Enzetsu is called “speech” in English. It is a style of expressing one’s views at a large assembly of people. This kind of thing has since ancient times never existed in Japan, except perhaps for preaching done in temples. But it is very popular in the West. From the parliament of a government, the meetings of scholars, business companies, and gatherings of citizens, down to ceremonial occasions and even trivial matters such as the opening of a shop, there is a custom that whenever there is a gathering of ten or more people, some person always makes a speech about the meeting or the purpose of the meeting, or utters some pet theory, or expresses some impromptu ideas. It is beyond doubt that this is a very important practice. For example, people are now saying that Japan should have a parliament.† But it will serve no purpose unless there is a method of expounding ideas in the first place.
Setting aside the question of whether a given subject is important or not, one who expresses his views through public speaking can produce a certain good effect. For example, something which was not so significant in a written text can become easily understood and impressive if said in words. This is true of famous poems from ancient and modern times. If put in ordinary prose form, these poems would lose their interest. But when they are well structured according to the rules of poetry, they become extremely charming and moving. In like manner, the rapid transmission of one’s ideas to the public has a great deal to do with the method of its transmission.
It is not necessary to reiterate here that learning does not consist only in the reading of books. The essence of learning lies rather in its practical consequences, without which learning is still ignorance. In the past, there was a student of Chu Hsi philosophy who studied for many years in Edo, copying out theories of the different masters on the schools of learning. By his long, day-and-night labors he piled up several hundred volumes in several years’ time. Having thus completed his studies, he decided to return to his home in the west along the Tōkaidō. He therefore packed up his copied books in arrowroot baskets, and shipped them on ahead. But unfortunately the ship was wrecked in the Sea of Enshū. When he returned to his native province, he found out that all his learning had been washed away with the waves. He was back exactly where he started, in a state of total ignorance. The same danger exists for the present crop of Japanese scholars of Western learning. Because they now read and lecture in the city schools, we cannot help calling them scholars. But if circumstances suddenly took away their sources and forced them back to the rural areas, they might have to make the excuse to their relatives and friends: “I have left my learning back in Tokyo.”
My point is that the essence of learning lies in the activity of one’s mind, not in the mere reading of books. There must be all kinds of means to put this activity to practical use. The word observation means the perceiving of things, and reasoning means the inferring of the principles of things and giving one’s own views on the matter. But neither exhausts the methods of learning. It is also necessary to read and write books, converse with others, and present your opinions to the public. A person may be called a true scholar only when he has made use of all these means. Observation, reasoning, and reading are the means through which knowledge is gathered; conversation the means of its exchange; reading and public speaking the means of the diffusion of learning. Some of these a person can do by himself, but conversation and public speaking require a larger community. From this we can see how important public speaking is.
The most lamentable thing about the Japanese people today is that their views are not lofty. Therefore, since it is the first duty of scholars to guide them to higher views, they must avail themselves of whatever means they can command for doing so. It is demonstrable that conversation and public speaking are essential to the pursuit of learning, but why then do people not actually use them? It is because of the indolence of scholars. Human affairs have both private and public aspects, and both of them are necessary. But many scholars are exclusively absorbed in private matters. A true scholar must, when alone, be as silent as deep water, but among people he must be as active as a flying bird; he must be deeply introspective, yet at the same time have a boundless public energy—only then can he call himself a true scholar.
To repeat, the most lamentable thing about the Japanese people today is that their views are not lofty. The refinement of one’s views and conduct cannot be achieved merely by studying lofty principles. The Zen sect preaches a way of spiritual enlightenment, the principle of which is said to be very recondite. But as we look at the monks’ activities, we see that they are so remote as to be of no practical use. In fact, their ideas are vague to the point of being no opinions at all.
Again, one’s views and conduct must not be lofty only in the breadth of experience. There are people who do not possess definite views of their own despite reading thousands of books and a wider association with others. They are the Confucian scholars who cling to old customs. Even the scholars of Western learning are not exceptional, being addicted to the same vice. There are people today who follow the ever advancing learning of the West. They read books on economics, or lecture on moral theories, or concentrate their energies night and day on metaphysics and epistemology—almost as if their hard effort were comparable to the pain one suffers from sitting atop bristling thorns. But as far as I can see, the private lives of these people give no evidence of the effects of all this effort. Their knowledge of economics has no influence on their family business. Their knowledge of moral theories has no bearing on their own moral cultivation. As talkers and doers they seem to be two entirely different persons. I cannot find anyone with his own definite views. Even if we do not go so far as to condemn their words and actions as wrong, there is a complete discrepancy between what they say is right and what they actually practice. They sometimes practice what they preach, but to them can often be applied the sayings that “A physician neglects his own health,” and “Some people can read the Analects of Confucius but do not understand it.”
Therefore lofty opinions and conduct refer neither to expounding profound principles nor to breadth of knowledge taken in an exclusive sense. How, then, can a person’s views be elevated to influence his conduct? The secret lies in comparing the conditions of things and setting one’s sights on higher standards without ever becoming complacent. But this means to compare, not single details, but one total system of conditions with another, and to pass judgment on the relative merits of the alternatives. Suppose that there is a schoolboy who has worked hard, without indulging in dissolute pleasures. He will not be reproached by his parents or elders, and most likely feels proud of himself. But he has reason for pride only in comparison with some other rascals. Diligence and good behavior are what were expected of him, and are not worthy of special praise. He should have even nobler aspirations in life.
Whose great achievements, and whom should we strive to emulate, among the great men of the past and present? We must always take persons of higher attainment as our standards. We should not be satisfied with our own one talent when we see two talents in another. This is true since later progress will inevitably surpass earlier progress, and this is all the more true when there is no one worth emulating in the past. Today’s responsibilities are greater than those in the past. However, we cannot think that diligence and good conduct are the sole aims of human life. A life of dissolution is animal; to pride oneself in comparison with that would merely be boasting of one’s sight before a blind man. It would only be a useless display of stupidity. Therefore an argument is still on a low level if it is about the pros and cons of dissolute conduct. As one’s conduct improves, he will soon leave such stupid talk behind him, so that even discussion of the matter will become detestable.
In their criticism of schools today, parents are solely concerned with the control of public morals. But what does the phrase “public morals” mean? It must mean strict observance of school regulations and thorough discipline over the student’s moral life. Should we praise these things as ideal for an academic institution? On the contrary, I am ashamed of them. Public morals in Western schools are by no means all good. Many of them, on the contrary, are very bad. But I have never heard of a reputation of a school being based on correct morals and thorough control of discipline.
The reputation of a school depends only on the excellent quality of the subjects of study, the skill of the teachers, their level of refinement, and the high quality of their discussions. Therefore, both administrators and students should not compare their schools with inferior schools, but with schools of finer quality. The moral conduct and discipline of a school may be counted among its merits, but this is the least important aspect of a school, and not worth boasting about. They should make even greater efforts if they want to compare favorably with schools of higher academic quality. Accordingly, while we are pressed with the management of a school, we should not be satsified merely if the control is well organized.
The same principle can be applied to the conditions of a country. Suppose that a given administration is run by wise, virtuous, and irreproachable men. Since they understand the joys and sorrows of the people, they take proper measures to reward the meritorious and punished the wicked. They command both mercy and severity. The people are well supplied and enjoy the fruits of peace. But rewards and punishments, mercy and severity, peace and prosperity are all domestic affairs under the control of one or only a handful of administrators. They can have reason to take pride only in comparison of present conditions with some former administration or some evil government. This is hardly to make a detailed and thoroughgoing comparison with another country. If one nation as a whole is compared with another civilized country over several decades, it may be that the relative accomplishments of one nation will not be worth especially boasting about.
Take, for example, the national polity of India, the origin of whose civilization dates back several thousand years. The subtlety and abstruseness of its philosophies are probably not inferior to the philosophies of the modern West. The ancient Turkish government, too, was most prestigious. In ritual, music, the arts of war, there was nothing that was not well organized. The rulers were wise; court officials were irreproachable. Its teeming population and brave soldiers were superior to its neighboring countries, so that for a while it won universal fame. Therefore, if we make comments on India or Turkey, we must say that the former was once a famous center of culture and the latter was a great military empire.
Yet India is now a colony of Great Britain, and her people are no different than slaves of the British government. Their only business is to produce opium to poison the Chinese, while the British merchants reap the profits from the opium trade. Turkey too, while nominally independent, has become a monopoly of British and French business interests. Its national products decline day by day, as a result of the free trade. Its people no longer weave cloth or make looms. Either they cultivate the land with sweat on their brows, or they loaf about idly all day. They rely entirely upon British and French imports for all manufactured articles. There are no means to manage the economy of the country, and it is said that no matter how brave her soldiers may be, they are of no use because they are restrained by poverty.
Now, why is it that Indian culture and Turkish military heritage have not benefited the civilizations of each? The reason is that the minds of their peoples were turned complacently in on themselves. When they compared themselves with other nations, they took only a partial look, and were thus deceived by the seeming balance of potentials between nations. So their discussions ended there. They did not compare themselves with another country’s total resources and conditions. Therefore while their people enjoyed peace or quarreled domestically, other nations passed them by, and then came to oppress them with the power of modern commerce. The merchants of the West were without rivals wherever they went. They are certainly to be feared for their business prowess. But if people love their own civilization, they should strive to the best of their powers to catch up with them in every respect.
