and the observing the rules of propriety is of little importance, and compare them together, why merely say that the eating is of the more importance?” “Metal is heavier than feathers,” but does that saying have reference to a single clasp of metal and a wagon-load of feathers?  Take a piece of wood a foot thick and raise it above the pinnacle of a temple, none would call it taller than the temple.  To the question, “Which is the more important, to tell the truth or to be polite?” the Japanese are said to give an answer diametrically opposite to what the American will say,—­but I forbear any comment until I come to speak of

VERACITY OR TRUTHFULNESS,

without which Politeness is a farce and a show.  “Propriety carried beyond right bounds,” says Masamune, “becomes a lie.”  An ancient poet has outdone Polonius in the advice he gives:  “To thyself be faithful:  if in thy heart thou strayest not from truth, without prayer of thine the Gods will keep thee whole.”  The apotheosis of Sincerity to which Tsu-tsu gives expression in the Doctrine of the Mean, attributes to it transcendental powers, almost identifying them with the Divine.  “Sincerity is the end and the beginning of all things; without Sincerity there would be nothing.”  He then dwells with eloquence on its far-reaching and long enduring nature, its power to produce changes without movement and by its mere presence to accomplish its purpose without effort.  From the Chinese ideogram for Sincerity, which is a combination of “Word” and “Perfect,” one is tempted to draw a parallel between it and the Neo-Platonic doctrine of Logos—­to such height does the sage soar in his unwonted mystic flight.

Lying or equivocation were deemed equally cowardly.  The bushi held that his high social position demanded a loftier standard of veracity than that of the tradesman and peasant. Bushi no ichi-gon—­the word of a samurai or in exact German equivalent ein Ritterwort—­was sufficient guaranty of the truthfulness of an assertion.  His word carried such weight with it that promises were generally made and fulfilled without a written pledge, which would have been deemed quite beneath his dignity.  Many thrilling anecdotes were told of those who atoned by death for ni-gon, a double tongue.

The regard for veracity was so high that, unlike the generality of Christians who persistently violate the plain commands of the Teacher not to swear, the best of samurai looked upon an oath as derogatory to their honor.  I am well aware that they did swear by different deities or upon their swords; but never has swearing degenerated into wanton form and irreverent interjection.  To emphasize our words a practice of literally sealing with blood was sometimes resorted to.  For the explanation of such a practice, I need only refer my readers to Goethe’s Faust.