Rashomon

“Rashōmon” may have become the namesake for the 1950 Kurosawa film Rashōmon, but little similarities can be found between the two. The defining features that connect the two stories are the setting at the gate of Rashōmon, the theft of the kimono, and the gray area around morality and survival. However, they have divergent plot lines.

The story of “Rashōmon” puts the spotlight on a question that humanity has debated for centuries: Where does morality end and survival begin? Many forms of media explore the topic of what humans will do in order to survive. Often, characters are forced into impossible situations they can only survive by committing “immoral” acts. In the case of “Rashōmon,” the dire circumstances that drive the events of the story are not meant to shock and disgust. Instead, they are the means by which Akutagawa explores the human psyche. “Rashōmon” explores the subjectivity of morality, the events that may cause a person’s perspective to change, and the societal circumstances that drive people to such decisions in the first place.

“Rashōmon” takes place around the deteriorating Rashōmon gate in Kyoto. The gate that stood as a miraculous structure and a symbol of prosperity of the thriving city stands in ruins. Once an exultant monument, the gate has become a place for thieves, robbers, wild animals, and abandoned corpses. This is a symbol of the decaying state of the city, which also serves as a reflection of Japanese Socioeconomics and Post-Feudal Poverty. The city and its citizens have fallen to ruin in tandem. As the city was repeatedly struck by disasters, the concerns of its people and its government narrowed to necessities. Repairing the Rashōmon is clearly not a high priority, nor are Kyoto’s criminals.

As a parallel symbol of this “decline,” Akutagawa positions the protagonist near the Rashōmon gate. The man, according to the story’s narrator, was once a servant of a samurai household; his recent dismissal is described as a “consequence” of Kyoto’s steady decline. Akutagawa narrows the broad impact of the state of Kyoto down to its influence on the individual. This is also reflective of the post-feudal society of Akutagawa’s early life; with the defeat of the shogunate came the (ostensible) abolishment of the class system and the redirection of resources, leaving many people—particularly the once-wealthy samurai class, who abruptly lost their power and status—to an uncertain fate.

Akutagawa describes inconsistent and contrasting thoughts and feelings throughout a very short timeline as the former servant grapples with Morality and Moral Corruption as a Means of Survival. The story follows a stream-of-consciousness narrative in which the narrator often bounces back and forth between real time and the past. Akutagawa’s attempt to break away from traditional storytelling methods results in him focusing on the psychological and sociological realism within the story, such that the majority of “Rashōmon” focuses on the servant’s inner journey rather than the plot. Through the servant’s moral dilemma, Akutagawa shows how people waver when faced with unsavory decisions, and how, despite the reluctance that stems from morality, most humans will find a way to justify their own survival.

Among other things, the samurai were known for their strict code of honor, called bushidō. The bushidō code is heavily romanticized and features in many media depictions of samurai stories. Because the protagonist formerly served a samurai household, it can be inferred that he, though not a samurai himself, holds to a similarly strong sense of morality and honor. Akutagawa makes this clear by showing the servant’s deliberation over his hopeless situation. He can maintain the moral codes of the samurai and be met with starvation, possibly ending up as a corpse disposed of at the gate, or he can betray his inner sense of honor and turn to thievery in order to survive. The man ponders his situation over and over, but no matter how much he thinks about it, he can find no alternative; and yet, he cannot find the “courage” to betray his morals. The word “courage” implies that it takes a brave person to set aside lofty ideals in favor of survival—that ideas of “right” and “wrong” are so deeply ingrained in people that one may feel guilt or shame despite having no other choice. This sets up the story for the later introduction of the old woman, and how her justification of her actions sways the servant. But he has not yet encountered her, and though his future is bleak, he has not yet grown desperate, either. He has enough time to put off making a decision, which is exactly what he does.

The servant’s sense of morality explains his strong reaction to the old woman, whom he spots plucking hairs from dead bodies. There is also an implicit cultural understanding here. The Japanese notion of kegare is a Shinto-based idea of uncleanliness or defilement, partially related to corpses and death. Though kegare can be addressed through purification rituals, the stigma of kegare has historically been so strong that people who worked with the dead, like gravediggers and executioners, were considered permanently defiled and severely ostracized from society. They were even officially part of the lowest caste under the shogunate. Discrimination against former members of these caste systems is an ongoing issue, even in the 21st century.

With this background, the servant’s revulsion is twofold: From his perspective, the old woman is not only stealing from the dead, but she is also defiling herself. The narrator states that the servant hates “evil,” and indeed, once he stops the old woman from what she’s doing, he feels “pride” and softens his approach. Here, distracted from his own fate, the servant’s morality wins out over his need to survive. It is so strong, in fact, that he completely forgets he himself was just considering a life of crime. Briefly, it seems like the servant’s moral code will win out.

However, the old woman’s response “disappoint[s]” him. The woman is not committing some grand act of evil, and the servant did not interrupt some criminal deed. The old woman is simply trying to find a Means of Survival. Unlike the servant, who has only recently been discharged from service, the old woman has clearly been at this for some time; she is steady in her justification, as if she has had time to convince herself of it. She is not fully removed from the conventions of society, as she tells the servant she knows her actions are wrong. However, on the spectrum between morality and survival, she is clearly positioned on the “survival” side.

Still, there are a few signs of lingering moral consciousness within her. First, the woman is collecting the hair at night, when it’s raining. Few other people would be out under such circumstances, meaning she is less likely to be noticed by anyone. This points to a sense of lingering shame—or at least an acknowledgment that the greater society would condemn her, just as the servant has. Additionally, the old woman immediately justifies her actions by pointing to the immorality of the dead woman whose hair she is stealing. Although she claims not to condemn the dead woman’s actions, she still implies that her own actions are less immoral because she is enacting them on another immoral person, rather than someone “innocent.” Stealing the hair from the dead woman is a justified act, she claims, because it enables her own survival off the back—or head, as it were—of a woman who similarly cast aside an honor code in order to survive.

Still, the old woman attempts to separate the concepts of morality and survival altogether. Whether she truly believes this, or is simply appealing to the servant’s sympathy, is never made explicitly clear. However, her words backfire on her because they allow the servant to talk himself into acting immorally. Akutagawa uses irony here: The old woman attempts to convince the servant to spare her by justifying her thievery, only for the seemingly moral servant to use her own logic and steal from her instead. Irony, in literature, generally describes the subversion of expectations. In this case, the servant’s actions subvert expectations because, up until that moment, the servant seemed to have a strong sense of morality. It would not have been unusual for him to offer the old woman help, or even to kill her in accordance with his own code of morality. Instead, he quickly latches onto her logic and robs her.

The servant’s abrupt change of heart is another example of Akutagawa’s exploration of the human psyche. Unknowingly, the old woman hands the servant the perfect solution to his dilemma: She provides justification for an immoral action that will allow him to survive. Akutagawa shows that the servant was not nearly as tormented as he originally seemed—he was simply lacking the opportunity to seize a method of survival he did not find distasteful. Because he views the old woman as “evil,” or at least “immoral,” he feels no guilt over stealing from her. This serves as Akutagawa’s social commentary on personal hypocrisy; the old woman, who insisted that the dead woman would understand and that her actions were not wrong, fights back against the servant as he steals her robe, whereas the servant, who had seemed so righteous moments prior, remorselessly steals from an old, helpless woman. Additionally, this interaction is a stark contrast to the earlier idea that it takes “courage” to betray one’s morals, as neither the old woman nor the servant behaves courageously.

The story ends on an ambiguous note, which is not uncommon in Japanese literature. The servant vanishes into the night, never to be seen again; the old woman is left, naked and alone, in the tower. Whether the old woman stole clothes from the corpses or whether the servant turned to a life of crime, these questions are left to the reader. In this way, Akutagawa allows readers to ponder what their own limits would be, should they be faced with the choice between immorality and survival.