[Sweetness] The "Sweet" Temptation Is Not So Sweet: The Aesthetics of "Strictness" We Infuse into Our Words

Hello, I am Sho Ashihara.

There are moments when we forget the "texture" of words. Words we use, hear, and speak as a matter of course every day. But what if the "temperature" or "weight" of those words took on a completely different color on the other side of the ocean?

Today, I would like to delve into the word "sweet" (amai) with you all.
When a subordinate makes a mistake at work, we might criticize them by saying, "Your thinking is sweet (naive)."

Or, when eating a popular dessert, we might smile and say, "It's delicious because it's not too sweet." For Japanese people, these expressions are blended into the landscape of daily life.

However, what would happen if you translated this directly into English and told a friend overseas?

"Your thought is sweet."

The other person would likely give a shy smile and reply, "Thank you." They would mistake it for a compliment, thinking, "What a kind, wonderful thought."

This decisive gap. Hidden here is the unbridgeable chasm between the "culture of self-discipline" we unconsciously harbor and the "culture of celebrating happiness" that the West has cultivated. The temptation of "sweetness" actually presents us with a reality that is far less sweet than we imagine.

1. The stigma of "immaturity" that Japanese people infuse into "sweetness"

First, let's think about the "negative sweetness" we use daily.

"Judgment is sweet," "foresight is sweet," "the finishing is sweet."

What these phrases have in common is frustration or a warning against a certain "lack of rigor."

In Japanese, "sweet" goes beyond a mere expression of taste; it becomes a blade that points out a mental "looseness." Why is a word that should represent the pleasure gained from sugar intake treated as a symbol of "immaturity" in business and education?

In the background, I cannot help but feel there is the spirit of "craftsmanship" and "self-improvement" that Japanese people have long held as virtues. We place "strictness" as a condition for being a professional.

Being strict with oneself, strict with others, and above all, strict with results. The opposite of this "strictness (bitterness/harshness)" is "sweetness."

When trying to express these in English, a surprisingly diverse range of words is required.

If it's "foresight is sweet," it's Optimistic.
If it's "thinking is sweet," it's Naive.
If it's "finishing is sweet," it's Sloppy.
If it's "checking is sweet," it's Lax.

People in English-speaking countries try to logically categorize what that "sweetness" stems from. On the other hand, we wrap them all up in the single word "sweet."

Isn't this because, rather than pointing out "individual logical flaws," Japanese people are making a total personality assessment that "the mental stance itself is not adapted to adult society"?

In other words, "sweet" in Japan contains a nuance close to a "notice of excommunication from the community." It says, "You are not yet ready to come to this side of the strict world."

2. The structure of "amae" (dependency), the fear of independence

Here, let's touch briefly on the "structure of amae" proposed by psychoanalyst Takeo Doi.

The reason the Japanese word "sweet" is so polysemous is because the verb "amaeru" (to depend on/to presume upon) exists. A state where a baby depends on its mother and seeks unconditional acceptance. This is the essence of "amae."

Japanese society has maintained harmony by mutually allowing this "amae." However, once you step into the "public" sphere, that dependency turns into something that should be thoroughly excluded.

Being accused of being "sweet" in a business scene is nothing less than a reprimand saying, "Are you still bringing your private dependency into a public space?"

What is interesting is that there is no single word in the West that corresponds perfectly to this "amae."

For them, independence begins with clarifying individual boundaries. Dependency is dependency, affection is affection. There is no room to muddy the waters with the word "sweetness."

When we reflect on being "sweet to ourselves," there is always the gaze of "someone (or the silent judge that is society) is watching."

Even in places where no one is watching, we are ashamed of our "sweet selves." It is a fact that this intense self-monitoring function has supported Japan's precise manufacturing and its delay-free railway network.

However, has that "justice of strictness" sometimes robbed us of "pure joy"? That is what I am reminded of by "that phrase" that appears in food evaluations.

3. The mysterious compliment, "It's delicious because it's not too sweet"

"This is delicious because it's not too sweet."

There is no phrase heard more frequently at Japanese dining tables or cafes. If you think about it calmly, don't you find this a strange expression?

The duty of a sweet is to be sweet. Yet, we offer the fact that its main component, "sweetness," is restrained as the highest praise. Western pastry chefs who hear this are often bewildered. "If you want to eat something not sweet, why did you order a cake?"

In the West (especially in America, France, etc.), it is justice for sweets to be "rich" and "satisfying."

Sugar is a symbol of energy and a reward for oneself. When they say, "It's so sweet!", it is filled with a sense of happiness without a single cloud.

Then, why do Japanese people value things being "not too sweet"?

I think there are two psychological backgrounds to this.

One is a "delicate sensitivity" toward ingredients.

Rather than paralyzing the sense of taste with the intense punch of sugar, we want to enjoy the "subtle differences" like the flavor of adzuki beans, the richness of fresh cream, and the acidity of fruit. This "aesthetics of subtraction" flows at the root of Japanese food culture.

And the other is, of course, the "virtue of temperance."

Perhaps we feel a sense of guilt somewhere for the act of "eating sweet things and immersing ourselves in pleasure."

An excuse that "but this is okay because it's not too sweet (I haven't lost my self-control)." The pride of reason that we haven't been completely defeated by the temptation of sweetness.

The phrase "it's delicious because it's not too sweet" might be a strange and lovable compromise born from our "stoicism toward pleasure."

4. The salvation of "You are so sweet"

Now, let's change our perspective by 180 degrees.

How "Sweet" is used in the West.

For them, calling someone "Sweet" is the highest form of praise.

"You are so sweet."
"That's a sweet idea!"

The "sweetness" here does not contain even a millimeter of negative nuance like immaturity or loose judgment. Rather, it points to "compassion" or "comfort" that softens the thorny real world.

In Japanese, there are expressions like "sweet mask" (handsome face) or "sweet voice," but these tend to be limited to physical attractiveness.

In contrast, the English "Sweet" refers to the state of a person's soul. Opening a door for someone, giving flowers to a depressed friend, small acts of thoughtfulness. All such actions are "Sweet."

I sometimes feel that Japanese society could accept this "positive sweetness" a little more.

We are good at hitting people for being "sweet (sloppy)," but we are unaccustomed to celebrating someone's kindness as "Sweet."

In Japan, saying "that person is sweet" means it is fatal as a manager. However, in the West, "He is a sweet person" means he is trusted and loved as a human being. Isn't this difference in evaluation axes one of the identities of the "suffocation" we feel in life?

As a result of excluding "sweetness" and continuing to pursue strictness, we have turned "depending on others," "being pampered," and "pampering oneself" into guilt. If the reaction to that is the lonely figure of someone buying "not-too-sweet sweets" at a late-night convenience store, trying to unconsciously forgive themselves...

5. Redefining "sweet": A prescription for the future

Of course, it is true that in business, having a 'sweet' (naive) outlook invites risk. Being criticized as 'sweet' for low-quality work is an unavoidable process in surviving the harsh, competitive society of capitalism.

However, by failing to distinguish between the nuances of our words, are we not confusing 'logical rigor' with 'human coldness'?

People in English-speaking countries may dismiss work mistakes as 'sloppy' or 'inefficient,' yet still offer 'sweet' words to colleagues after work, because they separate 'work precision (logic)' from 'human value (emotion)'.

In contrast, Japanese people use the versatile word 'amai' (sweet) to mix everything together.

Someone whose work is 'sweet' is also considered to have a 'sweet' personality and to be immature as a human being. Our language is creating this 'vicious cycle'.

If we are to build a more diverse and open society in the future, we may need to break the spell of this word 'amai'.

• Replace 'logical sweetness' with specific English terms (naive, optimistic, lax) to analyze it.

• Enjoy 'culinary sweetness' as a dialogue with the ingredients (subtle, refined).

• Celebrate 'human sweetness' as compassion (sweet, kind).

In this way, we can create multiple layers for the 'sweetness' within ourselves.

When pointing out someone's mistake, do not negate their 'personality,' but rather question the 'optimism of the plan.' And when someone shows kindness, do not dismiss it as 'soft,' but accept it honestly as a 'sweet' act.

If we can allow both strict self-discipline and the warmth of caring for others to coexist behind the word 'sweet,' our daily lives should become a little more 'profoundly flavorful'.

Conclusion

Thank you for reading until the end.

Even just taking the word 'sweet,' it clearly reflects what we fear, what we value, and what kind of human relationships we desire.

The Japanese word 'amai' is certainly a harsh term. However, perhaps it is precisely because we know that harshness that the 'true sweetness' we occasionally show becomes something much deeper and more touching than any sugar confection.

So, how did you use the word 'sweet' today for yourself or someone else?

Was it 'strictness' to correct someone? Or was it 'nectar' to make the world a little kinder?

If the chocolate you eat after finishing this article tastes a little more 'complex' than usual, it might be proof that you have touched a new side of the word—the true nature of the temptation called 'sweetness'.

See you in the next article.

This was Sho Ashihara.