[Kroeber was a leading figure in American anthropology during the middle decades of the twentieth century and published numerous studies of Native American cultures. In the following review, he praises Benedict's treatment of the relationship between psychology and culture in The Chrysanthemum and the Sword.]

This analysis of Japan [The Chrysanthemum and the Sword] is a book that makes one proud to be an anthropologist. It shows what can be done with orientation and discipline even without speaking knowledge of the language and residence in the country.

Dr. Benedict deals definitely with culture, and equally definitely with psychology. In her own manner the two are interfused; the cultural value standards are stated as such, and so too is it stated how normal individuals act under them. The skilful interweaving of the many facets of a large culture hardly lends itself to summary or to concept concentration, especially since the Japanese tend to view life as consisting of so many "circles" or departments. So a running series of her findings will be touched on here; as Dr. Benedict says, the tough-minded are content that differences should exist.

Japanese organization is hierarchical. Society still is aristocratic. Respect and its degrees and rules are learned in childhood, precisely within the face-to-face family. There is no extended family or large-scale filial piety; the family shrine is in the living room. Fundamental is finding one's place in the world; confusion exists when there is "neither elder brother nor younger brother." Proper placing of people allows dignity of behavior even in low station, such as cannot be attained under equality, the Japanese feel.

There is also a hierarchy of nations, and in this Japan senses strongly that the eyes of the world are upon her. By reason of this it is necessary that the Japanese soul be trained above matter, and that all contingencies be foreknown and planned for. The Emperor is inseparable from Japan, and therefore above criticism; but all others are expendable without salvage. Hence the standard of no surrender in war, but of full cooperation after peace.

The Meiji reform is sketched incisively as above all maintaining the hierarchy—with the explicit approval of Herbert Spencer. There was to be popular support, but no popular opinion; State Shinto as sign of respect to the order, but genuine religious freedom. Ceremonies are for the people, not by them. On the village level there is real democracy: the elders are not tax collectors for the State. But education is wholly under central authority. The Meiji Army and Navy promptly outlawed respect language; and promotion has been by merit in place of family, at any rate far more so than in civilian spheres. Why the State organized and built up the new basic industries only to turn them over at low price to the specially selected Zaibatsu oligarchy does not become wholly clear. The implication is that it was because planning was possible only in terms of hierarchical order. The proper station makes everyone feel safe. But export abroad of the hierarchical principle failed miserably elsewhere in Asia, no doubt because it was enforced.

The matter of obligations and reciprocations is gone into at length. On is obligation received, passively incurred, from superior, parents, lord, teacher, or others. About the latter there is ambivalence. Three phrases of thanks mean "this poisonous feeling," "difficult thing," "this does not end." The pre-Meiji phrase katajikenai meant both "I am insulted" and "grateful": that is, shame at receiving favor. It can be more generous to accept on than to tender it. One does not proffer it casually: that might be meddlesome. Repayment is of two main kinds: gimu, unstated in amount and kind, and due the emperor, parents, and one's work (called respectively chu, ko, and nimmu); and gir, which aims at exact equivalence, and may be unwilling at heart; it is hardest to bear, and one can be "cornered with giri." Besides this giri to others, there is giri to one's own name, close to what we should call pride in honor. This leads to vendetta revenge, to non-admission of failure, but also to fulfillment of the properties. Chu was formerly due the shogun. Then the Japanese decided that European conflict of rulers and people was unworthy of Japan in history. Giri that clears one's name is outside the circle of on; "the world tips" while an insult is unrequited, and requiting it does not constitute aggression. To know giri is to be loyal for life, to repay giri is to offer one's life.

The Japanese have little sense of guilt, but a strong sense of shame. They avoid overt competition because the loser is shamed; they feel it as an aggression. Their hierarchical system naturally minimizes competition, much as the institution of the intermediary go-between cuts down shame if negotiations fail. Politeness is a means of preventing shame and the need of clearing one's name. Revenge for slight is "a kind of morning tub" by a people passionate about cleanliness. They are vulnerable to failures and slurs, and harry themselves over them, even to suicide. The latter is not specially common in fact, but all-important in fantasy. Suicide is played up vicariously in films and reading-matter as crime is in America. Milder manifestations of the vulnerability are lassitude and boredom. The constant goal is honor: commanding respect, a good name, privately and as a nation in the world. The means may change; the aim is constant.

The famous sincerity (makoto, magokoro), the basic virtue, the "soul" of the Emperor's Rescript, does not mean genuineness, but what makes other virtues "stick." It is the exponent of these to a higher power. Usually sincerity hallmarks or identifies the virtues most stressed: non-self-seeking, freedom from profit-making; self-discipline, freedom from passion; ability to lead, due to freedom from internal conflict. To wound another's feelings without intent is "insincere" because it is undisciplined; whereas to wound them deliberately in giri to one's name is justifiable. Self-respect, jicho, literally "self-weighty," implies circumspection, full self-control in order to control a situation. Again shame, haji, counts for more than guilt.

Due to the ever-present shame-preventing etiquette, "refined familiarity," as it is natural to well-bred Chinese or Americans, is killed off in childhood as being sauciness in Japanese girls, perhaps as "insincerity" in boys.

The Japanese are not puritanical. They cultivate sensory pleasures but keep them in their place: self-discipline is what is all-important. Soldiers "already know how to sleep; they need training in how to keep awake" by marching day and night. But when there is nothing at stake, sleeping is a favored indulgence. Love, both romantic and erotic, is fine, but as a "human feeling" it must be ruthlessly sacrificed to obligations. Strength to meet one's obligations is the most admired of all qualities. Hence the Japanese love the tragic ending. Shuyo, self-discipline, "enlarges life"; it polishes away "the rust of the body" and makes one like a sharp sword. Mental training (muga in Zen cult) promotes expertness of any kind by obliterating the "observing" or "interfering" self (self-consciousness, presumably), until there is "not even the thickness of a hair" between will and act, and the act is "one-pointed." This training, though the exercises were derived from China and perhaps ultimately from India, is not yoga, is not mystic, is not freedom from the flesh, does not lead to nirvana which the Japanese in general do not seek. They train for mastery of this life. They ask a great deal of themselves.

There is a chapter on "The Child Learns" and one on "The Japanese since VJ-Day." The one on learning comes at the end; it is full of facts on cultural practice, does not mention some of Gorer's allegations, and I think does not contain the word "socialization." As usual, Benedict has cut her own swath here.

So as not to seem wholly adulatory, I will mention—not in correction but in distinction-one point where emphasis might have been different. On the whole, Benedict stresses strongly those aspects of Japanese culture and character which are reciprocal, have to do with the interrelations of persons. She passes much more lightly over those which are primarily expressions of the self. Perhaps that is why there are only transient allusions to the obtrusive and compulsive Japanese cleanliness, neatness, frugality, economy of means, finish: these are primarily selfsatisfying qualities, as shame, obligation, and hierarchy are turned toward others. This is not stricture—only a reminder that no book is completely perfect. This one eminently does enlarge understanding and polish away the rust of the mind.