Bushido, the Soul of Japan, by Inazo Nitobe, [1905], at sacred-texts.com
CHAPTER VIII
HONOUR
THE sense of honour, implying a vivid consciousness of personal
dignity and worth, could not fail to characterise the samurai, born and
bred to value the duties and privileges of their profession. Though the
word ordinarily given nowadays as the translation of honour was not used
freely, yet the idea was conveyed by such terms as na (name) men-moku (countenance), guai-bun
(outside hearing), reminding us respectively of the biblical use of
"name," of the evolution of the term "personality" from the Greek mask,
and of "fame." A good name--one's reputation, "the immortal part of
one's self, what remains being bestial"--assumed as a matter of course,
any infringement upon its integrity
was felt as shame, and the sense of shame (Ren-chi-shin) was
one of the earliest to be cherished in juvenile education. "You will be
laughed at," "It will disgrace you," "Are you not ashamed?" were the
last appeal to correct behaviour on the part of a youthful delinquent.
Such a recourse to his honour touched the most sensitive spot in the
child's heart, as though it had been nursed on honour while he was in
his mother's womb; for most truly is honour a pre-natal influence, being
closely bound up with strong family consciousness. "In losing the
solidarity of families," says Balzac, "society has lost the fundamental
force which Montesquieu named Honour." Indeed, the sense of shame seems
to me to be the earliest indication of the moral consciousness of the
race. The first and worst punishment which befell humanity in
consequence of tasting "the fruit of that forbidden tree" was, to my
mind, not the sorrow of child-birth, nor the thorns and thistles, but
the awakening of the sense of shame. Few incidents in history excel in
pathos the scene of the first mother plying, with heaving breast and
tremulous fingers, her crude needle on the few fig leaves which her
dejected husband plucked for her. This first fruit of disobedience
clings to us with a tenacity that nothing else does. All the sartorial
ingenuity of mankind has not yet succeeded in sewing an apron that will
efficaciously hide our sense of shame. That samurai was right who
refused to compromise his character by a slight humiliation in his
youth; "because," he said, "dishonour is like a scar on a tree, which
time, instead of effacing, only helps to enlarge."
Mencius had taught centuries before, in almost the identical phrase,
what Carlyle has latterly expressed,--namely, that "Shame is the soil of
all Virtue, of good manners and good morals."
The fear of disgrace was so great that if our literature lacks such
eloquence as Shakespeare puts into the mouth of Norfolk, it nevertheless
hung like Damocles' sword over the head of every samurai and often
assumed
a morbid character. In the name of honour, deeds were perpetrated
which can find no justification in the code of Bushido. At the
slightest, nay--imaginary insult--the quick-tempered braggart took
offence, resorted to the use of the sword, and many an unnecessary
strife was raised and many an innocent life lost. The story of a
well-meaning citizen who called the attention of a bushi to a flea
jumping on his back, and who was forthwith cut in two, for the simple
and questionable reason, that inasmuch as fleas are parasites which feed
on animals, it was an unpardonable insult to identify a noble warrior
with a beast--I say, stories like these are too frivolous to believe.
Yet, the circulation of such stories implies three things: (1) that they
were invented to overawe common people; (2) that abuses were really
made of the samurai's profession of honour; and (3) that a very strong
sense of shame was developed among them. It is plainly unfair to take an
abnormal case to cast blame upon the precepts, any more than to judge
of the true
teachings of Christ from the fruits of religious fanaticism and
extravagance,--inquisitions and hypocrisy. But, as in religious
monomania there is something touchingly noble as compared with the
delirium tremens of a drunkard, so in that extreme sensitiveness of the
samurai about their honour do we not recognise the substratum of a
genuine virtue?
The morbid excess into which the delicate code of honour was inclined
to run was strongly counterbalanced by preaching magnanimity and
patience. To take offence at slight provocation was ridiculed as
"short-tempered." The popular adage said: "To bear what you think you
cannot bear is really to bear." The great Iyéyasu left to posterity a
few maxims, among which are the following:--"The life of man is like
going a long distance with a heavy load upon the shoulders. Haste not. .
. . Reproach none, but be forever watchful of thine own short-comings. .
. . Forbearance is the basis of length of days." He proved in his life
what he preached. A literary wit put a characteristic
epigram into the mouths of three well-known personages in our
history: to Nobunaga he attributed, "I will kill her, if the nightingale
sings not in time"; to Hidéyoshi, "I will force her to sing for me";
and to Iyéyasu, "I will wait till she opens her lips."
Patience and long-suffering were also highly commended by Mencius. In
one place he writes to this effect: "Though you denude yourself and
insult me, what is that to me? You cannot defile my soul by your
outrage." Elsewhere he teaches that anger at a petty offence is unworthy
a superior man, but indignation for a great cause is righteous wrath.
To what height of unmartial and unresisting meekness Bushido could
reach in some of its votaries, may be seen in their utterances. Take,
for instance, this saying of Ogawa: "When others speak all manner of
evil things against thee, return not evil for evil, but rather reflect
that thou wast not more faithful in the discharge of thy duties." Take
another of Kumazawa:--"When others blame
thee, blame them not; when others are angry at thee, return not
anger. joy cometh only as Passion and Desire part." Still another
instance I may cite from Saigo, upon whose overhanging brows "Shame is
ashamed to sit":--"The Way is the way of Heaven and Earth; Man's place
is to follow it; therefore make it the object of thy life to reverence
Heaven. Heaven loves me and others with equal love; therefore with the
love wherewith thou lovest thyself, love others. Make not Man thy
partner but Heaven, and making Heaven thy partner do thy best. Never
condemn others; but see to it that thou comest not short of thine own
mark." Some of these sayings remind us of Christian expostulations, and
show us how far in practical morality natural religion can approach the
revealed. Not only did these sayings remain as utterances, but they were
really embodied in acts.
It must be admitted that very few attained this sublime height of
magnanimity, patience and forgiveness. It was a great pity that
nothing clear and general was expressed as to what constitutes
honour, only a few enlightened minds being aware that it "from no
condition rises," but that it lies in each acting well his part; for
nothing was easier than for youths to forget in the heat of action what
they had learned in Mencius in their calmer moments. Said this sage:
"'Tis in every man's mind to love honour; but little doth he dream that
what is truly honourable lies within himself and not elsewhere. The
honour which men confer is not good honour. Those whom Châo the Great
ennobles, he can make mean again." For the most part, an insult was
quickly resented and repaid by death, as we shall see later, while
honour--too often nothing higher than vainglory or worldly
approbation--was prized as the summum bonum of earthly existence.
Fame, and not wealth or knowledge, was the goal toward which youths had
to strive. Many a lad swore within himself as he crossed the threshold
of his paternal home, that he would not recross it until he had made a
name in the
world; and many an ambitious mother refused to see her sons again
unless they could "return home," as the expression is, "caparisoned in
brocade." To shun shame or win a name, samurai boys would submit to any
privations and undergo severest ordeals of bodily or mental suffering.
They knew that honour won in youth grows with age. In the memorable
seige of Osaka, a young son of Iyéyasu, in spite of his earnest
entreaties to be put in the vanguard, was placed at the rear of the
army. When the castle fell, he was so chagrined and wept so bitterly
that an old councillor tried to console him with all the resources at
his command; "Take comfort, Sire," said he, "at the thought of the long
future before you. In the many years that you may live, there will come
divers occasions to distinguish yourself." The boy fixed his indignant
gaze upon the man and said--"How foolishly you talk! Can ever my
fourteenth year come round again?" Life itself was thought cheap if
honour and fame could be attained therewith: hence, whenever a cause
presented itself which was considered dearer than life, with utmost serenity and celerity was life laid down.
Of the causes in comparison with which no life was too dear to
sacrifice, was the duty of loyalty, which was the key-stone making
feudal virtues a symmetrical arch.