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(An essay on the compassionate assassin archetype)
The idea of the "compassionate assassin" seems like a contradiction of terms. On the one hand, compassion is defined as "a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering,"1 while on the other hand, as Colin Wilson writes in his book, Order of Assassins: The Psychology of Murder, an assassin "is a man for whom murder is not only an ultimate purpose, but also a means of self-fulfilment [sic], a creative act."2 How then can this apparent dichotomy be resolved? And what is it about a character like Yo Hinomura, the "hero" of the manga series Crying Freeman that captures the imagination of the public so much that there has been enough support for not one, but two separate series of English graphic novel adaptations of the manga issues? Not only have there been these print collections, but there also are five volumes of anime, in both English and Japanese, and three live-action films two produced in Hong Kong, and one French/Canadian production based with varying closeness on the original storyline? Perhaps it is this very contradiction that intrigues the collective imagination.
Before turning to the mindset of the assassin, it is important to define one further term that is critical to the understanding of this discussion. What is an archetype, and what makes it so universal? The relevant definition as presented in the Random House Unabridged Dictionary is "a collectively inherited unconscious idea, pattern of thought, image, etc., universally present in individual psyches."3 This definition has its genesis in the psychological studies of Karl Jung. As Edward Whitmont explains Jung’s concept in the book, The Symbolic Quest: “When we are in touch with universal meanings, with the powerful archetypal expressions which we have observed as being inherent in basic human nature (not mere constructions of the conscious mind),”4 we can begin to understand ourselves. Jung’s definition is a refinement on the earlier meaning of "the original pattern or model from which all things of the same kind are copied or on which they are based; a model or first form; prototype."5 With his meaning of archetype, Jung appears to say that these original patterns, existing since the dawn of time, become so ingrained in humanity that they cross all spatial and cultural boundaries to resonate for everyone. Holding this definition at the center of this inquiry, this paper will attempt to show support for the universality of the compassionate assassin archetype, in its various permutations, and specifically in the comparison of the characterization as seen through the varying perspectives of East and West.
The Mind of the Assassin
One always learns one's mystery at the price of one's innocence.
---Robertson Davies, Fifth Business
It is important, before examining the specifics of Freeman's world, to have a firm grasp of exactly what is meant by the term "assassin." At the most basic level, an assassin is a murderer, usually considered to be a hired killer out to make money, or a political terrorist. But there is more to the concept than merely taking another human life. According to Wilson, “most murderers would prefer not to kill.”6 It is only when circumstances escalate beyond their control that they take a life. However, assassins are a different breed. There are certain characteristics that are common to the crimes of assassins that help define this difference:
There is the dream-like appearance of logic, and then absurdity. The motive seems elusive or insufficient, as if some vital piece of evidence is being withheld....the feeling that the violence goes deeper than its obvious motivation as if the social discontent had produced a volcanic eruption, which then goes on to trigger an earthquake....
....The ordinary murderer commits his crimes looking over his shoulder. He hopes not to be caught; if he is caught, he will hang his head, and acknowledge his sense of guilt....The assassin peers down his rifle with the sense of justification felt by a headmaster as he canes an insolent pupil or a hangman as he releases the trap. He is punishing society. He feels he is in the right.7
With this definition, how is it possible for an assassin to be considered compassionate? How can these apparently antithetical characteristics be integrated? If the two halves of the archetype are tied together, the picture is presented, on the one hand, of a killer who pities his victims, or on the other, of a compassionate man who kills. Perhaps the key lies in a point that Wilson returns to again and again the concept that for the assassin, murder is a creative act. He states at one point, "This sounds paradoxical: the notion of destructiveness as a creative act. But creation itself often has an element of destruction, a welling-up of violence."8
If one considers the assassin as a creative individual who chooses to use their creativity in a destructive manner, it is easier to believe that he would occasionally have moments in which the sensitivity that characteristically accompanies a creative personality would surface. It is this sensitivity that makes the compassion believable, giving more depth to the portrayal of a complex human being who is rarely one-dimensional in reality. For example, in John Woo's controversial Hong Kong film, The Killer, when Chow Yun Fat's hit man agrees to perform one more assignment to raise the money so that the girl he accidentally caused to be blinded can have an eye operation, it seems perfectly believable because of the sensitivity the character has shown in his love of music, and loyalty to his mentor.
Similarly, in another of Woo's films, Hard Boiled, the sacrifices made by the character of Tony, the undercover policeman who has been forced deeper and deeper into the workings of the Triad, do not seem unbelievable because the audience has seen the inner turmoil that haunts him. Behind the paper origami cranes he folds for each of his victims symbols of the devout prayers he makes for the souls of those he’s sent to the afterlife there is the desperate need to atone for the necessity of destruction. Yet, the viewers have seen him gun down several targets as well. It is this paradox between the cold-blooded killer and the warm-hearted human being coexisting side-by-side within the same body that make the concept so fascinating.
And the fascination is an international one. The idea of a ruthless killer with a heart of gold seems to intrigue everyone. For example, in the American film, Grosse Pointe Blank, the main character is also an assassin who redeems himself in the end. However, this film presents a slightly different view of the hired killer. Here, the character of Martin Blank has no regrets for what he does; he sees it as a practical business operation. His compassion is seen wholly outside his occupation. He is a very likable guy, but he is also chillingly matter-of-fact about how he makes a living. The audience sees Martin's redeeming qualities in the obvious pain he feels when he visits the mother he did not know was in a rest home; in the soothing way he talks a bullying high-school classmate out of a fight; and in the deep love he still feels for his high-school sweetheart. On the other hand, he cold-bloodedly guns down a target at the opening of the film while his secretary is reading him the notice for his high-school reunion, telling her to “Hold on a sec,”9 while he pulls the trigger on his hit.
Apparently not expecting anyone to believe him, Martin tells anyone who asks that he is a professional killer, and justifies it to his old girlfriend, Debbie, by telling her, "If I come to your door, you probably did something to bring me there,"10 a line he repeatedly uses to justify himself. In fact, there are three of these repeating lines that define Martin’s character and are echoed at various points in the film. Another is his constant, “It’s not me,”11 when someone protests his actions, with a final additional wail,
“Why does everybody take it so personal?!”12 The third, first spoken by the mother who no longer remembers him, is “You’re a handsome devil, what’s your name?”13 reflecting his ambiguity about his identity.
There is something else that Martin says that might have bearing on the focus of this discussion. As he tries to explain why he does what he does, he tells Debbie that he became a professional killer not only for the money -- though this does seem to be one of his primary motivations but because he was “good at it.”14 This segues into another theory about why a person's life goes in the direction in which it does which is of interest here.
This theory, conceived by James Hillman in his book The Soul's Code: In Search of Character and Calling, hypothesizes that every individual is born with an "innate image"15 that guides their destiny some spark which ignites the soul's flame. This fated course first manifests itself in childhood, though it is often misinterpreted, and it is this destiny that gives meaning to life, and defines a person's character. Hillman describes his theory in essence as "the 'acorn theory,' which holds that each person bears a uniqueness that asks to be lived and that is already present before it can be lived."16 He goes on to say further that "[E]ach person enters the world called."17 And that what he is labeling a calling "may be postponed, avoided, intermittently missed. It may also possess you completely. Whatever, eventually it will out. It makes its claim. The daimon [sic] does not go away."18 If one thinks of the assassin along these lines, as a pre-destined killer, it throws an interesting new twist into the mix. If this idea that one is fated to follow a certain path is given credence, then Martin Blank's decision to be a professional killer because he is good at it becomes validated, in a way.
And Yo Hinomura's kidnapping and brutal induction into the identity of Freeman become inevitable fated and not random. The theory helps to explain how a potter, from a good family background, should so naturally take to the profession of assassin. Despite his abhorrence of what he is doing, Freeman still completes his missions with a deadly grace and economy that seem inbred in him. Going back to Wilson's description of the consummate assassin stated above, there is to be found the explanation for Freeman's dark artistry and grace, but, in the case of Yo Hinomura, there is another factor to consider as well as his artistic creativity and sensitivity: Freeman is an assassin not by choice, as Wilson's postulated murderer, but because he has been forced into the profession. Yet even as he is forced into the underworld, he is fulfilling his destiny, if one believes Hillman's theory. The conflict arising within a sensitive heart from being thrust into the nightmare world of the assassin and yet knowing that it is something that he is good at doing both drives and torments Freeman.
In his case, his compassion arises from the realization that what he is doing is wrong, even as he is committing his compulsive destruction. The tortured spirit underlying his seemingly cool, competent exterior; his powerful love for intended victim Emu Hino, the sensual beauty of his pottery these factors combine to draw a complicated, and very human, characterization. As the series progresses, with Emu to counter-balance the evil of the killings he must do, he seems to accept his destiny and rise to fill his position as leader of the 108 Dragons. Freeman retains his compassion, but guides his Triad with a firm hand, gathering to his side enemy after enemy usually female.
It is interesting to compare the characters of Yo Hinomura and Martin Blank, because they are personifications of the two sides of the coin described above. One is a compassionate assassin, and the other an assassin who is compassionate. It is also important to note that the two represent the underlying culture from which they are drawn. In Yo’s case, the Eastern philosophy which celebrates the group and a sense of belonging is shown in his affiliation with the triad and his growing entourage/support system. Martin, on the other hand, exemplifies the Western sensibility of the individual. When a rival hit man invites Martin to join the consortium that he is putting together, Blank vehemently declines because he is a “lone wolf.”19 Similarly reflective of an egocentric, and eccentric, world-view is the scene between Martin and Debbie’s father. It is rather eerie when he tells the girl's father what he does for a living and is told in reply, "Good for you, it's a growth industry."20
Even the names of these two characters reflect their divergent views. Yo is “Freeman”, given this ironic nickname because of his yearning to be released from his turbulent lifestyle. Martin is, on the other hand, a “Blank,” with no ties to the past of his youth his mother institutionalized without his knowledge, his house demolished for an Ultimart.
Having mentioned the Eastern viewpoint of Crying Freeman and the Western outlook of Grosse Pointe Blank, it is only appropriate to touch on a final film before leaving this point, John Woo’s Face/Off. This film is important to the topic at hand because of the intriguing way that it takes the two cultural standpoints discussed above, and merges them into a new hybrid.
In this film, an Eastern director, working with Western cast and crew, creates a film in which he takes a decent, moral FBI agent, and a ruthless, vicious terrorist and has them switch identities, thereby forcing the same predicament on Sean Archer that Freeman faces—making a compassionate man into an assassin against his will by leaving him no other choice for survival. And yet, on the other hand, Castor Troy must pretend to be a loving, caring man while actually being absolutely amoral in reality. The way this film plays with the archetype under discussion is fascinating because it presents a new philosophical take on the concept that is neither wholly Eastern like Crying Freeman, or wholly Western like Grosse Pointe Blank.
This amalgamation of cultural interpretation can also be seen in the French/Canadian film version of Crying Freeman. While very close to the manga in many respects, there are changes made to the storyline that can reasonably be seen as “Western-izing” it. A case in point is the idea that Freeman is only being used by the Dragons to wipe out a certain rival clan, and when he has completed this task, Koh is supposed to do away with him. This contradicts the Eastern group structure of the manga in which Freeman is surrounded by a support system that may not always agree with his decisions, but—as particularly seen in the case of Koh—will defend him to the death.
Another change which brings the focus away from the group to the more Westernized individualism is the ending, in which Yo and Emu ride off into the sunset in their speedboat as a voice-over proclaims that they will be hunted for the rest of their lives by their numerous enemies, including the Sons of the Dragon, but it will be worth it since they are together. In the original, Yo and Emu ride off with Koh to take their places at the head of the 108 Dragons, accepting a destiny, perhaps not of their choosing, but seen as a duty to be fulfilled to the best of their abilities, as long as they can stay together.
While the above discussion may seem a digression from the thesis of the paper, in actuality, it has a key point to make about the fundamental archetype itself. Yes, there does seem to be a universal unconscious pattern, which cuts through all cultural boundaries—that of an assassin who shows compassion—if not to his victims, then to his associates and relationships. And this character fascinates his audience with his complexity. This is what draws one, to Martin Blank, to Sean Archer and Castor Troy, to Tony, and ultimately, to Yo Hinomura.
A paradoxical character with surprising depth, Freeman truly exemplifies the type of individual Nietzsche is speaking of when the philosopher expounds:
A man who says: 'I like this, I take it for my own and mean to protect it and defend it against everyone'; a man who can do something, carry out a decision, remain true to an idea, hold on to a woman, punish and put down insolence; a man who has his anger and his sword and to whom the weak, suffering, oppressed, and the animals too are glad to submit and belong by nature, in short a man who is by nature a master when such a man has pity, well! that pity has value!21
ENDNOTES:
1 Random House, Dictionary of the English Language, Unabridged
2 Wilson, Order of Assassins
3 Random House, op cit.
4 Whitmont, The Symbolic Quest
5 Random House, op cit.
6 Wilson, op cit.
7 Ibid.
8 Ibid.
9 Grosse Pointe Blank
10 Ibid.
11 Ibid.
12 Ibid.
13 Ibid.
14 Ibid.
15 Hillman, The Soul’s Code: In Search of Character and Calling
16 Ibid.
17 Ibid.
18 Ibid.
19 Grosse Pointe Blank, op cit.
20 Ibid.
21 Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
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