It is enough, it would seem, to have been born into this world for a man to desire many things. The position of the emperor, of course, is far too exalted for our aspirations. Even the remote descendants of the imperial line[1] are sacred, for they are not of the seed of man. Ordinary nobles[2] of a rank that entitles them to retainers—let alone those who stand in the solitary grandeur of the chancellor—appear most impressive, and even their children and grandchildren, though their fortunes may decline, still possess a distinctive elegance. Persons of lower rank, fortunate enough to achieve some success in keeping with their station, are apt to wear looks of self-satisfaction and no doubt consider themselves most important, but actually they are quite insignificant.
No one is less to be envied than a priest. Sei Shōnagon wrote of priests that they seemed to outsiders “like sticks of wood,” an apt description. The clerics impress nobody, even when they flaunt their authority and their importance loudly proclaimed. It is easy to see why the holy man Sōga[3] should have said that worldly fame is unseemly in priests, and that those who seek it violate the teachings of Buddha. A true hermit might, in fact, seem more admirable.
It is desirable that a man’s face and figure be of excelling beauty. I could sit forever with a man, provided that what he said did not grate on my ears, that he had charm, and that he did not talk very much. What an unpleasant experience it is when someone you have supposed to be quite distinguished reveals his true, inferior nature.
A man’s social position and looks are likely to be determined at birth, but why should not a man’s mind go from wisdom to greater wisdom if it is so disposed? What a shame it is when men of excellent appearance and character prove hopelessly inept in social encounters with their inferiors in both position and appearance, solely because they are badly educated. A familiarity with orthodox scholarship[4], the ability to compose poetry and prose in Chinese, a knowledge of Japanese poetry and music are all desirable, and if a man can serve as a model to others in matters of precedent and court ceremony, he is truly impressive. The mark of an excellent man is that he writes easily in an acceptable hand, sings agreeably and in tune, and, though appearing reluctant to accept when wine is pressed on him, is not a teetotaler.
Footnotes
- Take no sono no sueha means literally “last leaves of the bamboo garden,” a reference to the park built by King Hsiao of Liang; it came to mean descendants of a royal house. ↩
- Tadabito were nobles not of sufficient rank to be eligible for the posts of regent or chancellor. ↩
- Sei Shōnagon, the author of The Pillow Book, lived from about 965 to about 1010. Her work much influenced Kenkō. Sōga (917-1003), a high-ranking priest of the Tendai sect, spent his last years in a lonely retreat. His name is sometimes read Zōga. ↩
- Scholarship in the Confucian sense—learning useful in governing a country or of intrinsic moral value. ↩