Memoirs of a Geisha: Indefensible Practice?

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on September 14, 2006.

I first encountered the concept of the geisha from my parents. My father described geisha as highly trained Japanese women skilled in the arts of hospitality and entertainment. My mother called them prostitutes. Such is the debate that has revolved around a practice that has mystified outsiders for centuries. While there does exist a sexual element to the geisha life, it is discrete, complicated, and vague. No mere "street walkers," the geisha flirt and entertain wealthy men—married and unmarried—and get paid for doing so. Sex may enter the equation, but it usually does not. So, is this prostitution? Oppression? Both? Neither?

Director Rob Marshall's 2005 interpretation of Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha is an attempt to shed some light on the institution. It follows the story of a young girl who is sold by her family to a geisha house; learns the aesthetic, musical, and conversational skills required of the profession; and then competes for the patronage of wealthy businessmen. While she is learning her trade, she falls in love with a one such man, but alas, geisha are not allowed such emotional luxury.

While viewing this film with some cinekklesia writers and friends, I couldn't help but critique it with my Western, classical liberalism. First of all, the main character obviously had no choice in the matter, as her father shipped her off to the geisha house. She then lived a life of indentured servitude under a cruel and mercenary mistress. Finally, her entire life became centered on men, whether in serving them as part of her professional duties or in yearning for the love that was just beyond reach — no autonomous agency here!

During a bit of post-screening conversation, the question of bias arose, and one viewer suggested that we be mindful of our Western-inspired critiques of geisha. For one thing, geisha do not define themselves as prostitutes, having carved out a different space within Japanese culture. Yet, this observation places far too much weight on self-definition; just because one doesn't define herself as a prostitute, does not make it so. To regard self-definition as the basis for all definition only works among those who advocate the most extreme forms of subjectivism. (In fairness, I actually agree with the notion that geisha are not prostitutes but rather, highly institutionalized mistresses.)

The same viewer also noted that we should not neglect the value of duty (in the case of the geisha: duty to her house and to the traditions of her profession). However, duty carries no intrinsic moral weight; its morality is defined by context. The geisha system (at least an older variant, as portrayed in the film) seems to foster both an involuntary servitude as well as a highly formalized objectification of women. While individual women fulfilling their "duty" under such a system should not be blamed, the system itself certainly can (and should) be criticized, if not outright condemned. To praise a person for being dutiful under trying circumstances—while preventing her exit from those circumstances—is disingenuous, to say the least.

Yet, am I not merely exhibiting a deep-rooted Western bias in favor of individualism and autonomy? Regardless of whether geisha are "prostitutes" and regardless of whether they have any sort of agency, do I have any moral right to condemn the entire system? Am I simply an insensitive cultural boor for even broaching the subject?

At this point, we need to make a distinction between cultural recognition and moral approval. A boor would not take the time to study cultural practices of "The Other" and would make hasty, blanket statements condemning practices that, at first glance, seemed objectionable. Like a child refusing to try a new food simply because it's different, the boor refuses to engage in anybody or anything outside the proverbial "comfort zone." Thus, a cultural boor from the West most likely would condemn the geisha system immediately without bothering to engage its historical and cultural context.

Yet, cultural recognition does not lead automatically to moral approval. A non-boor can study a particular cultural practice and still come to the conclusion that it is wrong. This, of course, requires belief in universal norms that supercede individual cultures. While it is certainly possible to reject such norms by taking an extreme subjectivist (culturally relativist) approach, most people—religious and non-religious—believe in some extra-cultural morality. We certainly argue about what that morality is, how it should be enforced, and the source(s) from which it springs; however, what seems beyond dispute is the fact that empirically, most people are not extreme cultural relativists.

Thus, in order to defend the geisha system on moral grounds, one cannot resort to the cultural argument unless he/she is an extreme relativist. Once a person accepts some form of extra-cultural moral standard, then "culture" itself is no longer a moral defense but simply an empirical reality. The apologist has to present a more robust argument as to why the system is moral (or, at least, morally neutral). This may reveal fundamental differences between the apologist's views on morality and those of his/her interlocutors. However, such an airing of differences is healthy — and only possible once all parties are aware of their use of "culture."

The film itself does not address these issues, as it is more concerned with presenting both fictional autobiography and an overview of the geisha system. However, for Western audiences, the culture vs. morality debate is practically inescapable since the geisha system is an almost completely foreign concept. However, any self-righteous Westerner reading this should note that the tables easily can be turned, as others can criticize our own cultural pathologies.