#Samurai — The One Who Polishes the Blade Each Morning
Contents
A samurai is defined not by his blade, but by his courtesy.
#Morning
He rises one toki before dawn. In this era, one toki is approximately two hours — a unit by which the day is divided into twelve. One toki before dawn means around four in the morning in summer, five in winter. (For the unit, see fc02-00-02-terms.md.)
Outside it is dark. He washes his face in the dark. He presses his face into cold water. This cold water is the ritual that begins his day. It is the same regardless of season — in winter, if the water is frozen, he breaks the ice as it stands.
After washing, he bows before the kamidana (神棚). A small mirror, a small magatama, his ancestors' memorial tablet. He prays briefly. His lord's well-being, then his clan's well-being, and finally his own safe passage. The order is fixed.
After that — the blade.
#Polishing the Blade
The samurai's day begins with polishing the blade. Even if he polished it last night, he polishes it again this morning. He polishes it every day. Not because it rusts. Because the blade is himself.
"The blade is the samurai's soul" — this saying sounds worn, but it becomes true only through the daily act. While polishing, he polishes himself. If there was flesh cut yesterday, the faint trace of its oil may still cling to the edge. He feels it at his fingertips and wipes it away with cloth.
Then he returns the blade soundlessly to its scabbard. If there is a dull clunk, he is still unrefined.
#Day
#What Does He Do?
A Sengoku-era samurai's day passes near the castle (城). There are several possibilities.
- Service at his lord's castle — guard duty, document drafting, directing the training of soldiers, patrolling the domain. Much of it resembles the work of a bureaucrat.
- Reading at his own residence — Confucius (孔子), Sun Tzu's (孫子) art of war. Samurai read more than one might expect. One who does not read is mocked.
- Training — swordsmanship, archery, the spear. Not every day, but often. Most practice the kata of the kaden (家伝, hereditary transmission) passed down through the clan, and occasionally taste real combat against a traveling warrior of another school in a taryu-jiai (他流試合, cross-school match). (The systematic operation of a "dojo (道場)" would not flourish until the later Edo period.)
- Tea ceremony and waka (和歌) — the higher the samurai in rank, the more he values these. One who is skilled only with a blade is laughed at as a "country bushi (田舎武士)".
#Stipend (祿)
A samurai's livelihood is determined by his stipend (禄高). How much rice his lord gives him. It is spoken of in units of kokudaka (石高). How many koku of rice per year.
Senior samurai receive several thousand koku. Middle rank, several hundred koku. Lower rank, 50–100 koku. The lowest, near ashigaru grade, receive 20–30 koku — barely enough to feed the family. A middle-rank samurai (two or three hundred koku) can afford to keep a few household retainers (家従).
A reduction in stipend is a humiliation. But more frightening than humiliation is losing the stipend entirely — what happens when one's lord falls, or when one commits an error. A samurai stripped of his stipend becomes a ronin (浪人). He is now a drifter.
#Evening
When the day's service ends, he goes home. His wife is waiting. Miso soup, barley rice, and a few vegetables.
Sometimes sake. The sake comes in a light wooden cup. One or two cups.
After the meal he opens a book. Or he takes up the brush — he sets down the day in his diary. It is proper to write without once naming his lord. Even when recording "yesterday's events," he writes "yesterday," not "my lord yesterday." His lord's name is not to be written carelessly.
#Waka (和歌)
On his writing table there is paper, and there is a brush. He writes a poem of 31 syllables. A waka.
Waka is a mark of the samurai's cultivation, but it is also the last thing he may write before going to war. If he dies on the battlefield — this paper is his final testament. To his wife, to his children, to his lord.
"If I do not come back alive, do not burn this paper. This is me."
The content of waka is usually flowers, or the moon, or dew. It does not speak of death directly. But the one who reads it knows. May the flower fall yet leave its scent behind — that single line is the testament.
#Lord and Clan
The two axes that run through the samurai's life are lord and clan.
#Lord (主君)
The one person to whom he pledges loyalty. Absolute obedience to that one person's orders. If he believes an order is wrong — he remonstrates, with the utmost courtesy. And if the lord still does not listen? He obeys anyway. If he cannot bring himself to obey, he performs seppuku (切腹). There is no middle.
If his lord falls — what then? In the Sengoku era, the answer is most often to become a ronin and seek another lord. Many samurai died alongside their lords on the battlefield, but the practice of "junshi (殉死)" — following one's lord in death during peacetime — is rare in this era. (Institutionalizing junshi as a ritual virtue was the work of the later early Edo period.) Once a ronin, the rumor follows: "he survived when his lord died." To earn a new stipend great enough to outlive that rumor, a man must have both skill and luck.
#Clan (家門)
The samurai is not alone. He is one who inherits the name of his ancestors. His decisions affect his ancestors and his descendants alike. This is the weight of the bushi.
If the clan crumbles — the record of his existence in this world disappears. That is why he is careful. Sometimes so careful that he appears cowardly. But his caution is not a concern for his own life — it is responsibility toward his ancestors and his descendants.
#The Day He Goes to War
#The Last Morning
On the morning of his departure for battle, his morning is exactly as usual. That is what matters.
To do anything differently would be an admission that this might be the last. He will not admit it. He washes his face as usual, bows to the kamidana as usual, polishes his blade as usual.
There is only one thing different — today he writes a jisei no ku (辞世の句, farewell verse). He intends to return alive, but he prepares for the possibility. "Words for leaving the world." One waka.
"Though the flower falls / may only its scent remain / on this morning's / last wind, wherever / it comes to rest"
He places this paper on the writing table and puts on his armor. His wife watches him in silence. If she speaks, the day will come undone. She too knows this.
#Yet One More Thing the Samurai of This Age Carries
In this age, when the Spirit Realm has opened, the samurai must also fight yoma.
His blade works against many yoma, but before enemies that are spiritual, or close to incorporeal, it sometimes falls short. So he learns exorcism techniques, or ties a talisman from an exorcist monk to his sword's hilt, or strives to obtain a Divine Treasure (神器).
And — he has come to travel with strange companions. An onmyoji (陰陽師), a monk, a miko (巫女). Those with whom a samurai of old would never have consorted. Now they are companions on the battlefield. Because without them, he cannot survive.
Sometimes at night he turns this change over in his mind. His grandfather fought only against other samurai. His father too. Only in his own generation has it become natural to accept talismans and nembutsu as ordinary things.
His grandfather's spirit appears in his dreams and says — "What is it you are doing?" He wakes and looks at the ceiling. He answers into the dark — "I am trying to survive, Grandfather."
#In One Sentence
The samurai polishes his blade every day. Not because it will rust. So that he himself does not grow dim.