Humility in the Shade of the Leaves

“If by setting one’s heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though his body were already dead, he gains freedom in the Way. His whole life will be without blame, and he will succeed in his calling.”

—Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Hagakure

This is the first in a series of meditations on lessons from the Hagakure, in the Shade of the Leaves. My suspicion is that the wisdom imparted to us by the adherents of Bushido is applicable far beyond its original, intended context; and my hope is that we people of today might apply these lessons in overcoming our own adversities, anxieties, depression, and resentments.

This particular passage comes early in the first chapter in a discussion of the meaning of the way of the samurai:

The Way of the Samurai is found in death. When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice of death. It is not particularly difficult. Be determined and advance. To say that dying without reaching one’s aim is to die a dog’s death is the frivolous way of sophisticates. When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one’s aim. (Yamamoto)

Wisdom is painful, because suffering lies at the bottom of all truth—that is to say that suffering is inevitable; therefore, each time we learn something new, there will be an aspect of pain or discomfort about it. That’s how I felt when I first read the above quote, divided cognitively and emotionally. And strangely, it was not the latter that objected. Emotionally, I felt as though these assertions were correct, though I did not at first possess the words to articulate why they made sense rationally. It was my consciousness which objected, particularly to the notion that, “it is not necessary to gain one’s aim.”

It would have been easy to write off the idea as self-subjugating, suicidal, samurai nonsense—an idea taken too far by men all too willing to commit seppuku. There is some truth in this interpretation. After all, would not the man with such a disposition be either destroyed by his own recklessness, or else—at the opposite end of the spectrum—lack the motivation to pursue that which is difficult? And what does any of this have to do with humility? And how could a modern person make use of any of it when he has nothing in common with the warrior class of Japan?

I came to answer these questions in two parts: the first came early, or rather, I came to the Hagakure with such an understanding before hand. The second part came suddenly and out of an unrelated conversation.

Return to the beginning. Bushido, the way of the warrior, is death. Why might this be the case? While it is tempting to take the obvious, easy interpretation—because warriors kill and die—I do not believe this to be correct. If this was the case, then the Tao of the warrior would not be death, but victory; for when one engages in a conflict, a warrior is not one who chooses to lay down and die, but to fight, to struggle despite pain or obstacles or even certain defeat: this is what I believe is meant when Yamamoto suggests that Bushido is death. A warrior must be one willing to risk defeat, even certain death, or else he will not serve as a warrior at all. If he fears death, he will run or hesitate or give up at a critical moment. The question then transforms. How does a man overcome his innate fear of death? The answer is something I was already familiar with, that I had read in other texts related to Zen and Taoism, and that had I later confirmed in personal studies of psychology. To overcome a fear is to repeatedly face that fear in an act of voluntary exposure, thereby the fear becomes something familiar, something within one’s sphere of knowledge. It becomes something mastered. In this manner, the warrior contemplates his own mortality in order to become familiar enough with it as to accept his inevitable death. Thus fear is overcome. As I said, I already understood this concept abstractly, but it was not until that aforementioned conversation that I understood the breadth of its application.

While the details of that discussion are a private matter, I can share with you the words that, once escaped from my mouth, came back to strike me like a hypocritical boomerang. “Perhaps you desire more than you deserve,” I’d said—or something to that effect—and realized immediately that it applied to me more than to the person to whom I was speaking. As I have many times in my life, I’d stumbled blindly into my own arrogance. No different than my conversation partner, I had not been setting the bar of my expectations low enough. I had wanted too much, more than I’d earned, which had led me to unconsciously believe that reality had somehow cheated me, as though I was owed something for my suffering thus far. After a day of ruminating about what I’d said and what it meant, I came to a new understanding of the vindictive cliché, “You get what you deserve.” Better said: “This is what I deserve.”

Everything came together in those words. The many lessons I’ve learned from Zen Buddhism, Taoism, the Stoics, Jung, Nietzsche, and Peterson, among others—to accept and embrace death is to accept the transcendent nature of reality, both externally and internally. It is to let go of resentment by letting go of arrogance and self-deceit. It is to empty one’s cup as to fill it with the bitter tea of humility, and it is the drinking of that bitter tea voluntarily. Perhaps I may never achieve my ends. Whether or not I do depends on the convergence of my will with my nature and the nature of the external reality. That means my conscious will, though a necessary component, is yet a small one when compared to the objective forces of my biological capabilities and my time and place in the world. And so, just as I must die one day, I must likewise fail at some endeavor or another. I must necessarily suffer, for it is in my nature to do so. However, such suffering is what I deserve. In realizing this, I realize that my fate is good. Amor Fati.

“But surely,” I hear you saying, “that mentality justifies laying down, suffering, and dying, and being happy with it all. Surely it is nihilism in the vein of Buddhist Nirvana?” To that I ask: is it in your nature to lay down and die? Or is that your stubborn will cursing God for the conditions of the world, like Cain? In any case, the Hagakure answers,

Even if it seems certain that you will lose, retaliate. Neither wisdom nor technique has a place in this. A real man does not think of victory or defeat. He plunges recklessly towards an irrational death. By doing this, you will awaken from your dreams. (Yamamoto)

In closing, when one is approached by creeping anxiety or crippling guilt or depression, or even if one encounters mild mental resistance or resentment, he should at once recognize that this event—this thing happening to him—is in fact what should be happening. The life one lives is the life one deserves. Justice lies within the self, not in others. Therefore, all our suffering is just. The degree to which we disagree is the degree to which our will is out of accord with reality. If one wishes to bring harmony between himself and his place in the world, he must voluntarily take responsibility for his condition. And then, it isn’t so terrible.

Yamamoto, Tsunetomo. Hagakure.