Bushido, the Soul of Japan, by Inazo Nitobe, [1905], at sacred-texts.com
CHAPTER XII
THE INSTITUTIONS OF SUICIDE AND REDRESS
OF these two institutions (the former known as hara-kiri and the latter as kataki-uchi), many foreign writers have treated more or less fully.
To begin with suicide, let me state that I confine my observations only to seppuku or kappuku, popularly known as hara-kiri--which
means self-immolation by disembowelment. "Ripping the abdomen? How
absurd!"--so cry those to whom the name is new. Absurdly odd as it may
sound at first to foreign ears, it cannot be so very foreign to students
of Shakespeare, who puts these words in Brutus's mouth--"Thy [Caesar's]
spirit walks abroad and turns our swords into our proper entrails."
Listen to a modern
[paragraph continues] English poet who, in his Light of Asia,
speaks of a sword piercing the bowels of a queen;--none blames him for
bad English or breach of modesty. Or, to take still another example,
look at Guercino's painting of Cato's death in the Palazzo Rossa, in
Genoa. Whoever has read the swan-song which Addison makes Cato sing,
will not jeer at the sword half-buried in his abdomen. In our minds this
mode of death is associated with instances of noblest deeds and of most
touching pathos, so that nothing repugnant, much less ludicrous, mars
our conception of it. So wonderful is the transforming power of virtue,
of greatness. of tenderness, that the vilest form of death assumes a
sublimity and becomes a symbol of new life, or else the sign which
Constantine beheld would not conquer the world!
Not for extraneous associations only does seppuku lose in our
mind any taint of absurdity; for the choice of this particular part of
the body to operate upon, was based on an old anatomical belief as to
the seat of the soul and of the affections. When Moses
wrote of Joseph's "bowels yearning upon his brother," or David prayed
the Lord not to forget his bowels, or when Isaiah, Jeremiah, and other
inspired men of old spoke of the "sounding" or the "troubling" of
bowels, they all and each endorsed the belief prevalent among the
Japanese that in the abdomen was enshrined the soul. The Semites
habitually spoke of the liver and kidneys and surrounding fat as the
seat of emotion and of life. The term "hara" was more comprehensive than the Greek phren or thumos,
and the Japanese and Hellenese alike thought the spirit of man to dwell
somewhere in that region. Such a notion is by no means confined to the
peoples of antiquity. The French, in spite of the theory propounded by
one of their most distinguished philosophers, Descartes, that the soul
is located in the pineal gland, still insist in using the term ventre in a sense which, if anatomically too vague, is nevertheless physiologically significant. Similarly, entrailles stands in their language for affection and compassion. Nor is such a belief mere
superstition, being more scientific than the general idea of making
the heart the centre of the feelings. Without asking a friar, the
Japanese knew better than Romeo "in what vile part of this anatomy one's
name did lodge." Modern neurologists speak of the abdominal and pelvic
brains, denoting thereby sympathetic nerve centres in those parts which
are strongly affected by any psychical action. This view of mental
physiology once admitted, the syllogism of seppuku is easy to
construct. "I will open the seat of my soul and show you how it fares
with it. See for yourself whether it is polluted or clean."
I do not wish to be understood as asserting religious or even moral
justification of suicide, but the high estimate placed upon honour was
ample excuse with many for taking one's own life. How many acquiesced in
the sentiment expressed by Garth,
"When honour's lost, 't is a relief to die;
Death's but a sure retreat from infamy,"
Death's but a sure retreat from infamy,"
and have smilingly surrendered their souls to
oblivion! Death involving a question of honour, was accepted in
Bushido as a key to the solution of many complex problems, so that to an
ambitious samurai a natural departure from life seemed a rather tame
affair and a consummation not devoutly to be wished for. I dare say that
many good Christians, if only they are honest enough, will confess the
fascination of, if not positive admiration for, the sublime composure
with which Cato, Brutus, Petronius, and a host of other ancient worthies
terminated their own earthly existence. Is it too bold to hint that the
death of the first of the philosophers was partly suicidal? When we are
told so minutely by his pupils how their master willingly submitted to
the mandate of the state--which he knew was morally mistaken--in spite
of the possibilities of escape, and how he took the cup of hemlock in
his own hand, even offering libation from its deadly contents, do we not
discern, in his whole proceeding and demeanour, an act of
self-immolation? No physical compulsion here, as in ordinary
cases of execution. True, the verdict of the judges was compulsory:
it said, "Thou shalt die,--and that by thine own hand." If suicide meant
no more than dying by one's own hand, Socrates was a clear case of
suicide. But nobody would charge him with the crime; Plato, who was
averse to it, would not call his master a suicide.
Now my readers will understand that seppuku was not a mere
suicidal process. It was an institution, legal and ceremonial. An
invention of the middle ages, it was a process by which warriors could
expiate their crimes, apologise for errors, escape from disgrace, redeem
their friends, or prove their sincerity. When enforced as a legal
punishment, it was practised with due ceremony. It was a refinement of
self-destruction, and none could perform it without the utmost coolness
of temper and composure of demeanour, and for these reasons it was
particularly befitting the profession of bushi.
Antiquarian curiosity, if nothing else, would tempt me to give here a description of this
obsolete ceremony; but seeing that such a description was made by a
far abler writer, whose book is not much read nowadays, I am tempted to
make a somewhat lengthy quotation. Mitford, in his Tales of Old Japan, after giving a translation of a treatise on seppuku from a rare Japanese manuscript, goes on to describe an instance of such an execution of which he was an eye-witness:
"We (seven foreign representatives) were invited to follow the Japanese witnesses into the hondo
or main hall of the temple, where the ceremony was to be performed. It
was an imposing scene. A large hall with a high roof supported by dark
pillars of wood. From the ceiling hung a profusion of those huge gilt
lamps and ornaments peculiar to Buddhist temples. In front of the high
altar, where the floor, covered with beautiful white mats, is raised
some three or four inches from the ground, was laid a rug of scarlet
felt. Tall candles placed at regular intervals gave out a dim mysterious
light, just sufficient to let all the proceedings be seen. The seven
Japanese took their places on the left of the raised floor, the seven
foreigners on the right. No other person was present.
"After the interval of a few minutes of anxious suspense, Taki
Zenzaburo, a stalwart man thirty-two years of age, with a noble air,
walked into the
hall attired in his dress of ceremony, with the peculiar hempen-cloth
wings which are worn on great occasions. He was accompanied by a kaishaku and three officers, who wore the jimbaori or war surcoat with gold tissue facings. The word kaishaku,
it should be observed, is one to which our word executioner is no
equivalent term. The office is that of a gentleman; in many cases it is
performed by a kinsman or friend of the condemned, and the relation
between them is rather that of principal and second than that of victim
and executioner. In this instance, the kaishaku was a pupil of
Taki Zenzaburo, and was selected by friends of the latter from among
their own number for his skill in swordsmanship.
"With the kaishaku on his left hand, Taki Zenzaburo advanced
slowly toward the Japanese witnesses, and the two bowed before them,
then drawing near to the foreigners they saluted us in the same way,
perhaps even with more deference; in each case the salutation was
ceremoniously returned. Slowly and with great dignity the condemned man
mounted on to the raised floor, prostrated himself before the high altar
twice, and seated 1 himself on the felt carpet with his back to the high altar, the kaishaku
crouching on his left-hand side. One of the three attendant officers
then came forward, bearing a stand of the kind used in the temple for
offerings, on which,
wrapped in paper, lay the wakizashi, the short sword or dirk
of the Japanese, nine inches and a half in length, with a point and an
edge as sharp as a razor's. This he handed, prostrating himself, to the
condemned man, who received it reverently raising it to his head with
both hands, and placed it in front of himself.
"After another profound obeisance, Taki Zenzaburo, in a voice which
betrayed just so much emotion and hesitation as might be expected from a
man who is making a painful confession, but with no sign of either in
his face or manner, spoke as follows:--
"'I, and I alone, unwarrantably gave the order to fire on the
foreigners at Kobe, and again as they tried to escape. For this crime I
disembowel myself, and I beg you who are present to do me the honour of
witnessing the act.'
"Bowing once more, the speaker allowed his upper garments to slip
down to his girdle, and remained naked to the waist. Carefully,
according to custom, he tucked his sleeves under his knees to prevent
himself from falling backward; for a noble Japanese gentleman should die
falling forwards. Deliberately, with a steady hand he took the dirk
that lay before him; he looked at it wistfully, almost affectionately;
for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts for the last time, and
then stabbing himself deeply below the waist in the left-hand side, he
drew the dirk slowly across to his right side, and turning it in the
wound, gave a slight cut upwards. During this sickeningly painful
operation he never moved a muscle of his face.
[paragraph continues]
When he drew out the dirk, he leaned forward and stretched out his
neck; an expression of pain for the first time crossed his face, but he
uttered no sound. At that moment the kaishaku, who, still
crouching by his side, had been keenly watching his every movement,
sprang to his feet, poised his sword for a second in the air; there was a
flash, a heavy, ugly thud, a crashing fall; with one blow the head had
been severed from the body.
"A dead silence followed, broken only by the hideous noise of the
blood throbbing out of the inert heap before us, which but a moment
before had been a brave and chivalrous man. It was horrible.
"The kaishaku made a low bow, wiped his sword with a piece of
paper which he had ready for the purpose, and retired from the raised
floor; and the stained dirk was solemnly borne away, a bloody proof of
the execution.
"The two representatives of the Mikado then left their places, and
crossing over to where the foreign witnesses sat, called to us to
witness that the sentence of death upon Taki Zenzaburo had been
faithfully carried out. The ceremony being at an end, we left the
temple."
I might multiply any number of descriptions of seppuku from literature or from the relations of eye-witnesses; but one more instance will suffice.
Two brothers, Sakon and Naiki, respectively
twenty-four and seventeen years of age, made an effort to kill
Iyéyasu in order to avenge their father's wrongs; but before they could
enter the camp they were made prisoners. The old general admired the
pluck of the youths who dared an attempt on his life and ordered that
they should be allowed to die an honourable death. Their little brother
Hachimaro, a mere infant of eight summers, was condemned to a similar
fate, as the sentence was pronounced on all the male members of the
family, and the three were taken to a monastery where it was to be
executed. A physician who was present on the occasion has left us a
diary, from which the following scene is translated:
"When they were all seated in a row for final despatch, Sakon turned
to the youngest and said--'Go thou first, for I wish to be sure that
thou doest it aright.' Upon the little one's replying that, as he had
never seen seppuku performed, he would like to see his brothers
do it and then he could follow them, the older brothers smiled between
their tears:--'Well said, little fellow! So canst thou well boast of
being our father's child.' When they had placed him between them, Sakon
thrust
the dagger into the left side of his abdomen and said--'Look brother!
Dost understand now? Only, don't push the dagger too far, lest thou
fall back. Lean forward, rather, and keep thy knees well composed.'
Naiki did likewise and said to the boy--'Keep thine eyes open or else
thou mayst look like a dying woman. If thy dagger feels anything within
and thy strength fails, take courage and double thy effort to cut
across.' The child looked from one to the other, and, when both had
expired, he calmly half denuded himself and followed the example set him
on either hand."
The glorification of seppuku offered, naturally enough, no
small temptation to its unwarranted committal. For causes entirely
incompatible with reason, or for reasons entirely undeserving of death,
hot-headed youths rushed into it as insects fly into fire; mixed and
dubious motives drove more samurai to this deed than nuns into convent
gates. Life was cheap--cheap as reckoned by the popular standard of
honour. The saddest feature was that honour, which was always in the agio,
so to speak, was not always solid gold, but alloyed with baser metals.
No one circle in the Inferno will boast of greater density of Japanese
population than the
seventh, to which Dante consigns all victims of self-destruction!
And yet, for a true samurai to hasten death or to court it, was alike
cowardice. A typical fighter, when he lost battle after battle and was
pursued from plain to hill and from bush to cavern, found himself hungry
and alone in the dark hollow of a tree, his sword blunt with use, his
bow broken and arrows exhausted--did not the noblest of the Romans fall
upon his own sword in Philippi under like circumstances?--deemed it
cowardly to die, but, with a fortitude approaching a Christian martyr's,
cheered himself with an impromptu verse:
"Come! evermore come,
Ye dread sorrows and pains!
And heap on my burden'd back;
That I not one test may lack
Of what strength in me remains!"
Ye dread sorrows and pains!
And heap on my burden'd back;
That I not one test may lack
Of what strength in me remains!"
This, then, was the Bushido teaching--Bear and face all calamities
and adversities with patience and a pure conscience; for, as
Mencius 1 taught, "When Heaven is about to
confer a great office on anyone, it first exercises his mind with
suffering and his sinews and bones with toil; it exposes his body to
hunger and subjects him to extreme poverty: and it confounds his
undertakings. In all these ways it stimulates his mind, hardens his
nature, and supplies his incompetencies." True honour lies in fulfilling
Heaven's decree and no death incurred in so doing is ignominious,
whereas, death to avoid what Heaven has in store is cowardly indeed! In
that quaint book of Sir Thomas Browne's, Religio Medici, there is
an exact English equivalent for what is repeatedly taught in our
Precepts. Let me quote it: "It is a brave act of valour to contemn
death, but where life is more terrible than death, it is then the truest
valour to dare to live." A renowned priest of the seventeenth century
satirically observed--"Talk as he may, a samurai who ne'er has died is
apt in decisive moments to flee or hide." Again--"Him who once has died
in the bottom of his breast, no spears of Sanada nor all the arrows of
Tametomo can pierce."
[paragraph continues]
How near we come to the portals of the temple whose Builder taught "He
that loseth his life for my sake shall find it"! These are but a few of
the numerous examples that tend to confirm the moral identity of the
human species, notwithstanding an attempt so assiduously made to render
the distinction between Christian and Pagan as great as possible.
We have thus seen that the Bushido institution of suicide was neither
so irrational nor barbarous as its abuse strikes us at first sight. We
will now see whether its sister institution of Redress--or call it
Revenge, if you will--has its mitigating features. I hope I can dispose
of this question in a few words, since a similar institution, or call it
custom, if that suits you better, prevailed among all peoples and has
not yet become entirely obsolete, as attested by the continuance of
duelling and lynching. Why, has not an American captain recently
challenged Esterhazy, that the wrongs of Dreyfus be avenged? Among a
savage tribe which has
no marriage, adultery is not a sin, and only the jealousy of a lover
protects a woman from abuse; so in a time which has no criminal court,
murder is not a crime, and only the vigilant vengeance of the victim's
people preserves social order. "What is the most beautiful thing on
earth?" said Osiris to Horus. The reply was, "To avenge a parent's
wrongs,"--to which a Japanese would have added "and a master's."
In revenge there is something which satisfies one's sense of justice.
The avenger reasons:--"My good father did not deserve death. He who
killed him did great evil. My father, if he were alive, would not
tolerate a deed like this: Heaven itself hates wrongdoing. It is the
will of my father; it is the will of Heaven that the evil-doer cease
from his work. He must perish by my hand; because he shed my father's
blood, I, who am his flesh and blood, must shed the murderer's. The same
Heaven shall not shelter him and me." The ratiocination is simple and
childish (though we know Hamlet did not reason
much more deeply); nevertheless it shows an innate sense of exact
balance and equal justice. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." Our
sense of revenge is as exact as our mathematical faculty, and until
both terms of the equation are satisfied we cannot get over the sense of
something left undone.
In Judaism, which believed in a jealous God, or in Greek mythology,
which provided a Nemesis, vengeance may be left to superhuman agencies;
but common sense furnished Bushido with the institution of redress as a
kind of ethical court of equity, where people could take cases not to be
judged in accordance with ordinary law. The master of the forty-seven
Ronins was condemned to death; he had no court of higher instance to
appeal to; his faithful retainers addressed themselves to vengeance, the
only Supreme Court existing; they in their turn were condemned by
common law,--but the popular instinct passed a different judgment, and
hence their memory is still kept as green and fragrant as are their
graves at Sengakuji to this day.
Though Lâo-tse taught to recompense injury with kindness, the voice
of Confucius was very much louder, which taught that injury must be
recompensed with justice;--and yet revenge was justified only when it
was undertaken in behalf of our superiors and benefactors. One's own
wrongs, including injuries done to wife and children, were to be borne
and forgiven. A samurai could therefore fully sympathise with Hannibal's
oath to avenge his country's wrongs, but he scorns James Hamilton for
wearing in his girdle a handful of earth from his wife's grave, as an
eternal incentive to avenge her wrongs on the Regent Murray.
Both of these institutions of suicide and redress lost their raison d'être
at the promulgation of the Criminal Code. No more do we hear of
romantic adventures of a fair maiden as she tracks in disguise the
murderer of her parent. No more can we witness tragedies of family
vendetta enacted. The knight errantry of Miyamoto Musashi is now a tale
of the past. The well-ordered police
spies out the criminal for the injured party and the law metes out
justice. The whole state and society will see that wrong is righted. The
sense of justice satisfied, there is no need of kataki-uchi. If
this had meant that "hunger of the heart which feeds upon the hope of
glutting that hunger with the life blood of the victim," as a New
England divine has described it, a few paragraphs in the Criminal Code
would not so entirely have made an end of it.
As to seppuku, though it too has no existence de jure,
we still hear of it from time to time, and shall continue to hear, I am
afraid, as long as the past is remembered. Many painless and time-saving
methods of self-immolation will come in vogue, as its votaries are
increasing with fearful rapidity throughout the world; but Professor
Morselli will have to concede to seppuku an aristocratic position
among them. He maintains that "when suicide is accomplished by very
painful means or at the cost of prolonged agony, in ninety-nine cases
out of a hundred, it may be
assigned as the act of a mind disordered by fanaticism, by madness, or by morbid excitement." 1 But a normal seppuku does not savour of fanaticism, or madness or excitement, utmost sang froid being necessary to its successful accomplishment. Of the two kinds into which Dr. Strahan 2 divides suicide, the Rational or Quasi, and the Irrational or True, seppuku is the best example of the former type.
From these bloody institutions, as well as from the general tenor of
Bushido, it is easy to infer that the sword played an important part in
social discipline and life. The saying passed as an axiom which called
the sword the soul of the samurai.
Footnotes
118:1
Seated himself-that is, in the Japanese fashion, his knees and toes
touching the ground and his body resting on his heels. In this position,
which is one of respect, he remained until his death.
123:1 I use Dr. Legge's translation verbatim.
130:1 Morselli, Suicide, p. 314
130:2 Suicide and Insanity.
