entirely suppressed, while the intrusive "he" is evidently" target="_blank" title="ad.明显地">evidently too much
of a third person to be wanted. Such invidious distinctions of

identity apparently never thrust their presence upon the simple
early Tartar minds. I, you, and he, not being differences due to

nature, demanded, to their thinking, no recognition of man.
There is about this vagueness of expression a freedom not without its

charm. It is certainly delightful to be able to speak of yourself
as if you were somebody else, choosing mentally for the occasion any

one you may happen to fancy, or, it you prefer, the possibility of
soaring boldly forth into the realms of the unconditioned.

To us, at first sight, however, such a lack of specification appears
wofully incompatible with any intelligible transmission of ideas.

So communistic a want of discrimination between the meum and the
tuum--to say nothing of the claims of a possible third party--would

seem to be as fatal to the interchange of thoughts as it proves
destructive to the trafficking in commodities. Such, nevertheless,

is not the result. On the contrary, Japanese is as easy and as
certain of comprehension as is English. On ninety occasions out of

a hundred, the context at once makes clear the person meant.
In the very few really ambiguous cases, or those in which, for the

sake of emphasis, a pronoun is wanted, certain consecrated
expressions are introduced for the purpose. For eventually the more

complex social relations of increasing civilization compelled some
sort of distant recognition. Accordingly, compromises with

objectionable personality were effected by circumlocutions promoted
to a pronoun's office, becoming thus pro-pronouns, as it were.

Very noncommittal expressions they are, most of them, such as:
"the augustness," meaning you; "that honorable side," or

"that corner," denoting some third person, the exact term employed
in any given instance scrupulously betokening the relative respect

in which the individual spoken of is held; while with a candor, an
indefiniteness, or a humilityworthy so polite a people, the I is

known as "selfishness," or "a certain person," or "the clumsy one."
Pronominal adjectives are manufactured in the same way.

"The stupid father," "the awkward son," "the broken-down firm," are
"mine." Were they "yours," they would instantly become "the august,

venerable father," "the honorable son," "the exalted firm." [1]
Even these lame substitutes for pronouns are paraded as sparingly as

possible. To the Western student, who brings to the subject a brain
throbbing with personality, hunting in a Japanese sentence for

personal references is dishearteningly like "searching in the dark
for a black hat which is n't there;" for the brevet pronouns are

commonly not on duty. To employ them with the reckless prodigality
that characterizes our conversation would strike the Tartar mind

like interspersing his talk with unmeaning italics. He would regard
such discourse much as we do those effusive epistles of a certain

type of young woman to her most intimate girl friends, in which
every other word is emphatically underlined.

For the most part, the absolutely necessary personal references are
introduced by honorifics; that is, by honorary or humble expressions.

Such is a portion of the latter's duty. They do a great deal of
unnecessary work besides.

These honorifics are, taken as a whole, one of the most interesting
peculiarities of Japanese, as also of Korean, just as, taken in

detail, they are one of its most dangerous pitfalls. For silence is
indeed golden compared with the chagrin of discovering that a speech

which you had meant for a compliment was, in fact, an insult, or the
vexation of learning that you have been industriously treating your

servant with the deference due a superior,--two catastrophes sure to
follow the attempts of even the most cautious of beginners.

The language is so thoroughly imbued with the honorific spirit that
the exposure of truth in all its naked simplicity is highly improper.

Every idea requires to be more or less clothed in courtesy before it
is presentable; and the garb demanded by etiquette is complex beyond

conception. To begin with, there are certain preliminary particles
which are simply honorific, serving no other purpose whatsoever.

In addition to these there are for every action a small infinity of
verbs, each sacred to a different degree of respect. For instance,

to our verb "to give" corresponds a complete social scale of
Japanese verbs, each conveying the idea a shade more politely than

its predecessor; only the very lowest meaning anything so plebeian as
simply "to give." Sets of laudatory or depreciatory adjectives are

employed in the same way. Lastly, the word for "is," which strictly
means "exists," expresses this existence under three different

forms,--in a matter-of-fact, a flowing, or an inflated style;
the solid, liquid, and gaseous states of conversation, so to speak,

to suit the person addressed. But three forms being far too few for
the needs of so elaborate a politeness, these are supplemented by

many interpolated grades.
Terms of respect are applied not only to those mortals who are held

in estimation higher than their fellows, but to all men
indiscriminately as well. The grammatical attitude of the

individual toward the speaker is of as much importance as his social
standing, I being beneath contempt, and you above criticism.

Honorifics are used not only on all possible occasions for courtesy,
but at times, it would seem, upon impossible ones; for in some

instances the most subtle diagnosis fails to reveal in them a
relevancy to anybody. That the commonest objects should bear titles

because of their connection with some particular person is
comprehensible, but what excuse can be made for a phrase like the

following, "It respectfully does that the august seat exists," all
of which simply means "is," and may be applied to anything, being

the common word--in Japanese it is all one word now--for that
apparently simple idea. It would seem a sad waste of valuable

material. The real reason why so much distinguishedconsideration
is shown the article in question lies in the fact that it is treated

as existing with reference to the person addressed, and therefore
becomes ipso facto august.

Here is a still subtler example. You are, we will suppose, at a
tea-house, and you wish for sugar. The following almost stereotyped

conversation is pretty sure to take place. I translate it literally,
simply prefacing that every tea-house girl, usually in the first

blush of youth, is generically addressed as "elder sister,"--
another honorific, at least so considered in Japan.

You clap your hands. (Enter tea-house maiden.)
You. Hai, elder sister, augustly exists there sugar?

The T. H. M. The honorable sugar, augustly is it?
You. So, augustly.

The T. H. M. He (indescribable expression of assent).
(Exit tea-house maiden to fetch the sugar.)

Now, the "augustlies" go almost without saying, but why is the sugar
honorable? Simply because it is eventually going to be offered to

you. But she would have spoken of it by precisely the same
respectful title, if she had been obliged to inform you that there

was none, in which case it never could have become yours. Such is
politeness. We may note, in passing, that all her remarks and all

yours, barring your initial question, meant absolutely nothing.
She understood you perfectly from the first, and you knew she did;

but then, if all of us were to say only what were necessary, the
delightful art of conversation would soon be nothing but a science.

The average Far Oriental, indeed, talks as much to no purpose as his
Western cousin, only in his chit-chat politeness replaces

personalities. With him, self is suppressed, and an ever-present
regard for others is substituted in its stead.

A lack of personality is, as we have seen, the occasion of this
courtesy; it is also its cause.

That politeness should be one of the most marked results of
impersonality may appear surprising, yet a slight examination will

show it to be a fact. Looked at a posteriori, we find that where
the one trait exists the other is most developed, while an absence

of the second seems to prevent the full growth of the first.
This is true both in general and in detail. Courtesy increases, as

we travel eastward round the world, coincidently with a decrease in
the sense of self. Asia is more courteous than Europe, Europe than

America. Particular races show the same concomitance of
characteristics. France, the most impersonal nation of Europe, is at

the same time the most polite.
Considered a priori, the connection between the two is not far to

seek. Impersonality, by lessening the interest in one's self,
induces one to take an interest in others. Introspection tends to

make of man a solitary animal, the absence of it a social one.
The more impersonal the people, the more will the community supplant

the individual in the popular estimation. The type becomes the
interesting thing to man, as it always is to nature. Then, as the

social desires develop, politeness, being the means to their