(THE SERMONS OF KIU-Ô, VOL. 1)
Môshi has said, "There is the third finger. If a man's third or
nameless finger be bent, so that he cannot straighten it, although his
bent finger may cause him no pain, still if he hears of some one who
can cure it, he will think nothing of undertaking a long journey from
_Shin_ to _So_[94] to consult him upon this deformed finger; for he
knows it is to be hateful to have a finger unlike those of other men.
But he cares not a jot if his heart be different to that of other men;
and this is how men disregard the true order of things."
[Footnote 94: Ancient divisions of China.]
Now this is the next chapter to the one about benevolence being the
true heart of man, which I expounded to you the other night. True
learning has no other aim than that of reclaiming lost souls; and, in
connection with this, Môshi has thus again declared in a parable the
all-importance of the human heart.
The nameless finger is that which is next to the little finger. The
thumb is called the parent-finger; the first finger is called the
index; the long is called the middle finger; but the third finger has
no name. It is true that it is sometimes called the finger for
applying rouge; but that is only a name given it by ladies, and is not
in general use. So, having no name, it is called the nameless finger.
And how comes it to have no name? Why, because it is of all the
fingers the least useful. When we clutch at or grasp things, we do so
by the strength of the thumb and little finger. If a man scratches his
head, he does it with the forefinger; if he wishes to test the heat of
the wine[95] in the kettle, he uses the little finger. Thus, although
each finger has its uses and duties, the nameless finger alone is of
no use: it is not in our way if we have it, and we do not miss it if
we lose it. Of the whole body it is the meanest member: if it be
crooked so that we cannot straighten it, it neither hurts nor itches;
as Môshi says in the text, it causes no pain; even if we were without
it, we should be none the worse off. Hence, what though it should be
bent, it would be better, since it causes no pain, to leave it as it
is. Yet if a person, having such a crooked finger, hears of a clever
doctor who can set it straight, no matter at how great a distance he
may be, he will be off to consult this doctor. And pray why? Because
he feels ashamed of having a finger a little different from the rest
of the world, and so he wants to be cured, and will think nothing of
travelling from Shin to So--a distance of a thousand miles--for the
purpose. To be sure, men are very susceptible and keenly alive to a
sense of shame; and in this they are quite right. The feeling of shame
at what is wrong is the commencement of virtue. The perception of
shame is inborn in men; but there are two ways of perceiving shame.
There are some men who are sensible of shame for what regards their
bodies, but who are ignorant of shame for what concerns their hearts;
and a terrible mistake they make. There is nothing which can be
compared in importance to the heart. The heart is said to be the lord
of the body, which it rules as a master rules his house. Shall the
lord, who is the heart, be ailing and his sickness be neglected, while
his servants, who are the members only, are cared for? If the knee be
lacerated, apply tinder to stop the bleeding; if the moxa should
suppurate, spread a plaster; if a cold be caught, prepare medicine and
garlic and gruel, and ginger wine! For a trifle, you will doctor and
care for your bodies, and yet for your hearts you will take no care.
Although you are born of mankind, if your hearts resemble those of
devils, of foxes, of snakes, or of crows, rather than the hearts of
men, you take no heed, caring for your bodies alone. Whence can you
have fallen into such a mistake? It is a folly of old standing too,
for it was to that that Môshi pointed when he said that to be
cognizant of a deformed finger and ignore the deformities of the soul
was to disregard the true order of things. This is what it is, not to
distinguish between that which is important and that which is
unimportant--to pick up a trifle and pass by something of value. The
instinct of man prompts him to prefer the great to the small, the
important to the unimportant.
[Footnote 95: Wine is almost always drunk hot.]
If a man is invited out to a feast by his relations or acquaintances,
when the guests are assembled and the principal part of the feast has
disappeared, he looks all round him, with the eyeballs starting out of
his head, and glares at his neighbours, and, comparing the little
titbits of roast fowl or fish put before them, sees that they are
about half an inch bigger than those set before him; then, blowing out
his belly with rage, he thinks, "What on earth can the host be about?
Master Tarubei is a guest, but so am I: what does the fellow mean by
helping me so meanly? There must be some malice or ill-will here." And
so his mind is prejudiced against the host. Just be so good as to
reflect upon this. Does a man show his spite by grudging a bit of
roast fowl or meat? And yet even in such trifles as these do men show
how they try to obtain what is great, and show their dislike of what
is small. How can men be conscious of shame for a deformed finger, and
count it as no misfortune that their hearts are crooked? That is how
they abandon the substance for the shadow.
Môshi severely censures the disregard of the true order of things.
What mistaken and bewildered creatures men are! What says the old
song? "Hidden far among the mountains, the tree which seems to be
rotten, if its core be yet alive, may be made to bear flowers." What
signifies it if the hand or the foot be deformed? The heart is the
important thing. If the heart be awry, what though your skin be fair,
your nose aquiline, your hair beautiful? All these strike the eye
alone, and are utterly useless. It is as if you were to put horse-dung
into a gold-lacquer luncheon-box. This is what is called a fair
outside, deceptive in appearance.
There's the scullery-maid been washing out the pots at the kitchen
sink, and the scullion Chokichi comes up and says to her, "You've got
a lot of charcoal smut sticking to your nose," and points out to her
the ugly spot. The scullery-maid is delighted to be told of this, and
answers, "Really! whereabouts is it?" Then she twists a towel round
her finger, and, bending her head till mouth and forehead are almost
on a level, she squints at her nose, and twiddles away with her
fingers as if she were the famous Gotô[96] at work, carving the
ornaments of a sword-handle. "I say, Master Chokichi, is it off yet?"
"Not a bit of it. You've smeared it all over your cheeks now." "Oh
dear! oh dear! where can it be?" And so she uses the water-basin as a
looking-glass, and washes her face clean; then she says to herself,
"What a dear boy Chokichi is!" and thinks it necessary, out of
gratitude, to give him relishes with his supper by the ladleful, and
thanks him over and over again. But if this same Chokichi were to come
up to her and say, "Now, really, how lazy you are! I wish you could
manage to be rather less of a shrew," what do you think the
scullery-maid would answer then? Reflect for a moment. "Drat the boy's
impudence! If I were of a bad heart or an angular disposition, should
I be here helping him? You go and be hung! You see if I take the
trouble to wash your dirty bedclothes for you any more." And she gets
to be a perfect devil, less only the horns.
[Footnote 96: A famous gold- and silver-smith of the olden time. A
Benvenuto Cellini among the Japanese. His mark on a piece of metal
work enhances its value tenfold.]
There are other people besides the poor scullery-maid who are in the
same way. "Excuse me, Mr. Gundabei, but the embroidered crest on your
dress of ceremony seems to be a little on one side." Mr. Gundabei
proceeds to adjust his dress with great precision. "Thank you, sir. I
am ten million times obliged to you for your care. If ever there
should be any matter in which I can be of service to you, I beg that
you will do me the favour of letting me know;" and, with a beaming
face, he expresses his gratitude. Now for the other side of the
picture. "Really, Mr. Gundabei, you are very foolish; you don't seem
to understand at all. I beg you to be of a frank and honest heart: it
really makes me quite sad to see a man's heart warped in this way."
What is his answer? He turns his sword in his girdle ready to draw,
and plays the devil's tattoo upon the hilt: it looks as if it must end
in a fight soon.
In fact, if you help a man in anything which has to do with a fault
of the body, he takes it very kindly, and sets about mending matters.
If any one helps another to rectify a fault of the heart, he has to
deal with a man in the dark, who flies in a rage, and does not care to
amend. How out of tune all this is! And yet there are men who are
bewildered up to this point. Nor is this a special and extraordinary
failing. This mistaken perception of the great and the small, of
colour and of substance, is common to us all--to you and to me.
Please give me your attention. The form strikes the eye; but the heart
strikes not the eye. Therefore, that the heart should be distorted and
turned awry causes no pain. This all results from the want of sound
judgment; and that is why we cannot afford to be careless.
The master of a certain house calls his servant Chokichi, who sits
dozing in the kitchen. "Here, Chokichi! The guests are all gone; come
and clear away the wine and fish in the back room."
Chokichi rubs his eyes, and with a sulky answer goes into the back
room, and, looking about him, sees all the nice things paraded on the
trays and in the bowls. It's wonderful how his drowsiness passes away:
no need for any one to hurry him now. His eyes glare with greed, as he
says, "Hullo! here's a lot of tempting things! There's only just one
help of that omelette left in the tray. What a hungry lot of guests!
What's this? It looks like fish rissoles;" and with this he picks out
one, and crams his mouth full; when, on one side, a mess of young
cuttlefish, in a Chinese[97] porcelain bowl, catches his eyes. There
the little beauties sit in a circle, like Buddhist priests in
religious meditation! "Oh, goodness! how nice!" and just as he is
dipping his finger and thumb in, he hears his master's footstep; and
knowing that he is doing wrong, he crams his prize into the pocket of
his sleeve, and stoops down to take away the wine-kettle and cups; and
as he does this, out tumble the cuttlefish from his sleeve. The master
sees it.
[Footnote 97: Curiosities, such as porcelain or enamel or carved jade
from China, are highly esteemed by the Japanese. A great quantity of
the porcelain of Japan is stamped with counterfeit Chinese marks of
the Ming dynasty.]
"What's that?"
Chokichi, pretending not to know what has happened, beats the mats,
and keeps on saying, "Come again the day before yesterday; come again
the day before yesterday."[98]
[Footnote 98: An incantation used to invite spiders, which are
considered unlucky by the superstitious, to come again at the Greek
Kalends.]
But it's no use his trying to persuade his master that the little
cuttlefish are spiders, for they are not the least like them. It's no
use hiding things,--they are sure to come to light; and so it is with
the heart,--its purposes will out. If the heart is enraged, the dark
veins stand out on the forehead; if the heart is grieved, tears rise
to the eyes; if the heart is joyous, dimples appear in the cheeks; if
the heart is merry, the face smiles: thus it is that the face reflects
the emotions of the heart. It is not because the eyes are filled with
tears that the heart is sad; nor because the veins stand out on the
forehead that the heart is enraged. It is the heart which leads the
way in everything. All the important sensations of the heart are
apparent in the outward appearance. In the "Great Learning" of Kôshi
it is written, "The truth of what is within appears upon the surface."
How then is the heart a thing which can be hidden? To answer when
reproved, to hum tunes when scolded, show a diseased heart; and if
this disease is not quickly taken in hand, it will become chronic, and
the remedy become difficult: perhaps the disease may be so virulent
that even Giba and Henjaku[99] in consultation could not effect a
cure. So, before the disease has gained strength, I invite you to the
study of the moral essays entitled _Shin-gaku_ (the Learning of the
Heart). If you once arrive at the possession of your heart as it was
originally by nature, what an admirable thing that will be! In that
case your conscience will point out to you even the slightest wrong
bias or selfishness.
[Footnote 99: Two famous Indian and Chinese physicians.]
While upon this subject, I may tell you a story which was related to
me by a friend of mine. It is a story which the master of a certain
money-changer's shop used to be very fond of telling. An important
part of a money-changer's business is to distinguish between good and
bad gold and silver. In the different establishments, the ways of
teaching the apprentices this art vary; however, the plan adopted by
the money-changer was as follows:--At first he would show them no bad
silver, but would daily put before them good money only; when they had
become thoroughly familiar with the sight of good money, if he
stealthily put a little base coin among the good, he found that they
would detect it immediately,--they saw it as plainly as you see things
when you throw light on a mirror. This faculty of detecting base money
at a glance was the result of having learned thoroughly to understand
good money. Having once been taught in this way, the apprentices would
not make a mistake about a piece of base coin during their whole
lives, as I have heard. I can't vouch for the truth of this; but it is
very certain that the principle, applied to moral instruction, is an
excellent one,--it is a most safe mode of study. However, I was
further told that if, after having thus learned to distinguish good
money, a man followed some other trade for six months or a year, and
gave up handling money, he would become just like any other
inexperienced person, unable to distinguish the good from the base.
Please reflect upon this attentively. If you once render yourself
familiar with the nature of the uncorrupted heart, from that time
forth you will be immediately conscious of the slightest inclination
towards bias or selfishness. And why? Because the natural heart is
illumined. When a man has once learned that which is perfect, he will
never consent to accept that which is imperfect; but if, after having
acquired this knowledge, he again keeps his natural heart at a
distance, and gradually forgets to recognize that which is perfect, he
finds himself in the dark again, and that he can no longer distinguish
base money from good. I beg you to take care. If a man falls into bad
habits, he is no longer able to perceive the difference between the
good impulses of his natural heart and the evil impulses of his
corrupt heart. With this benighted heart as a starting-point, he can
carry out none of his intentions, and he has to lift his shoulders
sighing and sighing again. A creature much to be pitied indeed! Then
he loses all self-reliance, so that, although it would be better for
him to hold his tongue and say nothing about it, if he is in the
slightest trouble or distress, he goes and confesses the crookedness
of his heart to every man he meets. What a wretched state for a man to
be in! For this reason, I beg you to learn thoroughly the true silver
of the heart, in order that you may make no mistake about the base
coin. I pray that you and I, during our whole lives, may never leave
the path of true principles.
I have an amusing story to tell you in connection with this, if you
will be so good as to listen.
Once upon a time, when the autumn nights were beginning to grow
chilly, five or six tradesmen in easy circumstances had assembled
together to have a chat; and, having got ready their picnic box and
wine-flask, went off to a temple on the hills, where a friendly priest
lived, that they might listen to the stags roaring. With this
intention they went to call upon the priest, and borrowed the guests'
apartments[100] of the monastery; and as they were waiting to hear the
deer roar, some of the party began to compose poetry. One would write
a verse of Chinese poetry, and another would write a verse of
seventeen syllables; and as they were passing the wine-cup the hour of
sunset came, but not a deer had uttered a call; eight o'clock came,
and ten o'clock came; still not a sound from the deer.
[Footnote 100: All the temples in China and Japan have guests'
apartments, which may be secured for a trifle, either for a long or
short period. It is false to suppose that there is any desecration of
a sacred shrine in the act of using it as a hostelry; it is the custom
of the country.]
"What can this mean?" said one. "The deer surely ought to be roaring."
But, in spite of their waiting, the deer would not roar. At last the
friends got sleepy, and, bored with writing songs and verses, began to
yawn, and gave up twaddling about the woes and troubles of life; and
as they were all silent, one of them, a man fifty years of age,
stopping the circulation of the wine-cup, said--
"Well, certainly, gentlemen, thanks to you, we have spent the evening
in very pleasant conversation. However, although I am enjoying myself
mightily in this way, my people at home must be getting anxious, and
so I begin to think that we ought to leave off drinking."
"Why so?" said the others.
"Well, I'll tell you. You know that my only son is twenty-two years of
age this year, and a troublesome fellow be is, too. When I'm at home,
he lends a hand sulkily enough in the shop: but as soon as he no
longer sees the shadow of me, he hoists sail and is off to some bad
haunt. Although our relations and connections are always preaching to
him, not a word has any more effect that wind blowing into a horse's
ear. When I think that I shall have to leave my property to such a
fellow as that, it makes my heart grow small indeed. Although, thanks
to those to whom I have succeeded, I want for nothing, still, when I
think of my son, I shed tears of blood night and day."
And as he said this with a sigh, a man of some forty-five or forty-six
years said--
"No, no; although you make so much of your misfortunes, your son is
but a little extravagant after all. There's no such great cause for
grief there. I've got a very different story to tell. Of late years my
shopmen, for one reason or another, have been running me into debt,
thinking nothing of a debt of fifty or seventy ounces; and so the
ledgers get all wrong. Just think of that. Here have I been keeping
these fellows ever since they were little children unable to blow
their own noses, and now, as soon as they come to be a little useful
in the shop, they begin running up debts, and are no good whatever to
their master. You see, you only have to spend your money upon your own
son."