.
That reminds me: A long time ago, on a business trip to New York, I made an operator-assisted call to London. At the end of our short conversation, the operator said something too quickly for me to catch. I said “Pardon?” Then, she was so kind as to stress every single word most distinctly, saying, “I said, ‘THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR USING AT&T!’”
10. Omitting the decision-maker
By Shigekatsu Yamauchi
President of ICI (the International Communication Institute)
The New Year having just opened, I’m sure many of you have made New Year’s resolutions – that is, you made a decision. Today, I’d like to discuss comparative views on decision-making.
There are a good number of Japanese words that just cannot be translated into English accurately. Most of such words include a certain mindset that does not exist, or scarcely exists, in English, and therefore, they are likely to lead us into an arena where interesting cultural insights may be found.
The word I would like to discuss today is the Japanese verb kimaru.
Before getting too far into the meaning of kimaru, let’s note its twin, the verb kimeru, which means “to decide something.” Kimaru is an intransitive partner to the transitive verb kimeru.
But first let’s take a moment to clarify the meanings of “transitive” and “intransitive”.
A transitive verb describes a situation as “someone or something does something affecting an object.” Intransitive verbs, on the other hand, treat the subject as though it took the action voluntarily.
When you say “I stopped” (intransitive), you voluntarily describe yourself as having made the stopping action yourself. When you say “the car stopped” (also intransitive), you are speaking as though the car had its own will to stop.
However, when you say “the car stopped,” the fact is that it was the driver of the car who made it stop. Likewise, strictly speaking, if you say “the door opens”, it does not open by itself. There must be a cause for the phenomenon – i.e. it is opened by someone or something, even if only the wind.
Most English verbs can be used both intransitively and transitively. When the verb has an object, it is transitive; when there is no object, the verb is intransitive – it’s as simple as that. So, even if the object is obvious, you’d still use a pronoun, such as “it” or “them” to ensure you are using the verb transitively: “I stopped it,” for instance, or “I opened them.”
In contrast with English, Japanese does not require any object if it is obvious. So, to distinguish between transitive and intransitive, the language has pairs of verbs that sound similar; hence, tomaru for “the car stops” and tomeru for “I stop it (e.g. a car).”
Another example is aku for “the door opens” and akeru for “I open it (e.g. the door).” This is comparable to a limited number of English verb pairs, such as lie/lay, sit/seat and rise/raise. Such look-alike pairs exist in Japanese for most verbs.
Now, let me come back to our original word, kimeru. While kimeru means “I decide something (such as a rule, assignment or marriage),” kimaru refers to a decision (?) that “makes itself,” so to speak. When a Japanese person says “X ga kimatta,” he is saying that X has been decided without making any comment whatsoever about people who may have been involved in the decision-making process.
You might argue that in English you would say “X has been decided.” I, however, maintain that even in this passive voice statement, English does still imply a decision-maker; you can in fact mention the decision-maker by saying “X has been decided by the committee.” As compared with this, the Japanese statement, X ga kimatta, completely ignores any decision-maker. Things are presented as if the “decision” was a natural, involuntary occurrence, like fruit ripening.
In the English-language mindset or worldview, for anything to be decided, it is only natural that someone must have decided it. There must always be a decision-maker and that is why there is no intransitive twin for “decide” to complete a word pair in the manner of rise/raise. Additionally, that is why “decide” cannot be used intransitively, as in “this rule decides.”
But, let us think for a moment. Does “deciding” really flow exclusively from the sole authority of a “decision-maker”?
When you think about it, for anything to be decided, the circumstances must be right and ripe. The situation must have matured so that a “decision” can occur. It is not just a “decision-maker” alone that “decides” things. The Japanese language incorporates these other aspects of “decision-making,” and is equipped to express them.
Like anything else, however, this Japanese view has negative as well as positive aspects. For one, the Japanese view can overlook the responsibility of the decision-maker, who frequently cannot be identified. In many social, economic, political and business contexts, that means it is often difficult to identify the responsible people; things are left ambiguous. A situation that U.S. society, for instance, would never allow is often tolerated and taken to be a case of shikataganai (“it can’t be helped”).
Aspects of this mindset are ever-present in Japanese. Recently, for example, it has become more common for salesclerks to say “1,000 yen ni natte orimasu” (literally, “It has become, and remains, 1,000 yen”) in response to the question “How much is it?” In this way a price is presented as a natural occurrence rather than as a shop’s volitional decision on what to charge. Japanese people take this to be more polite and acceptable, but in fact it stakes out a position that allows no room for negotiation.