Yukio Mishima – Spring Snow

It was Honda, then, who spoke first, wishing only to find a subject that had no bearing on the issue between them.
½You know, I've been thinking a lot about personality lately. Take the times we live in, this school, this society – I feel alien to them all. At least I would like to think I did. And at the same time same can be said for you too.½
½Yes, of course, ½ Kiyoaki replied, his tone as uninterested and aloof as ever, yet with a sweetness that was very much in character.
½But let me ask you this: what happens after a hundred years? Without us having any say in the matter, all our ideas will be lumped together under the heading, ‘The Thought of the Age.’ Take the history of art, for example: it proves my point irrefutably, whether you like it or not. Each period has its own style, and no artist living in a particular era can completely transcend that era’s style, whatever his individual outlook.½
½Does our age have its style too?½
½I think I’d be more inclined to say that the style of the Meiji era is still dying. But how would I know? To live in the midst of era is to be oblivious to its style. You and I, you see, must be immersed in some style of living or other, but we’re like goldfish swimming around in a bowl without ever noticing it. Take yourself: yours is a world of feeling. You appear different from most people. And you yourself are quite sure that you have never allowed your personality to be compromised. However, there is absolutely no way of proving that. The testimony of your contemporaries has no value whatever. Who knows? It may just be that your world of feeling represents the style of this era in its purest form. But then again, there’s no way of knowing.½
½Well, then, who does decide?½
½Time. Time is what matters. As time goes by, you and I will be carried inexorably into the mainstream of our period, even though we’re unaware of what it is. And later, when they say that young men in the early Taisho era thought, dressed, talked, in such and such a way, they’ll be talking about you and me. We’ll all be lumped together. You detest that bunch on the kendo team, don’t you? You despise them?½
½Yes,½ Kiyoaki said, uncomfortably aware that the cold was beginning to penetrate the seat of his trousers, but gazing nevertheless at some green camellia leaves beside the frame of the arbor. Freshly bared by the melting snow, they were gleaming brightly. ½Yes, I not only dislike them, I despise them.½
Taking his perfunctory reply in his stride, Honda went on: ½All right, then, just imagine this if you can. In a few decades, people will see you and the people you despise as one and the same, a single entity. Your slow-witted friends – with their sentimentality, their vicious narrow-mindedness that condemns as effeminate anyone who is not like themselves, their harassment of the underclassmen, their fanatical worship of credible satisfaction from sweeping the ground every morning around the sakaki planted by the Meiji Emperor – you with all your sensitivity will be seen cheek-by-jowl with these people when they stop to think about our times in years to come. You see, this is the easiest way to establish the essence of our era – to take the lowest common denominator. Once the churning water has settled to a calm surface, you can see the rainbow oil slick floating there. And that’s the way it will be. After we’re all dead, it will be easy to analyze us and isolate our basic elements for everyone to see. And of course this essence, the thought that is foundation of our era, will be considered quite benighted a hundred years from now. And you and I have no way of escaping the verdict, no way to prove we didn’t share the discredited views of our contemporaries. And what standard will history apply to that outlook? What do you think? The thoughts of the geniuses of our age? Of great men? Not at all. Those who will come after us and decide what was in our minds will adopt the criterion of team. In other words, they’ll seize upon the most primitive and popular credos of our day. You see every era has always been characterized solely in terms of such idiocies.½
Kiyoaki was not sure where this was taking Honda, but as he listened, a germ of thought began to grow in his mind. By now several of their classmates were to be seen at the open windows of their second-floor classroom. The windows of the other rooms were shut, reflecting the glare of the morning sun and the brilliant blue of the sky. A familiar morning scene. When he thought of the event of the previous day, the morning of the snowstorm, he felt as if he had been drawn unwillingly from a dark world of sensuous excitement into the clear, bright courts of reason.
½Well, that’s history,½ he said. He was embarrassed by the immaturity of his remarks in contrast to Honda’s, but he was finally making an effort to come to grips with the other’s thought. ½In other words, no matter what we think, or hope for, or feel – all that has not the slightest bearing on the course of history? Is that what you mean?½
½That’s it exactly. Europeans belive that a man like Napoleon can impose his will on history. We Japanese think the same of the men like your grandfather and his contemporaries who brought about the Meiji Restoration. But is that really true? Does history ever obey the will of men? Looking at you always makes me ponder that question. You’re not a great man and you’re not a genius either. But, nonetheless, you have one characteristic that sets you quite apart: you have no trace whatever of willpower. And so I am always fascinated to think of you in relation to history.½
½Are you being sarcastic?½
½No, not a bit. I’m thinking in terms of unconscious participation in history. For example, let’s say that I have willpower –½
½You certainly have.½
½Say that I want to alter the course of history. I devote all my energies and resources to this end. I use every ounce of strength I posses to bend history to my will. Say I posses the prestige and authority so necessary to bring this about. None of this would ensure that history proceeded according to my wishes. Then, on the other hand, perhaps a hundred, two hundred, even three hundred years later, history might veer abruptly to take a course that was consonant with my vision and ideals – and this without my having had anything whatever to do with it. Perhaps society would assume a form that was the exact replica of my dreams of a hundred or two hundred years before; history, enjoying the new glory that had been my vision, would smile at me with cool condescension and mock my ambition. And people would say: ‘Well, that’s history.’½
½But there is such a thing as the time being ripe for everything, isn’t there?½ asked Kiyoaki. ½Your vision’s time would finally have come, that’s all. Maybe it wouldn’t even take as long as a hundred years; maybe thirty or fifty. That sort of thing often happens. And perhaps even after your death, your will would serve as an invisible guideline, unknown to anyone, that would help bring about what you wanted to accomplish in your lifetime. Maybe if someone like you had never lived, history would never have taken such a turn, no matter how long it lasted.½
Even though such cold, uncongenial abstractions were a struggle for him, Kiyoaki felt stirred by a certain warmth, an excitement that he knew he had Honda to thank for. He was reluctant to acknowledge satisfaction from such a source. But as he looked around the white-carpented school grounds, with the bare branches of the trees casting shadows over the snow-covered flowerbeds, and the clear sound of trickling water in his ears, he knew he was happy that Honda had started this discussion. Even though he must have known that he was still engrossed in the memory of happiness and fascination of the day before, Honda had chosen to ignore it, a decision that seemed appropriate to the purity of the snow around them. At that moment, some of it slid off the roof, baring a few square feet of wet tile, gleaming black.
½And so,½ continued Honda, ½if society turned out as I wanted it to after a hundred years, you’d call that an accomplishment?½
½It must be.½
½Whose accomplishment?½
½That of your will.½
½You’re joking. I’d be dead. As I just told you, all this came about without my having had anything to do with it.½
½Well, can’t you say that it’s the accomplishment of the will of history then?½
½So history has a will, eh? It’s always dangerous to try to personify history. As far as I’m concerned, history has no will of its own and, furthermore, it hasn’t the least concern for process, you can’t talk about accomplishments. And all the so-called accomplishments of history prove it. They’re no sooner achieved than they begin to crumble away. History is a record of destruction. One must always make room for the next ephemeral crystal. For history, to build and to destroy are one and the same thing.
½I am fully aware of all this. Although I understand it, I cannot be like you and stop being a man of determination. I suppose it’s probably a compulsion in my character. No one can say for certain, but I will say this much: any will has as its essence the desire to influence history, only that they try to. Then, too, some forms of will are bound up with destiny, even though this concept is anathema to the will.
½But in the long run, all human will is doomed to frustration. It’s a matter of course that things turn out contrary to your intentions. And what conclusion does a Western draw from this? He says: ‘My will was the sole rational force involved. Failure came about by chance.’
½To speak of chance is to negate the possibility of any law of cause and effect. Chance is the one final irrationality acceptable to the free will.
½Without the concept of chance, you see, the Western philosophy of free will could never have arisen. Chance is the crucial refuge of the will. And without it the very thought of gambling would be inconceivable, just as the Westerner has no other way of rationalizing the repeated setbacks and frustrations that he must endure. I think that this concept of chance, of gamble, is the very substance of the God of Europeans, and so they have a deity whose characteristics are derived from that refuge so vital to free will, namely chance – the only sort of God who would inspire the freedom of human will.
½But what would happen if we were to deny the existence of chance completely? What would happen if – no matter what the victory or defeat – you had to exclude utterly all possible role of chance in it? In that case, you’d be destroying all refuge of free will. do away with chance and you undermine the props under the concept of will.
½Picture a scene like this: it’s a square at midday. The will is standing there all alone. He pretends that he is remaining upright by virtue of his own strength, and hence he goes on deceiving himself. The sun beats down. No trees, no grass. Nothing whatever in the huge square to keep him company but his own shadow. At that moment, a thundering voice comes down from the cloudless sky above: ‘Chance is dead. There’s no such thing as chance. Hear me, Will: you have lost your advocate forever.’ And with that, the Will feels his substance begin to crumble and dissolve. His flesh rots and falls away. In an instant his skeleton is laid bare, a thin liquid spurts from it, and the bones themselves lose their solidity and begin to disintegrate. The Will still stands with his feet planted firmly on the ground, but his final effort is futile. For at that very moment, the bright, glaring sky is rent apart with a terrible roar, and the God of Inevitability stares down through the chasm.
½But I cannot help trying to conjure up an odious face for this dreadful God, and this weakness is doubtless due to my own bent toward voluntarism. For if Chance ceases to exist, then Will becomes meaningless – no more significant than a speck of rust on the huge chain of cause and effect that we participate in history, and that’s to have no will at all – to function solely as shining, beautiful atom, eternal and unchanging. No one should look for any other meaning in human existence.
½You are not likely to see things this way. I wouldn’t expect you to subscribe to such philosophy. The only things you do put any faith in – and that without much thought – are your own good looks, your changing moods, your individuality and – not your fixed character, but on the contrary, your very lack of it. Am I right?½
Kiyoaki could not manage an answer. For what of anything better, he smiled knowing that Honda was not trying to insult him.
½And that for me is the greatest riddle,½ said Honda, sighing so earnestly that it seemed almost comical. His breath became frosty cloud that hovered for a second in the clear morning air, and seemed to Kiyoaki to be a secret manifestation of Honda’s concern for him. Deep down inside him, his sense of happiness intensified.
The bell rang to announce the beginning of classes, and the two young man stood up. Just then, someone scooped up some of the snow piled on the second floor window ledges and threw down a snowball. It struck the path at their feet, in a burst of sparkling fragments.

(odlomek)