Now I will speak about the benefits for people who are sensitive to awaré. First, those who govern the people and the country must have a detailed knowledge of the condition of the hearts of the ordinary people and know mono no aware. Yet those of high rank usually are ignorant of such detailed knowledge of the hearts of those who are lowly and beneath them. In general those who are prosperous and powerful have all their needs met, so they do not understand what it is to be troubled, and thus they have little sympathy. They do not understand that lowly and poor people always have many sorrows, so they feel no compassion.
Even though they may have a general knowledge of such matters from reading Japanese and Chinese writings or from things they are told, the fact that they do not share these experiences themselves means that even though they may read or hear of them, they think of them as something pertaining to others, and thus they do not sink deeply into their hearts. Poetry, though, sings of various deeply felt joys and sorrows just as they are, so even if we have not experienced them at all ourselves, when we hear the poetry, it sinks into our heart and we can understand these feelings. We can know in great detail how such and such a person upon encountering such and such circumstances will feel such and such emotions and how this will make them joyful or resentful. The hearts of the people of the realm will appear more perfectly than a reflection in a clear mirror, so this will naturally bring about feelings of sympathy, which will make the rulers not want to do things that harm the people. This is a benefit of making people sensitive to mono no awaré.
This does not pertain only to those who govern, though. In people’s everyday dealings with one another as well, those who do not know mono no awaré have no sympathy for anything and are often hard-hearted and cruel. Because they have no encounters with various matters, they do not understand them. The rich do not know the hearts of the poor; the young do not know the hearts of the aged; and men do not know the hearts of women. . . . But when people deeply understand the hearts of others, they naturally act so as not to harm society or other people. This is another benefit of making people sensitive to mono no awaré.
[MNZ 2: 112–113, 154, 166–168; Motoori Norinaga shū, SNKS 60: 312–315, 414, 441–446, introduction and translation by Peter Flueckiger]
THE ESSENCE OF THE TALE OF GENJI (SHIBUN YŌRYŌ, 1763)
Norinaga is considered the first major Japanese theorist of prose fiction and is noted for fitting Japanese waka poetics into the theory of the monogatari (tale/novel), which had been traditionally treated on either Confucian or Buddhist grounds, usually negatively, as immoral or deceptive, but sometimes positively, as a means of leading to virtue or enlightenment. In the passage translated here from The Essence of The Tale of Genji, Norinaga argues that the monogatari needs to be judged according to its own value system, rather than those of Confucianism and Buddhism. This value system, which monogatari share with waka poetry, is governed by the emotional sensitivity that Norinaga refers to as mono no awaré or the pathos of things, a sensitivity to both phenomena in the natural world, such as cherry blossoms and other traditional objects of poetic beauty, and events in the human world, particularly those that cause sorrow and suffering. He argues that in The Tale of Genji those characters who are presented as “good” are not those who obey rigid moral strictures but those who “know mono no aware,” or those who are emotionally sensitive and compassionate toward others. Norinaga does not go so far as to maintain that mono no awaré is a reversal of Confucian and Buddhist values but contends that when reading monogatari, we should simply suspend such moral judgments and instead focus on the depth of emotion, or mono no awaré, displayed by the characters.
All judgments of good and evil differ depending on the relevant Way. They also differ depending on time, place, and circumstance. Some things are considered good according to the Way of Buddhism but evil by Confucian scholars, and some things are considered good according to the Way of Confucianism but evil by Buddhist priests. In this manner, good and evil differ. Poetry and monogatari, unlike the Ways of Buddhism and Confucianism, are not a Way for freeing ourselves from delusions and entering enlightenment, nor are they a Way for cultivating ourselves, managing our household, and governing our country. Still, they naturally contain their own good and evil.
When we investigate what is good and evil in a monogatari, we find that even though it is not explicitly different from what is good and evil in both the Ways of Confucianism and Buddhism, it is nonetheless different. First, Confucianism and Buddhism are Ways that instruct and guide people, so sometimes they conflict with human emotions and severely reprimand people. According to these Ways, it often is evil to act in accordance with our natural emotions, and so it is good to try to suppress these emotions. But monogatari are not didactic writings, so they have no relation to the good and evil of Confucianism and Buddhism. Instead, what they consider good or evil is simply the distinction between what is in keeping with human emotions and what is not. . . .
Until now, all commentaries have emulated the theories of moralistic Confucian and Buddhist writings, so they also tried to force monogatari to become didactic. They comment on what this monogatari speaks of as good as if it were evil and claim that it is this or that admonition or teaching. Commenting in this way, they often mislead the heart of the reader and lose sight of the true intentions of the author. The reason is that when they try to force the monogatari into being an admonition and view it in terms of punishing evil, they also dilute the mono no awaré [pathos of things]. Although perceptive people are not led astray by the commentary, most people use it as a guide and accept things just as the commentary says to, so they are greatly misled by it. We should not read this monogatari as an admonition at all, as this is not the true intention of the author. Proof that monogatari are not moralistic can be found clearly in the “Fireflies” chapter of The Tale of Genji, which I cited earlier.29 One should always read monogatari with an emphasis on mono no awaré.
The fifty-four chapters of The Tale of Genji can be exhausted in the single phrase “to know mono no aware.” I have already spoken of the general meaning of mono no awaré, but now I will go into it in more detail. Upon seeing, hearing, and encountering various events in the world, to savor the heart of these many events, and to discern the heart of them with our own heart is to know the heart of events. It is to know the heart of things and to know mono no awaré.
When we make further distinctions, we find that mono no awaré involves knowing the heart of things and knowing the heart of events. To discover their hearts and to be moved in accordance with their different qualities is to know mono no awaré. For example, when seeing splendid and beautiful cherry blossoms in full bloom, to appreciate the blossoms as beautiful is to know the heart of the thing. When discovering the beauty of the blossoms, we are moved by their beauty. This is mono no awaré. But not to be moved by the beauty of the blossoms, no matter how beautiful they may be, is to fail to know the heart of the thing. Such a person is not affected by the beauty of the blossoms at all. This is to fail to know mono no awaré.
Also, when encountering the deep grief of another and witnessing his or her great sorrow, it is because we know about the events that ought to make us sad that we realize that he or she must be sad. This is to know the heart of events. To know the heart of events that ought to make us sad and to be moved in our own heart by the realization of how sad something must be is mono no awaré. When we know why something ought to be sad, even if we try to ignore it and not be moved, we will naturally find it hard to bear and will not be able to help but sympathize. This is human emotion. The person who does not know mono no awaré does not feel anything and does not discern the heart of the event that ought to make him sad. Therefore no matter how much he witnesses another’s sorrow, he does not relate to it at all, so his heart is entirely unmoved.
I have just presented these as one or two examples, but we should know the mono no awaré of all events in a similar manner. Events vary in that some move us l
ightly and others move us strongly, but each event in the world has its own mono no awaré. Although there are differences in the good or evil and correctness or incorrectness of the events that are moving, we are moved by something that arises spontaneously and is difficult to bear, so even though our heart may be our own, it is not under our own control, and even events that are evil and incorrect can be moving. Although we may try to not be moved by them because they are evil, we are moved nevertheless because our emotions arise spontaneously and are difficult to hold back. This is why the common Ways of Confucianism and Buddhism caution against being moved by such evil events and teach us not to be moved by evil. Poetry and monogatari, however, consider it good in such cases to be moved by knowing the heart of things and the heart of events and set aside the issue of whether these events are good or evil and correct or incorrect. Instead they refer to everything that is moving as mono no awaré and consider this something wonderful. . . .
The Way of the Buddha is a Way that cannot be practiced by someone who is weakhearted and knows mono no awaré. It is a Way, then, that is practiced by trying to become a person who does not know mono no awaré. First, we must break our ties of affection to our beloved family and take the tonsure. This is something very difficult to bear from the standpoint of human emotions. It is the Way of the Buddha to be resolute in separating from human emotions. If we know mono no awaré at such a time, we will be unable to take the tonsure. We must also change our appearance, renounce wealth, retire to the forest, not eat fish or meat, and forsake the pleasures of song and women. All these things are difficult to bear from the standpoint of human emotions. But it is the Way of the Buddha to endure this in carrying out religious practices, so we cannot adhere to such practices if we know mono no awaré. Furthermore, when urging others and leading them to the Way of the Buddha and helping them to escape the cycle of life and death and transmigration, it is difficult to save them if we know mono no awaré. Unless we become someone who does not know mono no awaré and urges people resolutely, we cannot lead them to salvation. . . .
In general, the true emotions of a human being are weak and foolish, like those of a woman or a child. To be manly and resolute and wise is a superficial display and does not represent true emotions. When we look into the depths of the true heart, we find that even the wisest people are no different from women and children. The only difference is whether or not they are ashamed and conceal their emotions. . . .
Poetry emerges from a knowledge of mono no awaré, and we come to know mono no awaré by reading poetry. This monogatari was written based on a knowledge of mono no awaré, and so we will come to know mono no awaré well through reading this monogatari. Therefore poetry and monogatari are identical in nature. . . .
Confucianism has the basis of Confucianism as its essence; Buddhism has the basis of Buddhism as its essence; and monogatari have the basis of monogatari as their essence. To discuss these by straining to compare them is to argue by using forced analogies. It is correct to discuss poetry and monogatari according to the essence of what they are based on, but it is erroneous to use forced analogies to discuss poetry and monogatari by applying the essence of other kinds of writings, no matter how good this essence may be. . . .
To view this monogatari from a didactic perspective is, for example, like cutting down and using for firewood a cherry tree that had been planted in order to view its blossoms. Firewood is indispensable to everyday life, so I do not despise it as something evil, but it is hateful to make into firewood a tree that was not meant for that purpose. Many other good trees are suitable for firewood, so there surely will be no lack of firewood, even without cutting down cherry trees. Cherry trees are originally planted in order to view their blossoms, so to cut them down would go against the heart of the person who planted them. Would it not be heartless to cut them down, pointlessly, for firewood? The essence of cherry trees is simply always to appreciate the mono no awaré of the blossoms.
[MNZ 4: 37, 56–58, 61–62, 94, 100, 111–112; Motoori Norinaga shū, SNKS 60: 82–83, 124–127, 134–135, 202, 215, 240–241, introduction and translation by Peter Flueckiger]
THE TALE OF GENJI, A SMALL JEWELED COMB (GENJI MONOGATARI TAMA NO OGUSHI, 1796)
The Tale of Genji, a Small Jeweled Comb is a revision of The Essence of The Tale of Genji (Shibun yōryō) and contains many of the same themes. In the passages translated here, Norinaga continues with his idea that monogatari should operate according to a value system different from that of Confucian and Buddhist views of morality, and he supports his theory by citing Murasaki Shikibu’s own views on the monogatari as presented in the “Fireflies” (Hotaru) chapter of The Tale of Genji.
The Intentions of the Monogatari
Over the years there have been various interpretations of the purpose of this monogatari. All of them, however, have neglected to take into account the basic nature of these books we call monogatari. They discuss The Tale of Genji only in the terms of Confucian and Buddhist writing, which was contrary to the author’s intent. Although it has random resemblances to Confucian and Buddhist writings, we cannot point to them as characterizing the whole work. Its overall meaning differs sharply from other works of that sort. . . .
Since monogatari generally depict events of this world and the thoughts and deeds of human beings, by reading them we naturally gain a knowledge of life and better understand the actions of human beings and the workings of their emotions. This is the main object of those who read monogatari. . . .
This more or less is the reason why monogatari are read. The reader puts herself into a situation from the past and assumes the emotions that moved the people of the past. The reader likens her own circumstances to those of the past and thus comes to understand these emotions. In this way the reader finds some solace for her melancholy.
From these examples we can see that the attitude of those who read the old monogatari—which is to say the present-day readers of The Tale of Genji as well—is quite different from that of the readers of most Confucian and Buddhist works.
Now in the “Fireflies” chapter Murasaki Shikibu makes quite clear her intentions in writing The Tale of Genji. . . . This monogatari, she says, is indeed a complete fiction, but it is not groundless nonsense. She does not state actual names or describe events as they actually happened. They are events such as one sees or hears of every day in this world—events that so intrigue us that we wish to pass them on to ages to come. As Murasaki Shikibu could not bear to shut these up in her heart, she wrote them out in the form of a monogatari. You must realize, therefore, that she would say that fiction though it is, false it is not. You may wonder, then, whether all these are events that Murasaki Shikibu herself saw or heard of in her own time and wrote down, concealing only the names. But such was not the case. They represent no particular persons or events, but merely such things as one sees or hears of every day in this world, things by which she was deeply moved and which she could not let pass. She thus would create a certain person or event, commit her thoughts to that person, and so express what was in her heart. . . .
Good and evil as found in this monogatari are not the same as the good and evil described in Confucian and Buddhist works. Thus in many passages, it would be a mistake to interpret the good and evil in the monogatari strictly in a Confucian or Buddhist sense.
First, good and evil extend to all kinds of concerns. Even with regard to people, they need not apply only to thoughts and deeds. There are good and bad people in rank and social position, the noble being good and the lowly being bad. In the monogatari, those of high rank are called the “good people,” while in our everyday speech we speak of “good family” or of “good or bad standing.” Needless to say, we speak also of good and bad appearance. Again, long life, wealth, prosperity, and the acquisition of property all are good things; whereas short life, poverty, failure, loss of property, as well as illness, disaster, and the like all are bad things.
Nor is this so only in human affairs. Clothi
ng, furniture, houses, and countless other such things all have their good and their bad. The good and bad are by no means limited to the realm of human thoughts and deeds. Moreover, good and evil change with the time and the situation. For example, an arrow is good if it penetrates its mark, while armor is good if it is impenetrable. On a hot summer day, what is cold is good, and in the cold of winter, what is hot is good. One traveling at night considers darkness bad, but one seeking to conceal himself considers moonlight bad. And so it is in all matters.
Thus too, there is good and evil in men’s thoughts and deeds. The contrast is not as complete, and the good and evil differ depending on doctrine. What Confucianism considers good, Buddhism may consider bad; whereas what Buddhism considers good, Confucianism may consider bad. There is no absolute agreement. Likewise, what is considered good or evil in the monogatari may at times differ from Confucian and Buddhist concepts of good and evil.
What sorts of thoughts and deeds, then, are considered good and evil in the monogatari? Generally speaking, those who know what it means to be moved by things, who have compassion, and who are alive to the feelings of others are regarded as good; whereas those who do not know what it means to be moved by things are regarded as bad. Having said this much, there may appear to be no great difference from the good and evil of Confucianism and Buddhism. But if we state the case more precisely, we will find that sensitivity and insensitivity to the feelings of others do not correspond to Confucian and Buddhist concepts of good and evil. Moreover, even when it deals with good and evil, the monogatari does so in gentle and moderate terms, rather than in the overbearing manner of a Confucian disputation.
Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900 Page 89