After 40 years of studying the language and people of Japan now and historically, my anthropological lens is finally able to see what others have already said and documented in various ways and with smaller fragments of the whole. Words like “osewa” [being reliant on other’s help], “omakase” [trusting to the hands of another person], “yoroshiku” [depending on other’s good favor or graces], “amayaksu” [being spoiled with attention or care; or doing so for others], and the sometimes dramatic tension between “honne” [true feeling] and “tatemae” [facade of propriety or rules], echoed in the tension between “giri” [obligatory] and “ninjo” [personal affect or one’s feelings] all point to this economy of giving and receiving good will and gain from others. Stated another way, you can’t get through this world by yourself; on your own; through your own power. You need others; others need you — not just once or twice at high-stakes moments, but according to each life stage and the cycle of roles that one plays.
This economy of care occurs in some ways and at some points in every social organism, or at least among all varieties of human society. So it is not only across the life course of the Japanese archipelago, but here it does seem to be at one end of the continuum of places where care is most prominent and places where self-agency or independent action is most prized and promoted (like USA, for example). As a child and again as an elder, one is dependent on others’ guidance, hands, and good will to thrive. In between the start and end of life, though, are many opportunities to offer help and to accept the help of others, even when it is not entirely needed — but which allows the others to engage in the process together.
A newborn in Japan and everywhere else, too, requires a lot care. But year by year the needs shift from bodily care and social attention to matters of the mind and heart, learning by example and by instruction and admonition until the stage of adult or sub-adulthood. In small ways and sometimes much bigger ways the growing member of society shifts from a care receiver to more and more a care giver: of pets, to siblings, with classmates, others needed extra help, workmates, and so on. Those who become parents then repeat the cycle in the next generation to bring up a newborn who is entirely dependent to become a fully fledged member of society. There may be a few decades of good health and opportunities for social contribution, but for anyone who lives long enough, the body and/or mind begins to lose its powers and some combination of friends, family, and social services increasingly is needed to support the person’s ongoing quality of life. Even as a net care-receiver, rather than care-giver, though, the person actively contributes to the social life (or Economy of Care): by serving as an opportunity for others to venture into the role of care giver, the person is making possible the new care-giver’s own personal growth.
At the risk of being repetitious, this giving and receiving of care is not peculiar to relationships of the life course in Japan from start to finish. All people of all times and locations have something like this, whether or not they acknowledge the interplay of independence and dependence in the life stages. The part that is so prominent and congruent around Japan, past and present — presumably future, too, is that the language and attitudes and what is modeled by peers and in public examples has made the Economy of Care intricate and highly developed. It is normalized and maybe is essential to defining a high quality of life: not just to be a net receiver of care, but also to be able to express care for others. Anything less amounts to less humanity for the person; a net worth defined not by Gross National Happiness, but instead by accounting for one’s own debt to others and the the reverse, what others are indebted to by one’s own expressions of care. This is not just a tangible expression during the annual gift-giving season of Oseibo (お歳暮, at year end) and Chugen (お中元, in summer). It is also in the form of kind words (or withholding harsh words), a care-filled glance, or the manner of performing a task that carries a subtext of respect and dignity for the other person. To the extent that the other person is aware of the extra care being expressed, then both parties benefit: the person expressing the care exercises their humanity, the person aware of the care being expressed acknowledges the giver’s efforts or at least well-meaning intention.
Being a skillful and generous care-giver or gracious care-receiver comes easier to some than to others. For some people these things seem to come naturally as part of who they are. Others are less aware or less interested in giving and receiving this kind of care outside of household circles; not in larger social settings. The 1970s translation of DOI Takeo’s book, The Anatomy of Dependence, long ago explored many of these themes. But for me, only by growing old enough to have hindsight and a slower metabolism, 40 years after first setting foot in a Japanese language classroom and later on the shores of Honshu, does the all-encompassing scale and pervasiveness of this organizing principle of the “Economy of Care” come into focus. Better late than never to appreciate the many Japanese lives and relationships speaking this common language of giving and receiving.
