I glimpsed a light of compassion in the *Hagakure*!

 I never imagined I would find a glimmer of compassion in *Hagakure*.

*Hagakure*—yes, that very book, the quintessential text on the spirit of *Bushido* (the Way of the Warrior). It is absolutely fascinating—truly, it’s gripping. And it’s not just interesting; to my complete surprise, it even contains a glimmer of mercy.

To be honest, I haven’t even finished half of it yet. I decided, quite by chance, to work my way through a series of classic Japanese texts. I spent some time reading works by Confucian scholars—Arai Hakuseki, Ogyū Sorai—and now, I’ve arrived at *Hagakure*.

The book records the words of Yamamoto Tsunetomo.

"The Way of the Warrior (*Bushido*) is found in death."

Here, one encounters that famous phrase which encapsulates the very essence of *Bushido*. A warrior must be prepared to die for his lord. Every single day, he thinks of nothing but how he might die for his master.

Merely achieving a feat of arms—like taking an enemy’s head—is not considered a truly great accomplishment. Why? Because the warrior is still alive. The greatest achievement for a warrior is...

...to die in battle for his lord.

Consider the example of Satō Tsuginobu, who took an enemy arrow meant for his master, Yoshitsune, and perished. That is the ultimate achievement. Since he has already resolved to die for his lord that very day, he begins each morning by carefully examining his reflection in a mirror to ensure his appearance is impeccable. His hair is perfectly styled, he applies scented oil—he looks, from every angle, like a truly dashing man. *That* is what it means to be a warrior. This isn’t done out of a simple desire to be fashionable; it is to ensure that, should he fall in battle, his final appearance will not be unsightly. To die a beautiful death when struck down by the enemy—that is the mark of a true warrior.

And when he spots the enemy, he must charge forward with reckless abandon. Even if he faces thousands of foes, he must be the first to rush in, throwing himself into the fray with desperate, single-minded intensity, until he meets his end in battle.

"Isn't that just a senseless, wasted death?"

If you find yourself thinking that, then you lack the very qualifications to be a warrior. By resolving to die, one gains a clearer perspective on others and finds the wisdom to act effectively. One seeks life within the midst of death—or rather, that is not quite right. One must not merely seek life; one must seek death within the midst of death. A samurai must, in every sense, be prepared to die. Yet, as my lord, Lord Nabeshima, once remarked, "It is an exceedingly difficult feat to strike down a man who is possessed by a death-defying frenzy"—and so, such a man is not easily defeated.

Furthermore, a samurai must possess a sense of haughty pride.

"Having resolved to die for my lord, there can be no one more loyal than I, nor anyone more courageous."

Holding this conviction, he looks down upon the spineless samurai around him. As for those obsessed with money or personal gain—they are a disgrace to the very name of a samurai. Consequently, a samurai is almost always poor. Yet,

"Even when starving, a samurai picks his teeth with an air of nonchalance."

He remains ever haughty. That is what it means to be a samurai.

But what if one’s lord is a fool—a "buffoonish master," much like the character "Baka-dono" (the Foolish Lord)?

One must offer remonstrance. Out of true devotion to one’s lord, one cannot simply accept him being a fool. However, if one were to offer a blunt, direct rebuke, only to incur his wrath and be ordered to "commit seppuku!"—well, the lord would simply remain a fool. That will not do. Offering counsel to one’s lord requires the utmost delicacy and care. One should first speak to someone close to the lord, asking them to convey the advice. Or, if an opportunity arises to speak directly, one should not reproach the lord outright; instead, one might frame the flaw as one’s own—describing a failure of one’s own caused by that very shortcoming—thereby leading the lord to realize the truth for himself. Only in this way might he be persuaded to listen. Such is the subtle, thoughtful consideration described in the *Hagakure*. A crude, unrefined man—one incapable of grasping the feelings of others—is simply not fit to be a samurai. Well now, so much for *Bushido*—or is it?

"A 'great spirit'—that is, a vast and expansive heart—is what we call 'great mercy' (*dai-jihi*). There is a verse that goes:

*Through the eyes of compassion, no one is truly hateful; even those who have committed wrongs are worthy of pity.*

This is a heart of infinite breadth and magnitude—one that extends to all things. The reason we continue to revere the sages who appeared in ancient Japan, China, and India—even to this day—is that their spirit of mercy has spread so widely. Whatever one does, it should be done for the sake of one’s lord, one’s parents, the greater good, or for the sake of one’s children. This is what is meant by 'great compassion.' Wisdom and courage that spring from a heart of compassion are the only genuine kind. When one punishes out of compassion, or works out of compassion, one’s actions become infinitely strong and righteous. To act solely out of self-interest is narrow-minded and timid—it is, in fact, the root of evil. As for courage and wisdom, I had understood them for some time; but as for mercy—that, I feel, has only recently truly taken root in my heart." (*Hagakure*, Chuokoron-sha)

Suddenly, I have encountered the Buddha. It is as if, while exploring *Bushido*, I have wandered straight into the Buddhist path. For a moment, I wondered if I had picked up the wrong book! It is said—both elsewhere in *Hagakure* and in other teachings—that if one pursues any path to its ultimate conclusion, all paths eventually converge. The Divine resides in every path. In fact, Yamamoto Tsunetomo established four vows for himself as a samurai:

First: To never fall behind in the way of the samurai (*Bushido*).

Second: To be of service to one’s lord.

Third: To show filial piety toward one’s parents.

Fourth: To cultivate a heart of great compassion and be of benefit to others.

With that final vow, he has suddenly transformed into a *bodhisattva*. Once again, I have caught a glimpse of the light of mercy—in a place where I least expected to find it. The Buddha, it seems, is present everywhere—even within the heart of a samurai.

Guided by love and compassion.

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