YAMAMOTO TSUNETOMO (1659-1721) was a retainer of the Nabeshima fiefdom, in Hizen, present-day Saga and part of Nagasaki, on the island of Kyushu. Tsunetomo, who had served Mitsushige, the second lord of the Hizen fief, from his boyhood, asked for permission to take Buddhist vows when Mitsushige became gravely ill in the fifth month, 1700. He explained that he decided to do so because disembowelment to follow one’s master had already been proscribed–as indeed it had been, four decades earlier. Permission was granted, and Mitsushige died a few weeks later. When Tashiro Tsuramoto (1678-1748), a young admirer of Tsunetomo, began to visit to record his observations, Tsunetomo had lived as a hermit for ten years.
Tsunetomo’s observations, along with samurai anecdotes, Tsuramoto gathered together in eleven volumes under the title Hagakure (Hidden in Leaves). Tsunetomo’s self-consciousness of Hizen’s remoteness from the cultural and social centers of Kyoto and Edo accounts for his caustic use of the words “urbane” and “urban.”
What follows are excerpts from the first volume.
The way of the warrior, I’ve found, is to die. In a situation with a choice, you can only choose at once to die. There’s nothing complicated about it. With calmness you just go right ahead. Talk such as, “You’re missing the mark” or “It’s a dog’s death,” may be good for a sophisticated warrior’s way, urbane style. But, for us, in a situation with a choice it isn’t necessary to hit the mark. We all want to live. There’s always a better reason for what you want. If you miss the mark and live, you’ll be a coward. That’s the tricky line. If you miss the mark and die, you may be crazy but it won’t be shameful. That’s the solid way of the warrior. If you relive your death every morning and evening and remain in a constant state of death, you will achieve freedom in the warrior’s way and complete your duty without making a mistake during your life.
Because you try to do everything with whatever little bit of wisdom you have, you remain concerned about yourself, go against heaven, and do evil things. To a third party watching you, what you do is unseemly, feeble, narrow, and unworkable. When what you have seems far from true wisdom, you had better consult those who are wise. Because it is not their business, they will be unselfish, and what they understand with their straight wisdom will meet the Way; to a third party watching you, it will look firmly rooted and solid, like a giant tree with many roots. One man’s wisdom is like a log stuck into the ground.
The retainers who are determined to take their lord’s side, leave everything, good or bad, to him, and remain completely dedicated to him, are not easily distracted by other things. A lord who has two or three such men is on secure ground.
In my long experience, when things were going well, there were many who made themselves conspicuous by serving their lord with wisdom, considerateness, or arts. But as soon as the lord retired or died, so many of them turned their backs and began culling favor with their new, rising lord. Just remembering such people disgusts me. Those of senior rank and junior rank, as well as those accomplished in the arts, provided service as though vying to be the first among equals. But when the time came for them to sacrifice their lives for their lord, they suddenly became weak-kneed and did few elegant things. This is why someone who is of no special use can prove himself worthy of a thousand men at a time of emergency; this someone is the one who gave his life to his lord years ago and has since lived completely in harmony with him.
When the late lord Mitsushige died, there was such an example: I was the only one determined to accompany him in his death, though some later imitated me. Many ranking officials who used to brag and make themselves prominent turned their backs once the lord closed his eyes. “In the bond between lord and retainer devotion is what counts” is a saying I had thought was worn out, but there and then it came back alive before my eyes. If you make up your mind here and now, you can make a superior retainer of yourself.
In the Nabeshima fief, proscription against disembowelment to follow one’s lord had become part of the clan regulations in 1661 when a member of the Nabeshima clan, Yamagi Naohiro, died and it became known that thirty-six of his top retainers were contemplating suicide. When told of this, Mitsushige, the lord of the fiefdom then twenty-nine, had the following message delivered to the thirty-six men. His argument lucidly captures the samurai ethos of the time:
Our lord [i.e., Mitsushige] hears that you men, mindful of your master’s favors, have agreed among yourselves to disembowel yourselves in order to follow him. He appreciates this as divine.
However, if Yamagi had told you to disembowel yourselves after his death, our lord is not aware of it. He would like to know
if you are. If you are not, doing so would be useless. If you appreciate Yamagi’s great favors, remember his son 
suke is
young; protecting and serving him so that he may successfully inherit the Yamagi house will truly be repaying Yamagi’s favors
and at the same be loyal to suke. So you ought to give up the thought of disembowelment.
Should you, however, force the issue and disembowel yourselves, your descendants would not be allowed the right of inheritance.
Of course, some of you may be so deeply appreciative of your master’s favor that you might disembowel yourselves regardless
of the discontinuation of your descendants and reputable houses. In the circumstances, even if just one of you disemboweled
himself, suke would not be allowed to inherit the Yamagi house and the house itself would be discontinued. That would make
you disloyal. Consider this well.
The thirty-six men tearfully agreed to forego their plans. Informed of their decision, Mitsushige was immensely pleased and made the proscription against this type of disembowelment legally binding. Two years later, in 1663, in issuing amendments to “The Regulations for the Military Houses,” the Tokugawa Shogunate followed suit by appending an “oral command” from the shogun Ietsuna:
Since old times we have warned that disemboweling oneself to follow one’s lord is disloyal and useless. But because no one has made this explicit, in recent years too many men have disemboweled themselves after their lords’ death. Henceforth, masters must firmly and continuously tell those who entertain such thoughts not to commit this act after they die. If even then someone commits it in the future, the deceased master will be held responsible. Also, his son who succeeds him will be deemed inadequate for failing to stop that act.
Later, the prohibition was incorporated as an article.
To advise someone to correct a bad habit is a matter of great importance, compassion, and service. What you have to take pains over is the way you give the advice. It is easy to see good and bad in someone; it is also easy to point the bad things out. Most people think it kind to say things that people don’t want to hear and that are in fact difficult to say, and when someone doesn’t accept what they tell him, they say they’ve tried, and give up. This is useless. It’s the same as embarrassing someone or saying bad things about him to his face. It’s no different from saying something just so you may feel better.
To advise someone about a bad habit, you must first determine whether or not he is going to accept your opinion. You must become his close friend so that he may take your words as trustworthy. You must then devise ways of bringing up the subject, as in relation to something he likes to do, or think of an appropriate moment to do so. When you are writing a letter or taking leave, you may bring up something bad about yourself. Or, to make him realize what you’re getting at without your saying so, you may first praise him for good things or otherwise be extremely careful to make him feel better. In this manner he will take to what you have to say as readily as he takes to water when thirsty. Correcting someone’s bad habit in this fashion is what we mean by giving good advice. It is an exceptionally difficult thing to do.
Most bad habits can’t be corrected because they’ve been with the person for years. I myself have had some experience in this. Nevertheless, if colleagues try hard to correct their friends’ bad habits, they can serve their master with one mind. It will also be an expression of great compassion. But how can you expect to correct someone’s bad habit if you do no more than put him to shame?
Not long after I seconded Sawabe Heizaemon at his disembowelment, Administrator Nakano Kazumo sent me a letter of praise from
Edo where he was stationed. It was full of extravagant words, such as “You have solidified the reputation of your clan.” At
the time I thought it was too much for him to say such things to a mere second. But as I later gave more thought to it, I
saw that he had done it as a man of knowledge and experience. You must praise a young man when he has carried out a samurai
assignment correctly, however trivial it may be, so that he may work with even greater determination and courage. I received
a prompt letter of praise from Nakano Sh
kan the Elder as well. I kept both letters. Yamamoto Gorzaemon, my nephew, presented
me with a saddle and a set of stirrups.
In 1682 when he was twenty-three, Tsunetomo was asked by his cousin Heizaemon to serve as his second or beheader the night before he was to disembowel himself. Heizaemon and several of his friends had engaged in illegal gambling, and he and two others had been condemned to death. After some hesitation Tsunetomo agreed to his cousin’s request and wrote a formal letter of consent.
As is explained in the entry quoting the letter: “Since the days of old it has been said that the ultimate misfortune for a samurai is to be asked to serve as a second. This is because even when you execute the job well, it won’t add to your reputation, whereas if by any chance you botch it, it will be regarded as the mistake of your life.”
The second selected for one of the two other men did indeed botch his job. He drew his sword too far from the condemned man and, failing to behead him with a single stroke, had to “slash him up.”
Monk so-and-so is among the most accomplished men in recent times. His generosity is immeasurable. That’s why his large temple is managed well.
“I was put in charge of a large temple even though I’m a sickly man not worth speaking about,” he said. “I thought I’d make errors if I decided to do the whole work myself and do it well. So I do what little I can, and when I’m not feeling well, I have my deputies run various things, hoping only that nothing disastrous will happen.”
His predecessor’s predecessor was too strict, and people grew tired of him. His predecessor delegated too much and was in some ways careless. Since the present monk took office, people have been satisfied.
When you think of it, he manages things well because he has a firm grasp of things, large and small. Also, from time to time he leaves things to his deputies and lets them take charge without interference. But, if asked, he gives instructions in a manner that shows there’s nothing he’s in the dark about.
Some time ago, the resident monk of a Zen temple summoned a fellow prone to mouth clever things and flaunt his enlightenment, and said, “You’re getting in the way of the Law. I’ll kill you!” He then beat him up. I’m told the man became a cripple.
Both monks have many good qualities. The latter is also known to take advantage of his illness.
Naki na zo to hito ni wa iite arinubeshi
kokoro no towaba ikaga kotaen
I can keep telling people the rumor’s unfounded;
how shall I reply if my heart asks?1
Nothing is more valuable than the second half of this poem. I think we should repeat it like a prayer.
People tend to say things but not to do much else. Clever people today are only interested in decorating their exteriors to look wise and hide what they really are. They are inferior to those who are pure. Pure people are honest. If you look into your own heart, as in the second half of the poem quoted above, you have no place to hide yourself. Your heart is a good investigator. We’d like to maintain ourselves in such a way as not to be embarrassed when we meet this investigator.
A certain swordsman said when he became very old:
“During your lifetime training there are stages.
“At a low level you train very hard but can’t master the art. You know you’re no good, and people agree. As long as you stay at that stage you can’t serve your master.
“At a midlevel you may still not be able to serve your master, but you notice things that are wrong with you and also see things that are wrong with others.
“At a high level you are a master of the art. You can boast about it, delight when people praise you, and lament how others haven’t reached your level. At that level you can serve your master.
“At a level somewhat higher you pretend to be unconcerned. People know you’re good. This is where most people stop.
“There is, however, a level a step above, let’s say, a superior stage, in the way of swordsmanship. When you go deep into the way, you realize there are no limits in the end. There is no point where you can say this is it, and you see starkly how inadequate you are. So you spend the rest of your life without even thinking of becoming accomplished or without thinking of boasting, let alone looking down upon others.
“Yagy
Munenori is said to have observed, ‘I have yet to learn how to win a fight with others, but I have learned to win a
fight with myself.’
“You try to be better today than yesterday, better tomorrow than today, and so on, day after day, for the rest of your life. There is no end to it.”
Yagy Munenori (1571-1646), an outstanding swordsman who taught swordsmanship to the first three of the Tokugawa shoguns,
leyasu, Hidetada, and Iemitsu, has left a famous treatise on his Shinkage school, Heih
Kaden Sho.2 Among his other distinguished students was Nabeshima Motoshige (1602-54), a son of Katsushige, the second lord of the Nabeshima
fief under the Tokugawa Shogunate. He thought so highly of Motoshige that he dedicated to him a beautifully bound edition of his treatise. As a result,
the Shinkage school of swordsmanship was accepted as standard by the members and retainers of the Nabeshima clan.
Murakawa Sden, Tsunetomo’s uncle and an accomplished swordsman of the Shinkage school, has left the following anecdote about
Munenori:
“Yagy Munenori’s ultimate statement on swordsmanship is, “The truly accomplished swordsmen have no use for swordsmanship.’
As evidence, he told a story.
“Once a certain shogunate aide-de-camp came to him and asked to study swordsmanship with him. Upon seeing the man, Munenori said, ‘Sir, what are you telling me? I see that you are already accomplished in some school of swordsmanship. I’d like to accept you as you are; without studying with me you may call yourself my student.’
“‘But, sir, I have absolutely no training in swordsmanship of any kind!’
“‘Well then, you must have come here to make fun of me,’ Munenori said. ‘You are not saying, are you, that an instructor to the shoguns can’t tell the real thing when he sees it?’
“But the aide-de-camp vowed that he was telling the truth. So Munenori asked, ‘If that is the case, you must have had some kind of enlightening thought that has made you what you are today.’
“‘Sir,’ the man said. ‘One day when I was a child, it occurred to me that what a samurai is all about is that he thinks nothing of his life. I became gravely worried about this realization, but after several years it dawned on me that that’s the way it is. Since then I’ve thought nothing of dying. Other than this, I haven’t had anything like an enlightening thought.’
“Munenori was greatly moved. ‘So I’ve seen the real thing after all. To me, in that one thing lies the ultimate of swordsmanship. So far I have had hundreds of students, but I haven’t revealed the ultimate to a single one of them. You don’t need to take up a wooden sword. You are accomplished in your own way.’
“On the spot Munemori handed the man a certificate of mastery.”
In Bushid Ksha Sho (Those Accomplished in the Way of the Warrior) is written: “For an accomplished man there is a way of establishing his reputation
in soldiering that does not entail actual training.” Herein lies a seed of misunderstanding for later learners. There should
be “also” added after “there is.” Again, Shida Kichinosuke said, “When you are forced to choose to live or die, you better
live.” Shida is a man of bravery, and said this as a joke. Nevertheless, young men misunderstand this and think that he said
something dishonorable for a samurai. Alongside this you should put something else he said: “When you don’t know whether you
should eat or shouldn’t, you better not eat; when you don’t know whether you should die or live, you better die.”
In the relevant paragraph of Bushid Ksha Sho, published in 1617, its author, Ogasawara Sakuun Katsuz, says: “The advantage of being an accomplished man is that as such
he has a way of establishing his reputation in soldiering that does not entail actual training. It is the advantage of using
words to make your small experience in soldiering sound impressive. It lies in learning, and learning lies in your ambition.
Learning in soldiering does not necessarily mean reading books. You must try to listen to the stories of experienced people,
while at the same time not interrupting your training in soldiering.”
Shida Kichinosuke was a relatively low-ranking samurai, but because of his brilliance his advice was greatly valued by those in the highest echelons. He was also admired for his bravery. However, it appears he spent most of his time indulging in strange behavior, pretending to be greedy and stupid, saying incredible things. Once when he was traveling as an eye-medicine merchant, he was attacked by a group of bandits. He cut three of them down, injured two others, and chased away the rest. He kept the incident to himself, but the story eventually came out. When someone said to him, “Sir, you are a great swordsman,” he is said to have responded, “Absolutely not. I’m a coward. I thought I’d be killed if I just stood around, but I cherished my life, so I cut them down before they cut me down.”
When a group met to discuss the promotion of a certain man, it was pointed out that some time back he had drunk an excessive amount of sake; the group, therefore, unanimously agreed not to promote him. But the man in question spoke out and said, “If you give up on somebody because he once made a mistake, you won’t be able to find people who can serve our master usefully. Someone who once made a mistake regrets it, becomes careful, and so can serve his master usefully. You should promote me.”
Someone asked, “Do you guarantee your statement?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
Everybody asked, “What is your guaranty?”
“The fact that I made a mistake,” he said. “Somebody who hasn’t made a single mistake is dangerous.”
So he was promoted.
So-and-so ended up disgracing himself because he did not revenge himself in a quarrel. The way you revenge yourself is to walk into your enemy’s place, prepared to be killed. When you’re killed, it won’t be shameful. Because you think you must successfully carry out your revenge, it becomes too late. Once you start saying things like, “They’ve got too many on their side,” you let time pass, and in the end you agree among yourselves not to do it. Even if there are thousands of them on the other side, you must go, determined to cut down as many of them as you can, as they come. That’s an accomplishment. That’s what you have to do.
Similarly, it was a mistake that Lord Asano’s masterless samurai didn’t disembowel themselves at Sengaku Temple after their night assault.3 It was also in error for them to postpone again and again the attempt to kill their enemy, Lord Kira, after letting him kill their master. It would have been a matter of grave regret indeed if Kira had died in the meantime, of illness, for example. Those urban people are brainy and clever, and are skilled in doing things in a way that draws praise. They don’t do things in an unthinking fashion as people in the Nagasaki Quarrel did.
Again, the Soga brothers’ vendetta was unnecessarily postponed, with Sukenari missing an excellent opportunity when he was
invited into the enemy’s camp. That was unfortunate. What [Soga] Gor said was right.
The “Nagasaki Quarrel” is an incident that took place in Nagasaki on the twentieth of the twelfth month, 1700, two years before the successful assault on the Kira mansion by the forty-seven samurai. On the basis of a record kept at the time, the incident may be summarized as follows:
When two Nabeshima samurai, Fukabori San’emon and Shibahara Buemon, walked past a servant of Takagi Hikoemon by the name of
Snai on a snow-covered muddy road, a splash from either San’emon or Buemon soiled Snai’s kimono. Flaunting the fact that
he worked for Hikoemon, a ranking official, Snai extravagantly cursed the samurai. San’emon and Buemon became furious and
kicked Snai down into the mud and beat him up. Snai ran away, vowing to return with his men to retaliate.
That night Snai did return with a dozen men. San’emon and Buemon, having anticipated this, tried to fight back with swords.
But evidently better qualified in intentions than in fighting skill, the two men were overwhelmed in no time and severely
beaten before Snai and his men left.
When San’emon’s son, Kaemon, learned what had happened to his father, he ran toward Hikoemon’s house for revenge. Buemon’s servants and other relatives joined him, and the next morning a total of twelve men broke into Hikoemon’s house and, without suffering any casualty on their side, killed most of the men inside, including Hikoemon. When the fight was over, San’emon and Buemon disemboweled themselves, saying their wishes were fulfilled.
On the twenty-first of the third month of the following year, the Edo government’s verdicts on those involved in the incident reached the Nabeshima fiefdom: death by disembowelment for the remaining ten men, and exile for the nine who came to Hikoemon’s house to help-though after the fight was over.
The “Soga brothers’ vendetta” refers to the killing, in 1193, of Kud Suketsune by Soga Jr Sukenari (1172-93) and his brother
Gor Tokimune (1174-93) to avenge their father.
In 1193, beginning on the fifteenth of the fifth month, Minamoto no Yoritomo (1147-99) sponsored large-scale hunting on the
outskirts of Mt. Fuji. Suketsune and the Soga brothers took part along with a great number of other samurai. According to
Soga Monogatari, the narrative of the vendetta Tsunetomo here refers to, on the night of the first day, while spying on Suketsune, Jr is
spotted by the latter’s son and is invited into his camp where a banquet is being given. Jr is summoned to Suketsune’s seat and hears him deny any wrongdoing in relation to his father, explaining
that all that’s said is nothing but slander. He then even dances at his enemy’s request. However, deciding to carry out the
revenge with his brother, he deliberately lets go the chance to kill Suketsune.
Told of this afterward, Gor says, “The timing was so good you should have killed him, even though, come to think of it, I’d
certainly like to kill him with you, too.” Later on, he also says, “That was like going to a treasure mountain and coming
back empty-handed. But I’m glad you restrained yourself.”
So Tsunetomo’s commentary on Gor’s reaction is only half right.
Jr and Gor successfully carried out their vendetta thirteen days later. But in the mayhem following Suketsune’s slaying,
Jr was killed. Gor managed to escape but was soon arrested and beheaded.
I shouldn’t be criticizing such things, but I say them because we are looking into the way of the warrior. Unless you think about such things before something happens, you won’t be able to act properly when you face a real situation, but will mostly end up shaming yourself. You listen to people and read books so that you may have a resolve in anticipation of a real event.
The way of the warrior is something you must contemplate in every detail, day and night, on the assumption that you may not be able to live through the day. You may win or lose, depending on the circumstances. But you can’t shame yourself. You must die. If you have shamed yourself, you must revenge yourself on the spot. No wisdom is required for this. An accomplished warrior doesn’t think whether he’s going to win or lose, but dashes into the place of death with single-minded determination. In so doing he rids himself of all “illusions.”
Tsunetomo’s assertion that a samurai must act with unthinking, single-minded determination in order to avoid disgracing himself
or to shed the disgrace already suffered may strike some as bizarre. But Tsunetomo’s contemporary, the noted Confucian thinker
and military strategist Yamaga Sok (1622-85), for example, believed in much the same thing; among the dicta he has left is, “The moment you’re touched by
a sense of pity, you must rise against your enemy no matter how few soldiers you may have on your side.”
Sok’s observation may be traced to the Chinese philosopher Mencius, who said, “The feeling of pity is the beginning of virtuousness”
–i.e., the moment you spontaneously respond to your sense of pity, you’ve already begun to ascend toward the ultimate virtue.
Apparently Sok interpreted the word “pity” –sokuin, in Japanese–in a broad sense, using it to mean something like “a triggered emotion.” Some say Sok’s school of thinking
was behind the actions of later military men such as General Nogi Maresuke (1849-1912) and Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku (1884-1943).
Until about fifty or sixty years ago, a samurai used to wash himself with cold water every morning, scent the shaven top of his head and his hair with incense, clip the nails of his hands and toes, rub them with a piece of pumice, then polish them with sorrel, to make himself presentable in every way. Above all, he took care not to let his weapons rust; he kept them dusted and polished to have them always ready.
The fact that a samurai used to make himself presentable may suggest he was trying to be a dandy; perhaps, but he never tried to be fashionable. He was ready to be killed in battle at any moment of the day. But if he was killed when not presentable, that would reveal that he hadn’t been ready, and he would be dismissed by his enemy and despised as unsightly. That’s why a samurai, young or old, tried to keep himself presentable. You may think I’m exaggerating or that I’m repeating myself, but that’s what a samurai’s job is all about. There’s nothing special or hard about it. If you always maintain yourself in readiness to be killed in battle, if you completely hold yourself in a state of death as you serve your master and act in military situations, you will never shame yourself.
There is a way of bringing up a warrior’s son. From infancy, encourage him to be brave. No matter what happens, do not scare him or cheat him. Cowardice acquired in childhood will remain as a flaw for life. As a parent, try not to be careless and show a boy that he can be scared of thunder or that he doesn’t have to go into dark places. Telling scary stories to make him stop crying is a terrible thing. Also, if you scold an infant boy too severely, you’ll make him diffident.
Make sure that he will not develop bad habits. Once he develops a bad habit, just telling him to get rid of it won’t work. Make him learn gradually the proper manners and speech. See to it that he will not develop greedy tendencies. In other ways you may be normal; if the boy is normal, he will grow up all right.
People are right in saying that if parents don’t get along with each other, their son grows up to be unfilial. Even birds and beasts learn, from their birth, by looking at their parents and listening to them.
Also, if the mother is unthinking, she may end up ruining the relationship between father and son. Because she tends to love her son blindly, she may side with him when the father criticizes him, in effect the mother and son united against the father, and the son may end up not getting along with the father. This is a terrible thing. You may even think that she is doing that hoping her son will take care of her in her old age.
Confucius said, “When you make a mistake, don’t hesitate to correct it.” If you correct your mistake immediately, the effect of the mistake will be vastly reduced. Trying to cover it up is unseemly, and you will suffer from it.
For example, if you realize you have said something you shouldn’t have said, you should admit it at once. If you do that, what you have said won’t remain and you don’t have to be worried about it. If someone criticizes you even then, you should say, “I have said what I have by mistake, so I have admitted it. If you feel that’s not enough, there’s nothing more I can do about it. I didn’t say what I did with you in mind, so I’d be grateful if you could pretend I didn’t say what I did. We all can’t avoid saying this or that about other people, can we?”
In any event, you should never tell a secret or talk about other people. Also, if you are with a group of people, you should be careful about each word you utter.
When it comes to handwriting, nothing seems better than that which is mannerly and meticulous. But, in reality, such handwriting is often stiff and base. There should be something that goes beyond the standard rules. This applies to every other thing.
The metsuke4 can do harm unless he knows what his function is. The position of metsuke was created to aid in governing the country. Because the lord by himself can’t see and hear everything in detail, the metsuke is expected to report to the lord clearly and accurately how the lord is conducting himself, the good or evil acts of the administrators, the justice or injustice of the government’s verdict, what people are saying, and the joys and sufferings of his lowly subjects, so that the lord may justly govern. His position is so called because its true purpose is to provide the lord with an eye.
For all this, many in the position of metsuke are prone to concentrate on evil acts of lowly people they see and hear about. Since evil acts never cease, this brings unnecessary harm. Among the lowly those who are honest are rare. But their evil acts seldom harm the country.
Also, prosecutors must conduct their investigations with the inclination to favor what the criminals say, so that they may not be punished. Doing so will in the end help the lord.
The way of the warrior lies in frantic death – walking into the place of death without flinching. At times the slaying of one man may be carried out by fifty to sixty men. Lord Naoshige has commented: You can’t achieve anything great in sanity. A warrior can only become insane and die a frantic death. In the way of the warrior the moment you begin to think, it’s too late. The way of the warrior has no use for loyalty or filial devotion; it is simply frantic death. Within the frantic death itself are both loyalty and filial devotion contained.
Ittei5, said “You make yourself unnecessarily unworthy if you look at what a truly accomplished man does and think that you can’t be that good. A truly accomplished man is a human being; so are you. The moment you decide you can’t be inferior and you take up something, you’ve already grasped the essence of the matter at hand. Deciding at age fifteen to be accomplished in scholarship was what that great man was all about.6 He wasn’t the great man that he was because he made the decision and then worked hard to become a great man.”
Ittei also said: “The moment you decide to become enlightened, you are.”
A samurai must be careful about everything and try not to show any weakness. Untrained in how to say things, he is prone to say things like, “I’m a coward,” “At such a time I’d run away,” “That’s scary,” and “It hurts.” Such are the things you should never say, be it as a joke or to be playful or while in sleep or in delirium. Anyone with insight may see what you are really like. You should always keep this in mind.
In the Yoshitsune Gunka (Yoshitsune’s Military Verse),7 is one that says, “A commander must often speak to his men.” Not only when doing so is appropriate but also in normal circumstances, a commander should say even to ordinary soldiers things like, “You’ve done a fine job again,” “I’d be grateful if you worked particularly hard this time,” and “You’re such a great fellow!” If the commander says things like these, his men won’t mind giving up their lives for him. Such words play a crucial role.
My father Yamamoto Shin’emon Yoshitada used to say: “The ultimate asset for a samurai is the people he has. You may think you yourself can serve your lord adequately, but you can’t do a warrior’s work by yourself. When it comes to money, you can borrow it from somebody else. People don’t suddenly materialize before you. You must take care to maintain able people with considerateness. When you have people working for you, you mustn’t think of filling your mouth with food first, but give it to them first. Then they will stay with you.”
As a result, those who knew my father used to gossip among themselves, “No one of Shin’emon’s status and rank has as many people as he does” or “Shin’emon has more people than I do.” Many of the men he trained in his employment went on to serve directly under Lord Katsushige as spear-bearers. When he was ordered to head a military unit, he received the lord’s word: “When it comes to the members of his unit, Shin’emon may replace them with the ones he likes.” In addition, a special stipend was issued, so Shin’emon could fill the entire unit with his retainers.
At any regular moon-viewing session, Lord Katsushige used to send out Shin’emon’s men to get ritual saltwater at Terai, saying, “Have the members of Shin’emon’s unit do the work. They don’t mind going into deep places to get the water.”
When your lord depends on you like this, you can only serve him with dedication and care.
In Kusunoki Masashige Hygo Ki is the statement, “Surrendering is something a samurai never does, be it for deceiving the enemy or for the emperor.” That’s
the way a loyal subject should be.
Kusunoki Masashige Hygo Ki (Record of Kusunoki Masashige in Hygo) is a book of sayings attributed to Kusunoki Masashige (1294-1336),8 which, as legend has it, Masashige himself gave to Onchi Wada, in Hygo, before riding into a hopeless battle. The original
passage Tsunetomo refers to reads:
When you are surrounded by your enemy on all sides and you are the only one left, if you decide to surrender with the thought of carrying out a plot against the enemy later, you are no longer a courageous man. Once you think of your survival by a plot against the enemy, you will never carry that plot out because when the time comes you will think of some other thing that’s beneficial to your life. Tension exists only while you’re carrying out your action, regarding your enemy and your death as one and the same.