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JKO_RONIN
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Posted: 24 April 2005 at 1:05am | IP Logged Quote JKO_RONIN




 



Edited by JKO_RONIN on 01 March 2006 at 2:38pm
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Posted: 24 April 2005 at 1:22am | IP Logged Quote JKO_RONIN

This small book with black and white pictures is probably one of the best books ever written about Samurai.  It is my favorite and I consider it important for anyone interested in Japanese History, Martial Arts or Samurai.

The reason I consider this book important is that it demonstrates the beliefs of the warriors themselves, in their own words.  You can see how the warriors thought and what they beleived in. 




Everyone knows that if a man doesn't hold filial piety toward his own parents he would also neglect his duties toward his lord. Such a neglect means a disloyalty toward humanity. Therefore such a man doesn't deserve to be called 'samurai'.
-Takeda Shingen






Natsu gusa ya
Tsuwamono domo ga
Yume no ato

Summer grass:
Of stalwart warrior's splendid dreams,
The aftermath
-Matsuo Basho


Edited by JKO_RONIN on 05 December 2005 at 12:18am
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Posted: 13 July 2005 at 9:57pm | IP Logged Quote JKO_RONIN


IDEALS OF THE SAMURAI:  WRITINGS OF JAPANESE WARRIORS


TRANSLATION AND INTRODUCTION BY WILLIAM SCOTT WILSON
EDITOR:  GREGORY N. LEE
GRAPHIC DESIGNER:  KAREN MASSAD

CALLIGRAPHY: J. BREMS
PHOTOGRAPHY:  CLINTON CLEVELAND



!982 Ohara Publications, Inc
BURBANK CALIFORNIA
U.S. Library of Congress 82-60937
ISBN 0-89750-081-4


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The translator and editor would like to express their thanks to the following for their kind permission to reprint the samurai portraits which appear in this volume:

The portrait of Asakura Toshikage on page 69 and the portrait of Hojo Soun on page 77 originally appeared in Nihon no Shozo (ed. National Museum of Kyoto, 1978); courtesy of Chuokoron-sha, Inc., publishers.

The portrait of Nabeshima Naoshige on page 116 originally appeared in Dai Nihon Shiryo (ed. Tokyo Daigaku Shiryo Hensanjo); the portraits of Kuroda Nagamasa on page 138 and Kato Kiyomasa on page 131 originally appeared in Shozo senshu (ed. Nihon Rekishi Gakkai, 1962); courtesy of Yoshikawa Kobunkan, publishers.

The portrait of Takeda Shingen on page 94 originally appeared in Sekai Denki Daijiten, Vol. III (1978); courtesy of The Rev. Naomichi Nakada of the Jorinji Monastery in Yamanashi and Holp Shuppan, publishers.

The portrait of Torii Mototada on page 123 originally appeared in Buke no Kamon to Hatajirushi (by Kenichi Takahashi, 1972); courtesy of Akita Shoten, publishers.

Our thanks also to the staff and management of Japan's National Diet Library, Division for Interlibrary Services, in Tokyo, for their help in locating and reproducing these portraits.

W.S.W. & G.N.L.



A NOTE ON THE TRANSLATIONS

To preserve the historical character of these translations, all proper names have been written in the traditional Japanese manner, with the family name first.




Dedication
To my children,
Matthew and Michelle,
for their patience




Translation and Introduction by
William Scott Wilson


William Scott Wilson was born in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1944, and grew up in Florida. He is fluent in modern Japanese and has reading knowledge of both classical Japanese and Chinese. He currently holds a master's degree in Japanese language and literature from the University of Washington in Seattle.
Wilson's interest in Japanese culture was sparked on a kayaking expedition along the Japanese coast during 1966 as part of an assignment for National Geographic. He returned a year later to live briefly in Japan, but became convinced that a thorough under-standing of its people and culture could only be realized by mastering the language. He went to the Monterey Institute of Foreign Studies in California, discovering the inseparable aspect of Japan's warrior tradition within its cultural personality. Wilson also studied a Chinese style of kung fu.
Wilson returned to Japan for some intensive research at Aichi Prefectural University in Nagoya from 1975-77, translating the works of Yamamoto Tsunetomo, which he eventually published as Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai (Kodansha International Ltd., 1979). The work is a revealing discussion of the samurai way of life and represents one of the most radical aspects of Japanese thought.
Since August, 1980, Wilson has served as a consular specialist for the Consulate General of Japan in Seattle, heading the Trade Section and advising the Consul on political and economic matters between the U.S. and Japan. Wilson is also at work on a translation of The Budoshoshinshu, a classic work on Japanese warrior philosophy by Daidoji Yuzan, written in the early 18th century.
Wilson currently lives in Florida with his wife and two children.







Edited by JKO_RONIN on 01 March 2006 at 2:45pm
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PREFACE

In the spring of 1592, the forces of the once-powerful Takeda clan had been nearly destroyed. Outnumbered by the enemy nearly ten to one, the last feudal lord of the clan fled the provincial capital to Mt. Tenmoku, where he was captured and killed, his once matchless troops in full retreat. Tsuchiya Sozo, a warrior who had been in disfavor for a number of years, came out alone, however, resolved to show his sincerity. With the remark, "I wonder where all the men are who spoke so bravely every day?" he walked out onto the battlefield to die alone in combat.

In the late fall of 1944, a young lieutenant in the Japanese navy named Teshi Haruo was stationed on a small island in the Pacific. One morning in the early hours his post received word by radio that a huge American naval force was on its way through to the Philippines, destroying all Japanese outposts en route. Escape for the lieutenant and his men was not expressed as a possibility. As Lt. Teshi sat listening to the early morning rain, his first thoughts were about his uniform: Was it clean? Had he sincerely shown himself ready to die?

The thread of thought that links men like Tsuchiya Sozo and Lt. Teshi Haruo is a long one, extending to well before the 16th century, and forward today as one of the spiritual foundations of the Japanese people, and consequently of the modern martial arts. It is important to us, not only for understanding one aspect of Japanese history and culture, but also for providing a more solid basis for our own activity—or inactivity—with those around us. Developed by a class that was to rule Japan for nearly 800 years, and interpenetrating Japanese life in so many ways, the samurai spirit is an approach to being in the world that deserves our attention, regardless of what our own particular focus of interest may be.
Who was the warrior and what were his values? There are many sources to which one may turn: histories, novels, or even plays and movies. But these are, essentially, the views of outsiders and, al-though valid in their own right, do not come from the source it-self. In the ninth book of the Hagakure, an early 18th-century treatise on the warrior spirit, this story is given:

The Buddhist priest, Ryozan, wrote down some generalities concerning Lord Takanobu's battles. A certain priest saw this and criticized him saying, "It is inappropriate for a priest to write about a military commander. No matter how successful his writing style may be, since he is not acquainted with military affairs, he is liable to be mistaken in understanding a great general's mind. It is irreverent to pass on misconceptions concerning a famous general to latter generations." (Yamamoto, 1979)

This is the assumption of this book as well, and the guiding principle behind the present translations. To get a complete picture of the Japanese warrior, we must understand how the warrior saw imself.
The materials translated in this book were taken from many textual sources, listed in the bibliography. All of them, however, can be found, with some difference in manuscript forms, in the collection of Buke no Kakun, edited by Yoshida Yutaka, and published by the Tokuma Shoten. I am greatly indebted to Mr. Yohida's notes on the texts and to his clear translations into modern Japanese. I would also like to express my appreciation to Profesors Noburu Hiraga and Richard McKinnon who instructed me, against all odds, in the various forms of classical Chinese and Japanese in which the original texts were written, and who assisted ie by asking questions concerning the texts for which I rarely eemed to have the proper answers. I am grateful to Akira Takeda, Sally Rutledge and Colleen O'Zora who also gave freely of their time and effort in the progress of the manuscript. Finally, a very special thanks to Marilyn Priestley, who patiently read and re-read parts of my own manuscript, and whose valuable suggestions aided greatly in this production. Any and all mistakes are my own.

—William Scott Wilson 1982


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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION                                                          13

THE MESSAGE OF MASTER GOKURAKUJI                       35
Hojo Shigetoki (1198-1261 A.D.)

THE CHIKUBASHO                                                       45
Shiba Yoshimasa (1350-1410 A.D.)

THE REGULATIONS OF IMAGAWA RYOSHUN                   57
Imagawa Sadayo (1325-1420 A.D.)

THE SEVENTEEN ARTICLES OF ASAKURA TOSHIKAGE     65
Asakura Toshikage (1428-1481 A.D.)

THE TWENTY-ONE PRECEPTS OF HOJO SOUN                  73
Hojo Nagauji (1432-1519 A.D.)

THE RECORDED WORDS OF ASAKURA SOTEKI               81
Asakura Norikage (1474-1555 A.D.)

THE IWAMIZUDERA MONOGATARI                                 89
Takeda Shingen (1521-1573 A.D.)

OPINIONS IN NINETY-NINE ARTICLES                           99
Takeda Nobushige (1525-1561 A.D.)

LORD NABESHIMA'S WALL INSCRIPTIONS                    113
Nabeshima Naoshige (1538-1618 A.D.)

THE LAST STATEMENT OF TORII MOTOTADA                 119
Torn Mototada (1539-1600 A.D.)

THE PRECEPTS OF KATO KIYOMASA                             127
Kato Kiyomasa (1562-1611 A.D.)

NOTES ON REGULATIONS                                            133
Kuroda Nagamasa (1568-1623 A.D.)

BIBLIOGRAPHY                                                           142

Edited by JKO_RONIN on 12 November 2005 at 2:15pm
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JKO_RONIN
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Posted: 13 July 2005 at 10:08pm | IP Logged Quote JKO_RONIN

Once I was a gallant with books and a sword .. .
I studied the arts of peace and studied
the arts of war.
I studied the arts of war and studied the
arts of peace.

-Han-Shan




Learning is something that should be studied
broadly. It is, for example, like the beggar's
bag in which everything from leftover meat to
cold soup is stored.


-Hosokawa Yusai


Edited by JKO_RONIN on 01 March 2006 at 2:43pm
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INTRODUCTION




"When the world is at peace, a gentleman keeps his
sword by his side."    —Wu Tsu


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INTRODUCTION

Description of the Translated Texts

According to Japanese mythology, some thousands of years ago the gods Izanagi and Izanami created the first island of the Japanese archipelago from a "heavenly floating bridge." This they did with a spear. From that time there developed a martial tradition that has been intimately bound up, in one degree or another, with the country's culture in terms of literature, art and ethics, and is a living heritage even today.
The way of life and world-outlook of the Japanese warrior is remarkable, both in the vigor that has sustained him over the centuries, and his balanced view of the complete man as being both martial and literate. Understanding what the warrior meant by these two concepts is important to us in approaching Japanese culture as a whole, and because that understanding may give us a new position to judge our own values as well.
Presented in this book are 12 selections of what might broadly be called kakun and yuikai, clan precepts and "last statements," from the heads of the Japanese warrior houses to their descendants and clan elders. They range from literal "last statements," such as the letter sent from Torii Mototada to his son on the eve of the destruction of his castle, to precepts meditated upon in the quiet of Buddhist temples by Hojo Shigetoki, or the dictums of Takeda Shingen put into writing years after his death. They are all alike in that they represent the ideals of the warrior class and were written down to help guarantee the perpetuation of the clan; they are statements from warriors to warriors, without the approval of other classes in mind. They are, therefore, vital and sincere.
The purpose of this introductory essay is to take a broad look at the warriors who wrote and were affected by these precepts in terms of their origin, their society's perception of them, and the systems of thought that were their daily intellectual and emotional bread.

This volume covers a period that could be called the "classical period" of the Japanese warrior; that is, from immediately after the time of Taira no Kiyomori's influence at court in the late 12th century, through the Period of the Warring States, to the beginning of the Tokugawa peace, during which the role of the warrior lost much of its immediacy. It is during this classical period that the warrior's activities in national affairs were greatest in scope, and it is mostly during this time that the genre considered here flourished. Before the 12th century fewer examples of warrior writings seem to exist and, with the Tokugawa peace, the problems of the warrior class changed and were subject more to philosophizing and idealization. Throughout the 600 years in question, the formulation of martial precepts was based directly on experience and was vital to the problem of the continuance of the clan. During the Tokugawa period, however, military affairs ceased to dominate the samurai's life, the great warrior houses were for the most part well established, and the warrior class had to re-examine its values.
The writers presented here represent a broad spectrum of personalities and social standing: from the upper-class members of the Baku fu (tent government) and hereditary lords (such as Hojo Shigetoki and Shiba Yoshimasa), to the "sudden daimyos" and vassal-generals (like Asakura Toshikage and Torii Mototada), from men who were energetically involved in the world of letters (exemplified by Imagawa Ryoshun), to those who forbade thei study of poetry and Noh altogether (like Kato Kiyomasa). In this way, the reader may see the values that remained consistent through many generations and personalities as well as those that changed or were interpreted from a different point of view.

Finally, it should be mentioned that the texts themselves vary substantially in style. The Regulations of Imagawa Ryoshun and the Opinions in Ninety-Nine Articles were, for example, written in a terse classical Chinese, the latter selection consisting primarily of quotations of older Chinese sources. The Chikubasho, on the other hand, was written in a very fluid form of Japanese that reflects the author's high regard for Japanese court life in both style and content. The other selections range in language between these extremes, from the wordiness of Kuroda Nagamasa to the laconic style of Nabeshima Naoshige. Generally, however, these works were written by men who were neither uneducated nor unsophisticated, and follow a grammar that is both readable and remarkably consistent when we consider the dramatic changes in English over the same period of time. Again, they were written less to be enjoyed than to be understood and given heed.



Origin of the Warrior

In Japanese there are several terms that approach the meaning of "warrior," but the closest in usage and feeling is probably the term bushi (
±). Breaking down the character bu (武) reveals the radical (止), meaning "to stop," and an abbreviation of the radical ( ) "spear." The Shuo Wen, an early Chinese dictionary, gives this definition: "Bu consists of subduing the weapon and therefore stopping the spear." The Tso Chuan, another early Chinese source, goes further:

Bu consists of bun (文): literature or letters, and generally the arts of peace) stopping the spear. Bu prohibits violence and subdues weapons ... it puts the people at peace, and harmonizes the masses.

The radical shi (±) on the other hand seems to have originally meant a person who performs some function or who has the ability in some field. Early in Chinese history it came to define the upper class of society, and in the Book of Han this definition is given :

The shi, the farmer, the craftsman, and the tradesman are the four professions of the people. He who occupies his rank by means of learning is called a shi.

This should not be misleading, however, because the shi, as the highest of the four classes, brandished the weapons as well as the books. Historically, these shi originated in the late Chou and Warring States Period as the superfluous landed descendants of nobility—well-educated and armed, owing allegiance to no one in particular—farmed out to the provinces because their number over-burdened (or worried) the court.
Bushi therefore seems to have meant a man who has the ability to keep the peace, either by literary or military means, but pre-dominantly by the latter. In a book from the Han Period, for example, we find this entry:

Therefore, the gentleman avoids the three extremities. He avoids the extremity of the pen of the literary man; he avoids the extremity of the halberd of the military man; and he avoids the extremity of the tongue of the advocate.

The word bushi likely entered the Japanese vocabulary with the general introduction of Chinese learning and was added to the indigenous words, tsuwamono and mononofu. Its earliest appearance in writing was in the Shoku Nihongi, an early history of Japan completed in 797 A.D. In a section of that book covering the year 723, we read:

Again, the August Personage said, "Literary men and warriors are they whom the nation values."

It is important to keep in mind the connotation of the peaceful arts with this term, for although the bun and the bu were very clearly contrasted, they were at the same time considered essential qualities of the superior man by both the Chinese and Japanese. We will see this distinctly from the Japanese warrior's point of view in these translations.
The other term used for the Japanese military man was samurai, written either 士 or  . In Chinese, the character    was originally a verb meaning to wait upon or accompany a person in the upper ranks of society, and this is also true of the original term in Japanese, saburau. In both countries the terms were nominalized to mean "those who serve in close attendance to the nobility," the pronunciation in Japanese changing to saburai. An early reference to this word is found in the Kokinshu, the first imperial anthology of poems, completed in the first part of the tenth century.

Attendant to nobility
Ask for your master's umbrella.
The dews neath the trees of Miyagino
Are thicker than rain.
(Poem 1091)

From the middle of the Heian Period these attendants served as guardians to the higher nobility and thus carried weapons. As they were taken more and more from the warrior class, saburai became synonymous with bushi almost entirely by the end of the 12th century. As time went on, the word was closely associated with the middle and upper echelons of the warrior class, and especially those who were involved in government or clan administration, or those who were direct vassals.

The origin of the men who carried these names coincided with the development of the shoen (estate) system. This system evolved in the late centuries of the first millenium as large rice producing estates were claimed as hereditary possessions of great aristocratic families and thus became exempt from taxation and other interference from the central government. At the same time, the ad-ministration of the public tax-paying domains—still one-half of the tilled land in the late 12th century—gradually fell into the hands of deputies appointed by provincial governors. These lower-ranking deputy positions also tended to become hereditary, and the families who received them often remained in the provinces, extending their households and private lands. As a result of these policies, both the shoen and the public provinces became virtually independent of the central government authorities.
The history of the bushi as a class begins at this point. With the progressive inability of the central government to maintain order in the provinces, both the administrators of public domains and the proprietors of private estates began to develop their own armies to protect their interests in the ensuing struggles over land and title. This movement was actually initiated by the court itself as early as 792 with the introduction of the kondei system, a system that recruited local "physically able" young men, the sons of district chiefs, to keep order in the provinces, and essentially hastened the abandonment of the concept of a government militia (Lu, 1974). These defense groups, which grew gradually between the ninth and 12th centuries, tended to be organized along family lines, taking in non-related members of the agricultural community as ke'nin (house men) as time went on. As they grew in strength they were often able to discard the aristocratic absentee landlords of the manors they "protected." The need for legitimacy was fulfilled in the lineage of their leaders who were, if not the descendants of the ancient aristocratic uji (clans predating the origin of the warrior class), were descendants of the imperial line itself.
Thus, the Japanese bushi were reminiscent of the Chinese shi who had flourished centuries before. Aristocratic by birth, they were not uneducated; being landholders or administrators of estates and often whole provinces, they had income to support the armory and horses necessary to the warrior class.
Eventually, the civil government lost control not only of the provinces, but of the capital itself. In 1156, a succession dispute called the Hogen Disturbance broke out between imperial princes, and leaders of the two major bushi clans, the Taira and Minamoto, were called upon to back one pretender or another. The result of the clash was the temporary emergence of the Taira and eclipse of the Minamoto, but more importantly, the beginning of warrior rule: Taira Kiyomori, the head of his clan, not only took military control of Kyoto, but also began to dominate the court as well. The Taira in turn were crushed in 1185 by a re-emergence of the Minamoto, and with this event bushi rule became complete. The leader of the Minamoto forces, Yoritomo, established the bakufu. This organization in one form or another would be the basic government apparatus in Japan for the next 700 years.
The new warrior government strengthened its already powerful position through economic means. With the defeat of Taira, Yoritomo was able to claim extensive holdings expropriated from the defeated enemy, many of which he used as rewards, either as private estates or administrative appointments, for those who had supported him. This action broadened the warriors' economic base considerably, and created a vassalage for Yoritomo and later the bakufu in general. The warrior was now entirely in control.
The image of the aristocratic warrior described in the early chronicles tells only part of the story. Although many of its leaders came from aristocratic or even imperial lineage, the ranks of the samurai class were bolstered by the low class ashigaru (foot soldier), who did not share the cultural background or economic means of his betters. Still, some of these men and their families came up through the ranks rewarded for ability or feats of courage. They became, if not aristocrats, upper-class warriors and generals. This phenomenon was most pronounced during the Warring States Period, and the extreme example would be that of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who rose from a very low estate to be the most powerful ruler in the country. Ironically, this was the same man who, beginning with the famous "sword hunt" of 1588 and through an edict in 1591, closed the social mobility by which he and others had risen, enclosing Japanese society within the four classes of warriors, farmers, artisans and merchants.
Finally, it was the warrior class that in large part carried on the cultural heritage received from the fading court aristocracy. From the time of Taira, the temptation to stay in the capital and dally in literary or other cultural affairs had been detrimental to the clan's survival and even to the warrior class' ruling position, and the various leaders were able to deal with this problem with varying degrees of success. At least some cultural attainment was considered important by almost all of the great warrior leaders, and a rise in the power or social status of a warrior or clan was usually accompanied by a corresponding effort to attain similar heights in the world of culture. The examples of the castle towns at Ichijogatani and Odawara built by the Asakura and the later Hojo demonstrate this tendency to a remarkable degree. Under this impetus and the image of the correct balance of bun and bu, the ideal of the scholar-warrior would survive even after the battles were long over. It would be a mistake, however, to think that all samurai were lettered. For although a more democratic education among the warriors gained momentum as time went on, it had certainly not been fully realized—despite the social position of the class as a whole—even by the late 17th century.

The View of the Warrior in Literature

The character of the warrior appears throughout the literature of Japan and studying this literature makes it possible to examine the warrior as he was seen through the eyes of his contemporary observers.
The warrior first appears in the Kojiki, Japan's oldest extant book, compiled in 712 by a learned aristocrat as a sort of national history of the Yamato Court, and reaches back to the earliest memories of the Japanese people. It may be mentioned in passing that the first emperor recorded by the Kojiki was named Jimmu (神武), or Divine Warrior, supposed to have flourished around the seventh century, B.C. Although the chapters concerned with Emperor Jimmu deal in part with his military conquests, it is the accounts of his descendant, Yamato Takeru, or the Brave of Yamato, that we are given the picture of the individual warrior and his character.

Diction in the Kojiki and elsewhere indicates that Yamato Takeru may have been considered as an emperor himself, but he is usually regarded as the brave and somewhat wild son of the Emperor Keiko, and the pacifier of "the unruly dieties and unsubmissive people" of the East and West (Philippi, 1968). Although he began his career in the signal manner of slaughtering his elder brother as he went to the privy, Yamato Takeru spent his life traveling the length and breadth of the country in military con-quests at his father's command. Though rough and cunning in his dealings with the enemy, he is given sympathetic treatment in the Kojiki, portrayed as a filial son lamenting his own father's distance and, perhaps, fear of him. On his way to conquering the tribes of the East, he says to his aunt:

"Is it because the emperor wishes me to die soon? Why did he dispatch me to attack the evil people of the West? Then when I came back, why did he dispatch me once more after only a short while, without giving me troops, to subdue the evil people of .. . the East? In view of all of this, he must wish me to die soon."
Thus saying, he lamented and cried. (Philippi, 1968)

The Kojiki, moreover, assigns to him the composition of several poems. Upon the slaying of Izumo Takeru (after tricking him into wearing a bladeless sword) he recites:

The many-clouds-rising
Izumo Takeru
Wears a Sword
With many vines wrapped around it,
But no blade inside, alas.

Other poems are addressed to loved ones, his homeland, and even a pine tree, but his last poem, composed as he lay dying, attests to his martial calling:

Next to the maiden's
Sleeping place
I left
The sabre, the sword—
Alas, that sword.

a poem prophetic of the high regard to be given the Japanese sword in a much later age.

Yamato Takeru may be considered the rough ideal of the Japanese warrior to come. He is sincere and loyal, slicing up his father's enemies "like melons," unbending and yet not unfeeling, as can be seen in his laments for lost wives and homeland, and in his willingness to combat the enemy alone. Most important, his portrayal in the Kojiki indicates that the ideal of harmonizing the literary with the martial may have been an early trait of Japanese civilization, appealing to the Japanese long before its introduction from Confucian China.

Whether the depiction of Yamato Takeru is a close replica of the warrior in first-century Japan, a creation of eighth-century aristocrats, or some combination of the two, is a matter of conjecture. What is certain is that by the end of the tenth century, military personnel were no longer considered fit subjects for literature by the court, at least at any length. While officers of the palace guard and capital police were elected from the aristocratic circles, these posts were no more than formalities and those who filled them "would have been incredulous and horrified if the Ministry (of War) had asked them to perform any military duties" (Morris, 1969).

The real warrior was indelibly connected with the provinces, and those who lived in the provinces were considered barbarians. The city of Heian-kyo was the center of all things that mattered, and for most of the people who lived there the appointment of a post at any distance from the capital was considered a misfortune.

This was certainly the prevailing attitude at the time of Lady Murasaki, the author of the Tale of Genji, Japan's oldest novel. Her unflattering description of Tayu no Gen, the Lord-Lieutenant of Tsukushi, was apparently typical of the regard in which even the highest-ranking military men were held. Beyond having "the power (which he frequently exercised) of assuming the most repulsively ferocious expression," his style of calligraphy—the art that was considered above all others to manifest breeding in Heian times—"was not an agreeable one, being very tortuous and affected" (Waley, 1935).

He is generally dismissed as a "coarse and unscrupulous barbarian," and Tamarazura, the sad object of his affections, is lamented as "being wasted in this barbarous and sequestered land," which in this case happened to be Kyushu but could just as easily have been a short distance outside the Heiankyo city limits.

At any rate, the contempt of the courtiers for the warrior is rendered conspicuous in the Tale of Genji by the absence of nearly any mention of him at all. The courtiers' feelings are ironically put into the very mouth of Tayu no Gen, and his own words perhaps summarize their prejudices most clearly. After "a long period of meditation" he has produced a poem judged favorable only by on to say:

"I expect you look upon me as a very uncultivated, provincial person. And so I should be if I were at all like the other people around here. But I've been very fortunate; you would not find many men even at the City who have had a better education than I. You'd be making a great mistake if you set me down as a plain, countrified sort of man. As a matter of fact there's nothing I have not studied." He would very much have liked to try his hand at a second poem; but his stock of ideas was exhausted and he was obliged to take leave.
(Waley, 1935)

The judgment passed on warriors like Tayu no Gen would not always remain so harsh and ironic. Centuries of stale court life gradually introduced a transition period in which the warrior, if not admired outright, was looked upon with wonder and fascination for his abilities and way of life.

We can find a hint of this new outlook in the Konjaku Monogatari, a collection of tales on varying subjects compiled, shaky tradition has it, sometime after 1106 from the collected stories of one Minamoto Takakuni, a member of the court. In the 25th chapter of this collection are stories relating the character and deeds of the rising bushi class, and one of them, though rather long, is worth relating here in full:

A long time ago there was a warrior named Minamoto no Yorinobu Asson, who was the former governor of Kawachi. Hearing that there was a man in Azuma who had an excellent horse, he dispatched a servant there to ask for it. The owner found it difficult to refuse this request, and commended the horse to Yorinobu's care. On the way back to the capital there was a horse thief who saw this animal and, being struck with avarice, made up his mind to steal it. Although he followed the party secretly during their progress up to the capital, the warriors who accompanied the horse were not negligent at all; and the thief, unable to obtain it on the way, approached the city, too. The horse, on its arrival, was put into Yorinobu's stables.
About this time, Yorinobu's son Yoriyoshi, was informed that they had just brought up a good horse from Azuma to his father's place. Yoriyoshi thought, "That horse will probably be handed over to somebody of no account. Before that happens, I'll go over and look at it, and, if it really is a good one, ask for it myself." And he went to his father's house.
Though there was heavy rainfall, Yoriyoshi was unhampered by it in his desire for the horse and went on through the night. ... His father thought that he had heard about the arrival of the horse and had come to ask for it, but before Yoriyoshi said anything, Yorinobu said, "I have heard that a horse arrived today from Azuma, but have not yet seen it. Its former owner has said that it is a good one. As tonight is dark, we won't be able to see a thing; so tomorrow morning take a look, and if it strikes your fancy, take it right away." Yoriyoshi was glad that this was said before he made his request, and replied, "Well, then tonight I'll stay here, and tomorrow take a look," and stayed over. During the evening they talked and, as the night grew late, the father went to sleep and Yoriyoshi also laid down beside him.
During this time, the sound of rain falling continued incessantly. In the middle of the night, taking advantage of the gloom of the rain, the horse thief made his entrance, pulled the horse outside, and made off. Just at that time, someone yelled from the direction of the stables, "A thief has taken the horse that was brought in last evening!" Yorinobu heard this voice faintly, and without asking the sleeping Yoriyoshi if he had heard it, got up just as he was, tucked in his clothing, shouldered a quiver of arrows, ran to the stables and himself led out a horse, put a plain saddle on it, mounted, and set out alone in chase in the direction of Mt. Ausaka... .
Yoriyoshi, too, had heard that voice, and, thinking in the same manner as his father, had made no explanations to him. He had slept fully dressed without loosening his sash, and now he got up just as he was. Like his father, he shouldered a quiver of arrows and went off in chase alone toward Mt. Ausaka.
The thief, mounted on the stolen horse, thought that he had now managed his escape, and, in a watery place at the foot of Mt. Ausaka, let the horse splash slowly through the water. Yorinobu heard this, and, though it was dark and he had no knowledge of Yoriyoshi's whereabouts, yelled out, "Shoot! There he is!" just as though he had made detailed arrangements beforehand. Before the words finished leaving his mouth, a bow twanged and, along with the sound of the arrow hitting something, the sound of empty stirrups could be heard as the horse ran. Again, Yorinobu said, "The thief has been shot down. Bring the horse back home quickly." Saying only this, he returned without waiting for the horse to be brought in. Yoriyoshi then went out to find the horse, and returned.... Returning to his home, Yorinobu made nothing of the preceding events, and in fact informed no one, but as it was still night, went back to bed just like before. Yoriyoshi put the returned horse in the care of the servants, and he, too, went back to bed.
Later, at daybreak, Yorinobu came out and, without commending his son on the exceptional way in which the horse had been saved or on the way he had shot so well, simply said, "Take out the horse," and the horse was taken out. Yoriyoshi saw that it was truly a fine horse and said, "Well then, I'll take it, please," and took the horse away. . . .This is clearly a way of thinking of extraordinary people, and this story has been told to show that the warrior's mind is like this... .

The story fairly well speaks for itself. In it is revealed the narrator's admiration and wonder at the warriors' character, their silent communication and self-reliance, and the way their courage and bowmanship seemed as normal to them as waking and sleeping. And though this story was told only 100 years after the time of Lady Murasaki, it represents a great change in attitude from centuries of courtly disdain, and prefigures the epic that was to represent the ideals of the warrior for ages to come.

The Heike Monogatari is one of the longest and most beautifully composed of the genre called gunki monogatari, or war chronicles. Although written in prose, it has much in common stylistically with poetry as it was originally chanted aloud, and at times breaks into the familiar 7-5, 7-5 pattern of Japanese lyrics. It is epic both in that it is a poetic narrative recounting the lives of heroic personages, and that it embodies a nation's conception of its own history and character. Clearly depicted throughout the Heike Monogatari is the ideal of the cultivated warrior. This ideal is symbolized in the character
or uruwashii, meaning a situation of balance and harmony between the exterior, pattern or beauty (), and the interior essence or substance ( ). Men who possess this quality will be as accomplished in the world of the arts as in the world of martial skill and courage.
Atsumori, for example, is a young Taira chieftain who is captured while returning to his abandoned camp for his prized flute, for which he was said to have great talent. Though only a youth, Atsumori is a perfect example of the aristocratic warrior, and the narrative describes at length his elegant appearance:

The warrior wore armour laced with light green silk cords over a twilled silk battle robe decorated with an embroidered design of cranes. On his head was a gold-horned helmet. He carried a sword in a gold-studded sheath and a bow bound with red-lacquered rattan. His quiver held a set of black and white feathered arrows, the center of each feather bearing a black mark. He rode a dap-pled gray outfitted with a gold-studded saddle.
(Kitagawa and Tsuchida, 1975)


When challenged, Atsumori quickly accepts and is just as quickly overpowered by his stronger adversary. He refuses to identify him-self to the lower-ranking man, however, and tells his captor:

"I cannot declare myself to such as you.
So take my head and show it to the others.
They will identify me."
(Kitagawa and Tsuchida, 1975)

Elegant, and yet unwincing at the prospect of death, he he lived and died as both courtier and manly warrior.

Taira no Tadanori, "a man of great strength and quick reflexes," is another warrior described in the Heike Monogatari who returns to face danger, in this case for literary considerations. He returns to the capital abandoned by his clan to visit his old poetry teacher, Shunzei, and leave a final poem. Later, at the battle of Ichi-no-tani, he is left by his retainers to meet his end, which he does bravely in battle. After he is killed, a poem is found attached to his quiver:

When the day is done
I take a tree for my lodge.
On my weary way,

Lying under its broad boughs,
A flower is my sole host.


And, at the declaration of his death,

Friends and foes alike wet their sleeves with tears and said,
"What a pity! Tadanori was a great general,
pre-eminent in the arts of both sword and poetry."

(Kitagawa and Tsuchida, 1975)

The warriors in the Heike Monogatari served as models for the educated warriors of later generations, and the ideals depicted by them were not assumed to be beyond reach. Rather, these ideals were vigorously pursued in the upper echelons of warrior society and recommended as the proper form of the Japanese man of arms. With the Heike Monogatari, the image of the Japanese warrior in literature came to its full maturity.


The Warrior's View of Literature

Prior to the 12th century, there is little evidence for the historical accuracy of the idealized warriors portrayed in the Heike Monogatari and other literary works. With the organization of the military bakufu however, the warrior took a more active—and documented—role in society. It is from about this time that the kakun and yuikai begin to appear—statements from the warriors themselves such as those represented in this book. Many of the selections in this volume deal with the question of the value of literature to the warrior.
Perhaps the most outspoken of the writers translated here on the value of cultural attainment is Shiba Yoshimasa (1350-1410). Shiba was involved in political and military struggles throughout his life, but still found time for the study of poetry, calligraphy and court football (kemari). His best-known work, the Chikubasho, was composed in an elegant classical Japanese style when he was 33, and assures the reader that the ideal of the cultured warrior did not die with the Heike Monogatari:

When a man has ability in the arts, the depth of his heart can be conjectured and the mind of his clan surmised. No matter how noble a family one may be born into or how good-looking he may be, when people are picking up the manuscripts for recitation of chants, thinking over the rhymes for making poetry or tuning up their instruments, how deplorable it must be to be among people reciting linked verse and to have to make some excuse for one's inability, or to sit chin in hands while others are playing music together.

Or this:

The man whose profession is arms should calm his mind and look into the depths of others. Doing so is likely the best of the martial arts.
It is fairly certain that most ordinary people have picked up the Genji Monogatari or Sei Shonagon's Makura Soshi and read through them any number of times. There is nothing like these books for the instruction of man's behavior and the bearing of the quality of his heart. Reading them, one will naturally be able to recognize a man with soul.

Here is evidenced an almost direct connection in Shiba's mind between ability in the cultural arts, the depth of one's heart, the martial arts, and the study of the classical literature of the Heian Period. Shiba has remarkably little else to say about military mat­ters in the Chikubasho, but rather enjoins the young men of his clan to live ethical lives and to develop their sensitivities and abili­ties in cultural refinements.

Another general who stressed cultural attainment in the life of the warrior was Imagawa Ryoshun (1325-1420). He is well-known for having studied poetry under the great master of the Nijo school, the courtier Yoshimoto, and for composing it happily on his way to the military pacification of Kyushu. After years of campaigning and subsequent administration of that island, he returned to Suruga, turning his energies primarily to literary affairs. The following selections from his Regulations clearly manifest Ima­gawa's feelings concerning these matters:

It is natural that training in the martial arts is the Way of the Warrior, but it is most important to put them into actual prac­tice. First, it is written in the Confucian classics as well as in the military writings that in protecting the country, if one is ignorant of the study of literature he will be unable to govern.

Just as the Buddha preached the various laws in order to save all living beings, one must rack one's brains and never depart from the Ways of both Warrior and Literary Man.

Although it is not written in the fluid language of Shiba Yoshimasa, the message here is almost the same: a complete man will be a master of both the arts of peace and the arts of war; when lacking the literary, the military cannot be sustained.

Not all warriors advocated the study of literature as whole­heartedly as did Shiba Yoshimasa and Imagawa Ryoshun. However, the ideal of harmonizing the roles of the martial and literary man remained present throughout the medieval period of Japanese history. Kato Kiyomasa (1562-1611), in the following order to all of his samurai "regardless of rank," endorsed learning but placed strict limits on what was to be studied:

One should put forth effort in matters of Learning. One should read books concerning military matters, and direct his attention exclusively to the virtues of loyalty and filial piety. Reading Chi­nese poetry, linked verse, and waka is forbidden. One will surely become womanized if he gives his heart knowledge of such ele­gant and delicate refinements. Having been born into the house of a warrior, one's intentions should be to grasp the long and short swords and to die.

Concerning other refinements, Kato had this to say:

The practice of Noh dancing is absolutely forbidden.... A samu­rai who practices dancing—which is outside of the martial arts—should be ordered to commit seppuku

Kato was a soldier's soldier and a blacksmith's son, probably re­ceiving little courtly education, thus representing the opposite end of the spectrum from Shiba and Imagawa in both upbringing and outlook. Though their interpretations of the concept of learning may differ, it was never doubted by any one of these men that this ideal was an integral part of the warrior's life.




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Beginning in 1600, and lasting for the next 250 years, Japan was at peace under the administration of a bakufu government. The economy expanded, and it was perhaps indicative of the times that the shogun surrounded himself with not only military men and scholars but even merchants. Under these circumstances many members of the warrior class found themselves in an environment for which their training as warriors had left them unprepared, and from the amount of attention devoted in writings of the times to the question of what is a samurai, it is evident that it was a period during which the man of arms had to reassess himself. The bakufu itself was not ignorant of this problem, and as early as 1615 issued the Buke Sho-Hatto, or Rule for the Military Houses, which as its first item, stated:

The study of literature and the practice of the military arts, including archery and horsemanship, must be cultivated diligently.
"On the left hand literature, on the right hand use of arms" was the rule of the ancients. Both must be pursued concurrently. (Lu, 1974)

Among those who worried about the problems of the samurai was Yamaga Soko (1622-1685), a member of the warrior class and a student of Neo-Confucianism. Yamaga was deeply concerned with the warrior's continued inactivity in peaceful times, and ed to find an ethical definition of the warrior. In his theory of Shido (a less radical theory than bushido), he defined the warrior as an example of Confucian purity to the other classes of society, and as punisher of those who would stray from its path. To Yamaga, the samurai must become a sort of Warrior-Sage, and it was toward the perfection of this transcendent ideal that he directed much of his writings.
This direction of thinking, however, which was typical of the scholars of the Edo Period in its tendency toward speculation, goes beyond the precepts considered here. The kakun and yuikai, written largely during or immediately after times of military unrest, were more homilies than philosophical statements, aimed not toward the sagehood of the individual samurai but toward the perpetuation of the clan. Although the Edo Period lasted 250 years and was a period of warrior rule, it was a time when the warrior's role was more idealized than realized. As an era of peace, it perhaps encouraged philosophical speculation; as an era of doubt, it is little wonder that the study of jitsugaku (practical studies)a study of his true function—was a major concern of that specula­tion.

 

 

Basic Reading and Religious Background

Most often mentioned as suggested reading material in the warrior's own precepts are the Confucian classics, and more specifi­cally the Four Books: the Analects, the Great Learning, the Doc-trine of the Mean, and the Mencius. Takeda Nobushige's Ninety-Nine Articles, which includes examples of what was considered proper reading for the educated warrior, lists the Analects of Confucius as one of the principle texts of study.

Basically a philosophy of humanism, Confucianism places much

emphasis on education, rationalism, sincerity of action, and the relationships of people involved in society, rather than spiritual

affairs or speculation on life after death. In Confucianism, it is man "that can make the Way great," rather than "the Way that can make man great" (Analects, 15:28). Good government is con­sidered to be founded on virtue and example rather than on mili­tary might or force, and the perfect man is considered a man of virtue rather than profit. In terms of human relationships, Con­fucianism stresses filial piety in the home and fidelity within so­ciety at large.

The Analects consists of many short aphorisms which afford an approach to the core of Confucianism. No doubt its readers in the warrior class extrapolated their own interpretations of the Confucian doctrine by selected readings. The following are some selections that they may have found most attractive.

The Ways of the gentleman are three . . . in humanity, he has no anxieties; in wisdom, he has no confusion; and in courage, he has no fears. (14:30)

It also teaches contentment with poverty and simplistic living:

The Master said, "Having plain food to eat, water to drink, and a bent arm as one's pillow ... there is surely also enjoyment in this!" (7:15)

This is certainly consistent with campaign life. Strict adherence to rites and decorum are advocated, and courtesy is so esteemed that in the Hagakure we read that the warrior is respected "precisely because he has correct manners."

The Analects also teaches respect for poetry:

If you do not study Poetry, you will not be able to speak. (16: 13)

 

One can see here a hint of the harmonizing of the bun and the bu.

Confucius, it should be remembered, belonged to the class of the knights-errant. Su Ma-ch'ien, in the Shih Chi, has Confucius say:

I have heard that when a man has literary business, he will always take military preparations; and when he has military business, he will always take literary preparations.

The true gentleman should also have a warrior-like self-reliance based on his own perfection:

The gentleman seeks things in himself; the inferior man seeks things in others. (Analects 15:21)

The gentleman is without anxiety and without fear.... When he looks into himself and finds nothing vexatious, how will there be anxiety, how will there be fear? (12:4)

But perfection should be tempered with humility:

Meng Chih-fan was not boastful. In a retreat, he took up the rear position. As he was about to enter the gate, he whipped his horse and said, "It's not that I dared to be the last, the horse just wouldn't go." (6:15)

The warriors, whose functions extended into broader adminis­trative areas as Court rites and ceremonies became empty formali­ties, were men who had real problems to solve. As warriors, their calling was one of life and death; after 1221, their governing duties extended throughout most of the country. From the late 12th century and especially through the Warring States Period, men from the bushi class found it necessary to establish in themselves both the arts of war and the arts of peace as necessary conditions for the survival of themselves and their clans. In the Great Learning they found a key to this survival in the Confucian ideal of self-cultivation, and the connection between the single-mindedness of the individual and the ruling of the country:

Only by moving with focus can one have stability. Only by being stable can one have peace. Only by having peace can one be se-cure. Only in security can one deliberate. And only with deliber­ation will one be able to obtain.

And before governing others one must learn to govern himself:

Those who desired to govern their states would first put their families in order. And those who desired to put their families in order would first discipline themselves.


Thus, the general measure of the Great Learning is that virtue works on a vertical slide, and for the warrior this meant moving from the individual leader down through the entire province. This also applied to the clan as a whole:

If one family has humanity, the entire state will become humane. If one family has courtesy, the entire state will become courteous. But if one man is grasping and perverse, the entire country will be brought into rebellion.


Vital to the concept of self-control and achievement is the virtue of sincerity. This sincerity has a sort of transcendent, even mystical quality, akin to single-mindedness and somehow more connected with the man whose life is on the line in the battlefield than with the rank-conscious courtier embroiled in palace intrigues. The warrior could afford little equivocating, and the principle of sincerity offered him the way to break through his problems. He was taught to be as sincere to himself as to others; a policy leading to internal as well as external honesty, an honesty to one's enemies as well as to one's allies. In the Doctrine of the Mean we find:
Sincerity is the Way of Heaven; making oneself sincere is the Way of man. Sincerity hits what is right without effort, and obtains (understanding) without thinking.
Confucianism offered a sound and comprehensive system within which the warrior could go about his temporal affairs. Buddhism, on the other hand, though introduced to Japan about the same time as Confucianism (the sixth or seventh centuries), was at first of interest only to the nobility, some of whom admired it more for its pageantry than for its philosophy. In the 12th and 13th centuries, however, the priests Eisai and Dogen brought a kind of Buddhism called Zen to Japan that had been developing in China since the early T'ang Dynasty (618-906). It required no ceremonies or academic studies, and put extreme reliance on individual willpower and self-discipline. It was a Buddhism of action and in-tuition rather than intellectualization, of moving forward rather than dwelling on the past. This was very attractive to the man on the battlefield.
Along with the values of self-reliance, asceticism, and single-mindedness (all of which were shared in common with Confucianism), Zen laid great emphasis on self-denial, or transcending life and death as a condition of attaining spiritual salvation. The warrior's duty, of course, was to fight and die, and in this transcendent posture, Zen offered him the spiritual training necessary to carry out his duty unflinchingly.
Zen, however, occupied the paradoxical position of relying on intuition ("not standing on scriptures") and yet teaching a respect for learning and even acting as its vehicle. Here again, the warrior found the principle of rugged and manly discipline harmonized with the literary world.
Not all warriors belonged to the Zen sect of Buddhism, of course, but it was Zen that ultimately had the greatest effect on warrior society.
Finally, the Chinese military classics should be mentioned, due both to their immediacy to the warrior's profession and to the allusion given them in the precepts. Some of these classics may date back as far as the fifth and sixth centuries B.C., and have long held the respect of not only military men but scholars and poets as well. Military strategies for the most part, they were read attentively by the great Japanese campaigners; among the writers here they are mentioned by Imagawa Ryoshun and Kato Kiyomasa, and quoted extensively by Takeda Nobushige. Aside from their purely tactical advice, however, they must have helped in the formation of warrior attitudes with principles such as the following:


Therefore, it is a functional military law that one does not rely on the enemy not coming, but relies on the fact that he himself is waiting; one does not rely on the enemy not attacking, but relies on the fact that he himself is unassailable.
(Sun Tzu 9:11)


When the world is at peace, a gentleman keeps his sword by his side.
(Wu Tzu—Griffith, 1977)




Conclusion

The Japanese warriors responded differently to these various influences from diverse places in time, circumstance, and personality. Underlying these differences, however, two basic attitudes remain fairly constant throughout: that if the advice given is followed, the individual will gain in character, and the province and the clan will be properly maintained. More often than not, the assumption is that the latter depends absolutely on the former.  Thus, if the warrior was encouraged to study poetry or letters or even religion, it was less from an academic point of view than a pragmatic one; the more well-rounded and total the man is, the better he will be able to cope with his surroundings.


"Learning," said Takeda Shingen, "is not only reading books, but rather some-thing we study to integrate with our own way of life."


As we have seen, a balance of literary arts and the martial arts was considered ideal, encouraged by Confucianism and substantiated by the Buddhist scholars. The example of the Court was for-ever before the warrior, both as an ideal of the glittering world of letters, and as a warning of the impotence incurred when the sword is put down completely in favor of the pen. Concerning this dichotomy, Kuroda Nagamasa wrote:


The arts of peace and the arts of war are like the two wheels of a cart which, lacking one, will have difficulty in standing.


How well the warriors were able to sustain that balance may be judged, in part, by these precepts compared with the lives of their writers.
One may read these precepts, then, from different perspectives. They may be read as documentary evidence of warrior attitudes in certain times and places, or from a strictly literary point of view, or again, as material giving fresh and direct insight into some of the most interesting men in Japanese history. There is a current running throughout these readings, however, that bears directly on ourselves and our own values: the Way of the Warrior is the way to the total man and the journey to a fuller self. In our own specialized culture, the scholar and the poet are too often identified with the dove, while the soldier is depicted as too martial and unfeeling; their camps are mutually exclusive. The leaders of the Japanese warrior class attempted to span that gulf. If they did not attain that ideal, they did maintain and preserve it while living and acting in the world with a broader point of view than that with which we ourselves might claim.



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THE MESSAGE OF MASTER GOKURAKUJI

 

Hojo Shigetoki (1198-1261 A.D.)

Hojo Shigetoki, the third son of Hojo Yoshitoki, was only five years old when the Hojo clan became shogunal regents under his grandfather, Hojo Tokimasa.

In 1223, he became the Military Governor of the province of Suruga, and in 1230 was appointed the Shogun's Deputy in Kyoto, an office he filled until 1247. With the defeat of the rival Miura clan in that year, Hojo went to Kamakura to assist the Re-gent, Tokiyori, in the organization of the bakufu. In 1256 he shaved his head and became a monk, retiring to the Ritsu-sect temple that he had established, the Gokurakuji, where he spent his remaining years in seclusion and contemplation. He had lived through a period that saw the consolidation of both political and economic power for the warrior class, a period of relative calm when compared to the Gempei wars that preceded it, and the revolt of the Ashikaga clan that was to follow

Hojo was known for the selfless help he provided his higher-placed relatives in the administration of the bakufu, and for his deep faith in Buddhism. Of his writings, two are extant: The Pre­cepts of the Lord of Rokuhara, a set of practical precepts he wrote for his son, Nagatoki, in 1247; and The Message of Gokurakuji­dono, from which the present text is taken, written sometime after 1256 for his son and the house elders in general. This latter consists of 100 articles written in the kanamajiri style, and is basi­cally concerned with man's moral duties and the ideal behavior for leaders of the warrior class. The predominant tone of the work is a Buddhist sympathy for all living beings and an awareness of the functions of karma. Women, children, and those of lower social standing are to be treated kindly and with regard, and even the concept of loyalty to superiors is dealt with more in a religious sense than a Confucian one.

The Message of Gokurakuji-dono reflects the religious feelings that seem to have been common with the Hojo family, and in this respect is probably the least secular of all the precepts presented in this book.

The Message Of Master Gokurakuji

 

To begin with, although it is presumptuous of me to say so, the relationship of parent and child exists inasmuch as their bond in a previous existence was no shallow one. Truly, the impermanence of the world is like a dream within a dream. The men we saw yes­terday are not here today, and the existence of those today will be in peril tomorrow. Man's fate does not wait his breathing in and breathing out. The sun that rose in the morning sinks behind the mountain ridge in the evening, and the moon of the night before marks the beginning of the day. The blooming flowers only wait for the enticement of the storm. From these it can be seen that transience is not limited to man. And, although it would at least seem determined that old men pass away and young men live on, the fact is that death has no respect for age; and when one truly thinks about it, one cannot rely simply on youth in this uncertain world. This being so, should we not want to be remembered by others and cultivate our minds?

 

Thinking that there are few opportunities to speak of such things directly, I am writing them down in this manner. One should read this carefully at his leisure as a diversion, and it should not be lent to others. Should I not be able to escape the round of birth and death again this time, even though I am reborn in innumberable successions it will be difficult to meet with you again, and these writings may be considered as reminiscences of the world into which I was fated to be born.

First are the articles one should think over in his heart and put into practice with his body.

 One should worship the gods and Buddhas morning and night, and maintain a heart of faith. The gods grant power to a man ac-cording to his respect for them, and he maintains his fate accord­ing to their blessings. Thus, when coming before the gods and Bud­dhas, for better ability in this world one should ask to be granted an upright heart. In this way he will be esteemed in this world and born in the Western Paradise in the next, and this is a fine thing. One should understand this principle well.

 

When one is serving officially or in the master's court, he should not think of a hundred or a thousand people, but should consider only the importance of the master. Nor should he draw the line at his own life or anything else he considers valuable. Even if the master is being phlegmatic and one goes unrecognized, he should know that he will surely have the divine protection of the gods and Buddhas. While in the midst of duties, one should keep this principle in mind concerning service at the master's court, too To think of receiving the blessings of the master without fulfill' the duties of court service is no different from trying to cross rough sea without a boat.

One should not disregard, even in jest, the instructions of h' parents. Although there should be no one, as a parent, who would instruct his child for the worse, the children who use their parents instructions are rare.

Turning this over in our minds, with our eyes closed, let think this over well. How sorrowful must be the heart of the lamenting parent who sees his child turning bad. It could certainly be said that this child is unfilial. And how happy the heart must be of the rejoicing parent who sees his child being good. This can cer­tainly be said to be filial piety.

One should listen with a calm mind to what one's parents say, even if what they say is erroneous.

It is said that when the elderly become enfeebled, they enter their second childhood. Their hair becomes white, their foreheads become wrinkled, and their hips bend like a bow of catalpa wood. When looking in the mirror their image has changed, and one would doubt that they are the same person. The person who comes once in a great while to visit pays his respects and goes home, and there is truly no one who comes to stay awhile. The elderly person's mind has certainly changed from how it was in the past; he cannot remember the things that he has heard, and forgets what he has seen. He feels resentment in the things he should rejoice in, and rejoices in the things he should resent. These things are all in the nature of the elderly.

Understanding this well, one should first have sympathy with what his elderly parents have said, and not turn his back on them. When the way passed by one's parents has been long and their destination at hand, one may wonder how much longer he will listen to such words as theirs. At this time he should follow their dictums by all means. This will surely come to one's own mind after he has become old.

If there is some discord between one's parents and another person, if one will placate the other party there is nothing that should go awry. If there is something between one's self and one's par­ents, he should at any rate follow his parents' instructions. If he does not, he will have nothing but regret after the sad leave-taking, and will wish that he had obeyed them while they were still alive.

 

When one is in a place where people are gathered together, and fish, fruit, and the like are being served, even if he is partaking of this himself he should do so in a manner that others may have more. Nevertheless, one should not let others be aware of this.

When one is serving food, it will not do to serve one's self more than the guest. Nor should one, with the above in mind, serve small portions. He should serve the proper amount.

When passing by the quarters of women of high rank, one should pass by without looking around repeatedly. In fact, one should not look at all. And one should make strict instructions to those of lower rank accompanying him that they should not look either.

 

There is error in the midst of conforming to reason, and reason in the midst of error. One should understand this well.

Error in the midst of reason is when one is so convinced of his own reasonableness that he pushes his opinion forward, not to the extent that it will cause injury to himself, but to the extent that it may cause another man to lose his life. This is error in the midst of reason.

Reason in the midst of error is when a man is about to lose his life and one comes to his aid without disclosing the thousands of mistakes that may be involved. This is reason in the midst of error. If one will fix his heart in such a way and assist the world and its people, he will have the devotion of the men who see and hear of him. Moreover, how much will the joy be of the man who has been helped? And even if the person helped and the people around him do not rejoice, one will have kindled the devotion of the gods and Buddhas, and will have protection in this life and assistance in the life to come.

Concerning matters of dress, no matter by whom one is being seen he should not appear shabbily, and even if he is mixing with the lower classes he should dress to a moderate extent. When often in the midst of humble people, one should not repeatedly dress splendidly. A person with sensitivity will be prudent in this matter.

 

When one of one's companions has been rebuked by the master, one should find it more lamentable than if he himself had been rebuked. If the master should tell him about his companion's error, he should mediate well for the man. For even if the master does not agree with him at the time, it will impress him well later on.

At the time of merry-making, one should be very prudent about joining in with a superior who is riding a wave of amusement. This sort of thing is what is called "a crow imitating a cormorant." No matter how much one may be letting loose or how drunk he may be, he should be very careful of his demeanor when he is in the same place as a superior. No matter how raucous one may get, he should be very aware of his surroundings.

It is truly regrettable that a person will treat a man who is valu­able to him well, and a man who is worthless to him poorly. Even dogs and beasts will be glad and wag their tails when someone treats them well, and will bark at and run away from those who give them rough fare. It is in the value of being born a human being that—and this goes without saying for those who treat us well—if one is kind to those who treat him poorly, even they may change their ways. And even if they do not, he will have the love of the gods and Buddhas, and those who see and hear of his acts will praise him.

If one treats men roughly in this existence, he will be roughly treated by them in the next, for karma is never-ending in all things. And if one would rid himself of bad karma in this round of existence, he should treat well those who are not so kind to him. For if one is dealt with kindly by people, he can rejoice in his previous existence; but if he is handled roughly in this world, his previous existence is a matter for regret.

When one buys something, he should say exactly what he wants at once. If it is too expensive,

then he should not buy it. To waste so many words is vulgar, and to buy cheaply would be a crime, for the shopkeeper makes his living by trade.

When one's wife or children are relating some matter to him, he should listen to them with care. If they say something unreasonable, he should consider that to be in the nature of women and children. Moreover, if they speak with reason he should be somewhat impressed and encourage them to speak in such a way hereafter. One should not look down on them because they are women and children. Amaterasu Omikami takes the form of a woman, and the Empress Jingu, as a queen, attacked and subjugated the Korean kingdom of Silla. Again, one should not look down upon children, for the god Hachimanr ruled from the time he was a child. One should rely on neither age nor youth. But he who re­veres the master and protects the people may be called a sage.

 

When one loses at gambling, he should take the consequences quickly. When he wins he should not taunt the loser. One should not dicker over the results of gambling.

 

When one is associating with prostitutes and dancing girls, he should not consider that, as they are such, he can go to excesses and speak in an overly familiar manner with them. One should act and speak in a simple and ordinary way. Going too far, one may bring shame upon himself.

 

When one is selecting a partner from a number of prostitutes, he should pick one who is unattractive and whose dress is less comely. A man will lose his heart to an attractive girl, but an unat­tractive one will have no partner. Moreover, one's heart will not be taken in this way. And as this will be for only one night, one can imagine that the prostitute will be pleased too.

 

When one is at a drinking party he should always pay attention to and speak with the person at the lowest seat. Even if it is with the same wine that one is drinking, if he will feel sympathy for the man and pour for him, the man will be very pleased. One should be especially sympathetic with men of low positions. In their boundless gratification they will place great importance in one's orders.

 

In becoming accustomed to riding in a boat, in knowing the par­ticulars of a river, in learning to climb a mountain, in heat and in cold, one should learn all these things with endurance.

 

One should not talk about the faults of others, even as a joke. For even though one may think of it as a joke, to others it may be embarrassing, and this is a bad mistake. If one would joke, he should joke about things that are a pleasure to others. One should have restraint and deep sympathy in all things.

One should not talk about a woman's faults, no matter how humble of origin she may be. This goes without saying for women of position. One should use discretion in talking about people's good points, and should say nothing about their bad ones. A per-son who has no judgment in these matters will likely bring shame upon himself. Such things have no merit at all.

By means of an oar, a boat is able to bear out frightening waves, protect itself from rough winds, and cross great seas. As for a man who is born into this world, he may cross it with the help of the gods and Buddhas by means of an upright heart. Relying on an up-right heart, when it comes time to take the trip to the Nether World, there should be a path across the Mountain of Death and a bridge across the River Styx. Such a heart would seem to be a jewel for which there is no occasion to put away. One should understand this well.

An upright heart is free of avarice, and a lack of avarice will be an aid in the life to come. One should have insight into this world of dreams that passes in the twinkling of an eye.

Postscript

Although it is certainly shameful of me to go on like this, a man's life has its determined limit, and one cannot know when his end is coming. Moreover, concerning the conditions of facing that moment, there have been men who passed away leaving nothing said, and others who have left this world in the midst of battle. Man's fate is like the dew, and follows the uncertain wind of life and death. Even one's relationship with his child is as uncertain as the simmering of a heat wave. Thus, I have spoken the things that have come to mind without hesitation.

 

If you2 would put these things into effect and the results turn out poorly, you should blame your father at that time for having spoken evil. But I feel that putting them into practice would be the highest discharge of one's filial duties. And even if you do not put them into practice, you should pass them on to your descen­dants until the end of time. For among the descendants to come, if one in the midst of a hundred were to put these into practice, he might wonder if they weren't perhaps something that had been passed down by one of his ancestors.

It is presumptuous for a man's parent to meddle with his chil­dren, and you may think that what I am about to say is exactly that, but I hope that you will sit peacefully with two or three of your children and read this to them. You should not think that what has been said here is simply something handed down to you from your father. You should understand that these are precepts for men in ages to come.

Again, as I feel unusually shameful about these things, do not let them out to other people.

 

 

See this as a memento

Of a person of the past,

And with one breath intone:

Namu Amida Butsu.3

 

 

 

 

Notes

1. One of the most important gods in the Shinto pantheon, and in this case in­dicating the 15th emperor of Japan, Ojin.

2Hojo wrote this to his son, Nagatoki, but the whole was for all the members of Hojo's clan.

3"Hail to the Buddha Amitabha," would be a close translation. It refers to the Buddha who has the power to save all beings, and the invocation is spoken at the hour of death to open the entrance to Paradise. It is repeated constantly by members of the Pure Land sect of Buddhism.



Edited by JKO_RONIN on 01 March 2006 at 3:03pm
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