Pathway to Japanese Literature

To consider this issue, we should begin around the Ōnin War (1467–1477). When examining Europe during this conflict, Leonardo da Vinci was a youth around twenty years old, while Erasmus, Machiavelli, Michelangelo and others had only just been born during this war, and Luther had not yet entered the world.
Henry the Navigator of Portugal had already died seven years before the war began, but African circumnavigation had not yet developed.
Therefore, Europe too had not advanced so far ahead.
Rather, it was the remarkable progress made during the following century that stands out.
Xavier’s arrival in Japan also occurred seventy to eighty years after the war.

After the Ōnin War, Japan underwent a replacement of its ruling class.
The accompanying social changes must have also greatly influenced intellectual thought.
However, to properly examine such upheavals, we must first clearly envision what exactly the culture of the Muromachi period that preceded these changes had truly been.

Mr. Hara Katsurō once argued that the Muromachi period was Japan’s Renaissance era.
This is because the culture of the Heian period—considered Japan’s unique cultural heritage—which had been overshadowed by the warrior culture of the Kamakura period, was now being revived there once more.
This perspective seems quite accurate.
The vague disparagement of Muromachi culture is a type of prejudice stemming from the Edo shogunate's policies and is not a fair evaluation.
I believe we must thoroughly re-examine this point.

The heart of the Muromachi period lay in the Ōei (1394–1428) and Eikyō (1429–1441) eras. Regarding this, the renga master Shinkei made an intriguing remark in his *Solitary Words*.
This book had been written by Shinkei after he avoided the Ōnin War by retreating to Musashino, where he resided around Shinagawa and completed it in the second year of Ōnin (1468). In its conclusion, he enumerated various masters and—reflecting that they were all figures from thirty or forty years prior—lamented as follows:
"Now that all arts have fallen into ruin in this present age, with not a single person of renown remaining, I cannot help but recall how during the Ōei era and Eikyō years, master practitioners emerged across every discipline."
"In ages to come, that era will likely be remembered with nostalgia like the Engi era and the reign of Emperor Ichijō."
This meant the Ōei and Eikyō eras represented the zenith of the Muromachi period, deserving comparison to the Engi era.
Yet since our youth, we had often heard praises sung of the glorious Engi reign, but never once had we heard the Ōei-Eikyō era extolled.
Far from that, we had never even experienced stimulation strong enough to commit era names like Ōei and Eikyō to memory.
It was not until old age that we came to know the renga master Shinkei had written those words.
However, even when examining only Shinkei's evidence, one could not consider this era inferior to the Engi period.
Shinkei praised Zeami Motokiyo (1363–1443) of Sarugaku as a peerless marvel—from our perspective too, he remained a peerless marvel.
If Noh theater could still be presented to the world as one of Japanese culture's representative products, then Zeami—who created no small portion of it—had to be recognized as a writer of global stature.
Not only that, but Zeami had left behind truly outstanding works concerning Noh theory.
Shinkei also praised the painter Shūbun as the foremost individual to emerge in two or three hundred years.
Shūbun had been active around the Ōei era, and his ink wash paintings might well be said to have defined this period's pictorial style.
Thus this ink wash painting too could be presented to the world as one of Japanese culture’s representative products.
Regarding painting however—since Sesshū (1420–1506) had already returned from China by the Ōnin period—one could not say "the path of painting has fallen into ruin"; yet his name might not yet have reached Shinkei’s ears.
In Zen Buddhism, Monk Ikkyū Sōjun (1394–1481) still lived at this time.
Shinkei praised this man as a distinctive individual in both conduct and spirit.
He must have been a remarkably distinctive individual.
Thus this comprehension of Zen too stood as one of Japanese culture’s distinctive characteristics that continued to be showcased to the world even today.

When considering this, even based on these three points alone, we must conclude that the Ōei era held greater significance than the Engi era.

However, the masters listed beyond these three points were individuals we could hardly contend with.
Among poets, Priest Isho of Nanzenji Temple was regarded as the unrivaled foremost author for the past two or three hundred years.
In the Tale of the Heike, Sento Kengyō was considered the foremost since ancient times and the only one to emerge in two or three hundred years.
In Go, Dai-en of the Ōyama monastic community.
In sōka (early songs), Seia and Kōa.
In shakuhachi, Zōa.
All were regarded as peerless masters whom none in later times could surpass.
While this remains a matter beyond our comprehension, these master practitioners who appeared like clouds were indeed the flowers that adorned the Ōei and Eikyō eras.

Now, when considering whom to select as a representative from the intellectual world of that era, there could ultimately be no one other than Ichijō Kaneyoshi (1402–1481).
Kaneyoshi was born in Ōei 9 (1402), making him slightly late to be considered a representative of the Ōei era; nevertheless, by the end of Ōei he had become Minister of the Right, and in Eikyō 4 (1432), he assumed the position of Kampaku.
He promptly resigned at this time, but fifteen years later at age forty-five, he once again became Kampaku and Daijō-daijin; furthermore, at age sixty-five, he assumed the position of Kampaku for the third time.
However, he would prove sufficient to represent the Ōei and Eikyō eras not only through such positions but also in terms of scholarly knowledge.
His intellectual purview spanned Japan, China, and India in their entirety, with mastery extending to Buddhist philosophy, Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism, and Japanese classics.
He authored numerous works that stand as comprehensive syntheses of the scholarship of his time.
Consequently, his ideological tendencies manifested as an inclination toward non-inclination—seeking to unify all elements through incorporation—which might be positively termed synthetic or negatively deemed syncretic.
To encapsulate his thesis in a phrase: Shinto, Confucianism, and Buddhism all reveal the same truth—one mind being kami being the Way; three yet one, one yet three.

The works such as *Chronicle of Civilized Unity* and *Essentials of Governance Through Woodcutter Dialogues*, which this Kaneyoshi wrote for Shogun Yoshihisa in his later years, appear to have circulated quite widely and been read among warriors in general, though their content expounded political ideals of integrity and compassion similar to those of Kitabatake Chikafusa.
This ideology was characterized by its core principle of uniting justice and benevolence; however, it had long been established in Japan and was not a phenomenon limited to this era.
What particularly deserves attention about this period is that even after centuries of warrior-class power politics, political ideals from the imperial court era were still being advocated.
This likely related to the Renaissance significance previously mentioned.
In *Sayon no Nezame*, which the same Kaneyoshi wrote for Shogun Yoshihisa’s mother—that is, Yoshimasa’s wife Hino Tomiko—this tendency manifested even more clearly.
This book too appears to have been widely read in subsequent eras, though its content outlined standards of cultivation befitting a refined person.
After advocating for fully savoring natural beauty, making literature the nourishment of the heart, familiarizing oneself with classical works like the *Man'yōshū* and *The Tale of Genji*, and mastering matters such as renga composition and poetic judgment, he addressed practical matters by emphasizing that discernment in judging people held paramount importance.
It constituted an attempt to build cultural refinement entirely upon imperial court ideals.

As is evident even in these aspects, Kaneyoshi represented the spirit of the Ōei and Eikyō eras and may well be said to have been entirely foreign to the spirit of the post-Ōnin period. He had lived for several years after the Ōnin War and had written works such as *Essentials of Governance Through Woodcutter Dialogues* in its aftermath; however, what he harbored toward the new era was nothing but fear—neither a vision for reconstruction nor an exploration of new guiding ideologies. In *Essentials of Governance Through Woodcutter Dialogues*, he argues for the complete prohibition of ashigaru. Ashigaru emerged from the Ōnin War, but they were nothing more than a mob—a manifestation of gekokujō, the overthrow of superiors by inferiors. If this was not suppressed, he argued, society would collapse. He witnessed the rising power of the people before his very eyes yet remained unable to discern the momentum of a new era taking shape there. The Shōchō and Eikyō peasant uprisings had occurred when he was nearly thirty years old, and the Kakitsu peasant uprising—a province-wide equitable settlement forced by the people—took place when he was thirty-nine. Though well-acquainted with these popular movements, to him they likely represented nothing more than lamentable disruptions of order. Now this people's power had come to form the military's main component—these were the ashigaru. That is why he feared society's collapse.

As described above, from the perspective of the Ōei and Eikyō eras' spirit, the post-Ōnin period was an age of gekokujō (overthrow of superiors by inferiors), an age without order, and an age of societal collapse.
What represented this new era were: (1) popular movements as seen in politicized peasant uprisings (*do-ikki*) and religious revolts; and (2) the emergence of new samurai bands mediated by the advancement of ashigaru (foot soldiers), culminating in the rise of warlords.
There, let us first focus on the first category of people [the populace] and examine what ideologies were at work within them.

After the Ōnin War, peasant uprisings and religious uprisings clearly transformed into political movements.
The Yamashiro no Kuni Ikki of Bunmei 17 (1485) and the Kaga Ikkō Ikki of Chōkyō 2 (1488) are notable examples of this.
These events occurred within a few years of Kaneyoshi’s death, but from a global perspective, they coincided with the time when the movement to open the Indian route just reached the southern tip of Africa.

The question of how to ascertain popular ideologies from this period onward poses a significant challenge, but I propose using Muromachi-period tales as source material. These narratives predominantly feature temple and shrine origin stories, drawing from Japanese mythology, Buddhist scriptures, and folk traditions—their imaginative scope truly unbounded. We may treat them as direct reflections of communal sentiments centered around these religious institutions. When considering that certain folk narratives studied by folklorists appear exclusively in this era's tales, their inherently popular character becomes undeniable. However, determining whether these stories were specifically produced during the post-Ōnin period remains problematic. Indeed, manuscripts predating this era have been identified among them. Nevertheless, we must recognize that their active reproduction and consequent circulation peaked during late Muromachi times. Within these parameters, we may discern post-Ōnin popular consciousness through these narratives.

Now, proceeding to read the tales of this era with that intent, we occasionally encountered contents so astonishing they took our breath away.
What astonished us most among them were those that took as their themes suffering gods and resurrected gods.

One of these was *Kumano no Honji*.
As this was the origin story of Kumano Gongen—one of Japan's most famous shrines—we must consider that its circulation had been rather extensive.
What it told was how the gods currently enshrined in Kumano had originally undergone their careers in India.
Therefore it narrated events that had occurred in the court of the Magadha king in India.
Moreover, the world depicted there—from clothing and customs down to officials' names—was entirely in the style of *The Tale of Genji*, with nothing at all reminiscent of India.

The heroine was a beautiful consort who was a devoted believer of Kannon.
In the court, a thousand consorts and seven queens served the king, but this particular consort was chosen from among them, gathered the king’s favor entirely upon herself, and finally came to bear the crown prince.
Because of this, this consort also drew upon herself the hatred of nine hundred ninety-nine queens.
Every exclusion movement and curse came to focus on her.
She was finally taken deep into the mountains and had her head cut off.
Just before that, this queen gave birth to a prince in the mountains.
And then, even after being beheaded, her torso and limbs remained completely unharmed as she suckled the prince with her twin breasts.
The queen’s hardships and the headless mother’s nurturing constituted the climax of this tale.
The prince grew until the age of four, was entrusted to the saint of Gion Shōja—who was his mother’s elder brother—and at seven years old was brought before the Great King, where he revealed the entire course of events.
The Great King relinquished his throne to him on that very day.
The new king, at fifteen years of age accompanied by his grandfather and the saint avoided the terrifying land of women and flew to Kumano in Japan aboard a flying chariot.
This is said to be Kumano Sansho Gongen.

In this tale, while the heroine’s hardships and her heartrending form—nurturing an infant with her breasts despite lacking a head—formed the narrative’s focus, it was not this heroine herself who came to be revered as Kumano Gongen.
Only the pitiful crown prince, nursed by a headless mother, along with his father and uncle, became Kumano Gongen.
However, among variant texts of the same *Kumano no Honji*, there exist those that further establish the heroine herself as a gongen.
For this purpose, merely having the heroine beheaded would not suffice.
The new king, who had been nursed by his headless mother, strove to revive this compassionate queen mother out of profound love for her and ultimately succeeded.
When flying to Japan, he brought the queen mother along with him.
Thus, the queen who continued to nourish the infant with her breasts even after losing her head became Kumano Gongen.
Here we find the concept of gods who suffer, gods who agonize, and gods who take human suffering upon themselves.
Nara picture books depict gruesome images of a queen spurting blood from her neck.
For those who beheld this as the awe-inspiring predecessor of Kumano Gongen, even the gruesome figure of the Savior on the cross—with its vivid spear wounds—would not have seemed particularly unfamiliar.

Now, these tales of suffering gods and resurrecting gods were not limited to *Kumano no Honji*. The deities of Itsukushima Shrine—in no way less renowned than Kumano—also bore a similar narrative burden. This was *The Origin of Itsukushima*. Here too, the story unfolded in an India rendered through *The Tale of Genji*'s aesthetic lens, though its plot diverged markedly from its counterpart. The royal court housed a father king with a thousand consorts, while his successor—the new king—proved fiercely idealistic in matters of love, refusing all concubines save his envisioned paragon. After sundry adventures, he brought his ideal princess from a distant foreign realm—this beautiful consort becoming the tale's heroine.

When recounting her subsequent fate, however, the narrative abruptly converged with *Kumano no Honji*. The thousand consorts' collective hatred and persecution focused upon this new queen. They employed a court diviner to dispatch the king on distant travels, isolating her. Warriors were sent to her undefered chambers; she was abducted into mountains and beheaded. Thus emerged another account of maternal nurture from a headless corpse.

Yet when the king returned after twelve years' absence and learned her fate, the tale swerved anew. Venturing alone on his quest, guided by his consort's dream-apparition, he discovered her bleached bones and their twelve-year-old prince amidst the peaks. Here entered Furō Shōnin's intervention—the holy man's power being entreated to restore her form.

The absence of her cervical bones thwarted revival. To retrieve them, the prince journeyed courtward—beheading his grandfather's thousand consorts in retribution before recovering his mother's relic. Through this act, her resurrection succeeded: revived queen; prince suckled by headless remains; father king—together they became Itsukushima's divine triad. Here more starkly than ever manifested those gods who suffer death and rebirth—their agonies demanding acknowledgment.

I do not know from what source these stories originated.
Given that these stories are set in India, I considered whether their material could be found somewhere in Buddhist scriptures; however, I have yet been unable to locate it.
Based on the impression given by the stories themselves, they do not seem to have originated from Buddhist scriptures.
The resurrected queen is depicted as "stepping through crimson tide-dyed hakama trousers amidst twelve-layered robes, holding the fifth scroll of the gold-painted Lotus Sutra in her left hand."
This is entirely a Japanese conception.
Not only that, but the concept of suffering gods also appears in stories based on folk tales that seem to have no connection whatsoever to Buddhist scriptures.
If that is the case, then I must conclude that this concept welled up from among the Japanese people themselves.

Among narratives that appear to draw their subject matter from folk tales, the most conspicuous is the origin story of Iyo’s Mishima Myojin, *Mishima*. This Myojin was originally a wealthy man in Mishima District. He possessed forty thousand storehouses, fifty thousand samurai, and three thousand wives, reaching the height of prosperity, but unfortunately had no children. Following his wife’s suggestion, they visited Hase Kannon to pray for a child. On the twenty-first night, Kannon declared they were without seed, but the wealthy man implored her until it came to pass that he would obtain seed in exchange for casting out all his wealth. Before long, his wife gave birth to a beautiful Tamao, but in exchange, all of the wealthy man’s fortune vanished. The wealthy man and his wife began a life of abject poverty with just the two of them. One morning, the wife went out to gather seaweed at the shore with Tamao on her back, but fearing she might drop the infant onto the rocks, she set Tamao down on the sand and began gathering seaweed alone. In that moment, an eagle swooped down, snatched Tamao, and flew away. The mother shouted, “Where are you taking the child I gained in exchange for the treasure of forty thousand storehouses?” and gave chase, but the eagle vanished into the mountains bordering four provinces. The wealthy couple sank into profound grief and ventured into the deep mountains where the eagle had flown to search for their child.

The eagle that had abducted Tamao set the infant down on a loquat tree in the garden of Raitō no Emon in Awa Province and flew off into the sky.
Since Emon had no children, he rejoiced at being blessed with a beautiful child and raised her with great care.
Then, when Tamao was five years old, the provincial governor's deputy heard of this matter and, as he himself had no children, forcibly took her into his custody.
At age seven, the provincial governor of Awa heard of this matter, took Tamao from the deputy, and lovingly raised her by his side without ever leaving her; then at age ten, when the emperor beheld her, he summoned her to the imperial court and bestowed exceptional favor upon her.
By age seventeen, her appointment as provincial governor had already been issued.
However, before departing for her post in Tsukushi, one day while viewing flowers in the front garden, she heard country people from Shikoku who had come to pay respects at the Imperial Palace discussing something outside the plaster wall.
Those people saw Tamao and began clamoring, saying, "Isn’t that Raitō no Emon’s child?"
Tamao heard this and realized that she was the child who had been abducted by the eagle.
Then, she petitioned the emperor to appoint her as provincial governor of Shikoku and embarked on a search for her true parents.
First, she went to Awa Province and met Emon, and searched for those whose children had been taken by eagles, but there was not a single one.
Next, she went to Iyo Province and, under the pretext of holding a Buddhist memorial service, gathered people aged twenty or older to investigate those whose children had also been taken by eagles, but even there, she found nothing.
Thereupon, Tamao became impatient and commanded: "If there are those who fail to appear due to old age, bring them here even if it requires using force."
At that moment, someone spoke up about an elderly couple living in seclusion in the mountains bordering four provinces.
This was taken up, and a search party was finally dispatched.

The search party scoured the deep mountains and finally discovered the elderly couple, but they stated they had met people only twice in these past seventeen years and refused to return to the mundane world.
The officials of the search party had no choice but to bind up the elderly couple, whip them, torment them, and drag them down from the mountains.
When they came out to the village and took lodging, fearing escape, they made the elderly couple carry a grinding mortar.
The hardships suffered by the elderly couple were truly harrowing, but the story particularly details those hardships in great detail.
That was likely to make the joy of the parent-child reunion before Tamao as intense as possible.
Moreover, the author develops this joy of reunion with remarkable care, gradually unfolding it.
First, Tamao looked at the elderly couple who had been brought in, scolded the officials who were binding them up, and hurriedly had them untie the ropes.
And step by step, Tamao made the elderly couple comprehend that this benevolent provincial governor was the beloved child who had been taken by an eagle seventeen years prior.
As this occurred, the elderly couple were gradually led to the pinnacle of joy, and this too becomes the pinnacle of joy for the readers.

Mishima Myojin refers to this wealthy man who endured such hardships.
The wealthy man's wife is also enshrined as the primary deity of Sanuki Province.
We can discern there yet another archetype of suffering gods.
The story’s author particularly emphasized depicting the wealthy couple’s grief at losing their beloved child and the suffering they endured when being forcibly taken from the mountains.
This was clear evidence that the author intended to present these deities as suffering gods.
When we see how such intent was expressed with great force through the material of Japanese folk tales known as wealthy man legends, it does not seem too far-fetched to consider that the concept of suffering gods welled up from among the Japanese populace.

In this manner, gods who suffer and gods who die and are resurrected were deeply familiar to the Japanese populace of the late Muromachi period.
Of course, this does not mean that all Japanese people believed in them.
As for the dominant religions of that time, Zen Buddhism, Jōdo Shinshū, and Nichiren Buddhism were the most influential.
However, that among the Japanese populace there existed the capacity to comprehend concepts such as gods who suffer and gods who die and are resurrected is beyond doubt.
For such people, the story of Christ’s crucifixion would by no means have been difficult to understand.

Assuming that such ideas were circulating among the populace, secondly, how might matters have stood with the emerging warrior class?

The emerging warrior class was no different from the established warrior class in seeking to seize power through military force; however, it clearly differed from the traditional warrior houses of the pre-Ōnin era in one crucial aspect.
It lay in how while traditional warrior houses had stood upon pedigree, new warrior houses stood upon actual power.
The warrior houses that established the Kamakura shogunate had stood upon lineages like that of the Minamoto clan.
The relationship between military lords and their retainers formed the backbone of nationwide warrior class organization.
Initially, their efforts to maintain public order through military force had been visibly effective achievements.
However, they later existed merely as a privileged class standing above people through traditional rights.
Yet after popular movements arose, merit replaced pedigree as what mattered.
Actual leadership ability and governance capacity became necessary instead of mere family status.
Thus leaders with outstanding political talent emerged as what we call a "group of heroes."
What made them heroes stemmed both from their ability to capture popular sentiment and from hero-worshipping tendencies among people themselves.

The earliest among the group of heroes was Hōjō Sōun.
He was a man of obscure lineage who arrived from the capital region as a wandering samurai at the Imagawa clan during or shortly after the Ōnin War.
Around that time, when internal strife arose within the Imagawa clan and they faced imminent external interference, this ronin skillfully resolved the situation through political maneuvering and was consequently entrusted with Takakunidera Castle at Mount Atago's southern foot.
This marked the beginning of Hōjō Sōun's campaign to conquer Kantō.
He captured Izu Horikoshi Palace in Entoku 3 (1491), demonstrating actual power's triumph over tradition three years after the Kaga Ikkō ikki uprising.
In Meio 4 (1495) he conquered Odawara Castle, and by Eisho 15 (1518) had subjugated all Sagami Province.
This coincided precisely with Europe's Age of Discovery - when Portuguese and Spanish conquests accelerated following Vasco da Gama's opening of Indian sea routes and Columbus' American landfall.

The cause of Hōjō Sōun’s success may partly have lain in his military prowess but was said to have been primarily due to his effective governance.
Particularly in governance, being without self-interest and reducing taxes was likely the reason he gained public popularity.
The concrete manifestation of this was the prosperity of Odawara’s castle town.
It was said to have been more prosperous than Kyoto’s entertainment districts, but considering the continuous warfare of that time, it might actually have been so.

In the name of Hōjō Sōun, there remains a legal code called "Twenty-One Articles of Lord Sōun-ji," which is strikingly refreshing in its directness and clarity.
Among these, what receives the strongest emphasis is "honesty"—in this respect, it does not differ from traditional ideas. Yet within this advocacy of honesty, one discerns a forthrightness unseen in previous eras, a strength capable of laying oneself utterly bare.
The sentiment expressed through the term *arino mama* ("as things are") manifests in such passages as: "Respect those above you; show compassion to those below. Accept what exists as existing and what does not as nonexistent—a state of mind in its natural form that appears to align with Buddhist will and divine consideration," or "Do not speak even half a lie to all people, high or low; even in trivial matters, remain genuine."
In contrast to the pretentious conventionality that characterized earlier periods, here stood an unvarnished attitude rooted in actual power.
Given this was the Sengoku period, conspiracies, stratagems, and calculated propaganda would have been rampant—yet he recognized baseness in the weak who employed such methods and nobility in the strong who maintained an *arino mama* attitude.
And this approach likely proved ultimately to be the surest path to success.

Moreover，Zen Buddhism’s influence was strongly evident in Hōjō Sōun’s code．The foundation of his philosophy advocating authenticity (*arino mama*) likely lay in Zen Buddhism．The admonitions to his subordinate warriors also stemmed from this，and his enthusiastic encouragement of academic and artistic pursuits over martial training was likely rooted there．We can see this position—that those accomplishing things through force were inferior，while those using mental exertion were superior—already clearly articulated here．

Asakura Toshikage of Echizen, who rose to prominence around the same time as Hōjō Sōun, was also a hero worthy of attention.
The Asakura clan had originally been merely generals under the Shiba clan, but during the Ōnin War, they became independent and assumed the role of shugo of Echizen.
They subsequently built up sufficient power to later become Oda Nobunaga’s greatest threat.
"The Seventeen Articles of Asakura Toshikage," as stated in its preamble—"Since taking control of this province through miraculous means as a lay monk with half my body devoted to Buddhism, I have devised strategies day and night without rest, at times gathering renowned masters from various regions and heeding their counsel, thus arriving at our present state"—originated from his experiences, but what stood out most within them was their liberation from tradition and convention.
Regarding personnel matters, he did not rely on family lineage but strongly advocated appointing individuals by discerning each person's competence and loyalty.
In warfare, he emphasized making concerted efforts to abandon superstitions such as selecting auspicious days or considering directions when postponing military actions.
Other notable points he stressed included promoting honest individuals, never distorting right and wrong, and recognizing that even resolute punishments ultimately constituted acts of merciful killing.
We believe we can perceive within these principles both a freedom of spirit and an inflexibility in ethical foundations.

Among those from a slightly later period deserving attention was the *Tago Tatsunori Family Precepts*. This was likely written around the time of Xavier’s arrival in Japan. Tago Tatsunori served as a general of the Amago clan defending Sasuga Iwayama Castle in Iwami Province, while his ancestor Tago Shigetoshi had served Shogun Yoshimitsu and earned renown as Japan’s foremost gambler. For three subsequent generations gambling masters continued this legacy until Tatsunori’s grandfather abandoned gaming to gain military fame in Kyoto during the Ōnin War. Though Tatsunori’s father was acclaimed as a “modern master,” he secretly despised gambling—the very teachings presented as the “Tatsunori Family Precepts” originated from this paternal aversion. Having wandered through provinces since youth, Tatsunori himself attained enlightenment: “Those achieving through force are inferior; those achieving through mental exertion are superior.” Upon this realization, his father’s teachings resurfaced vividly within him. Maintaining an honest heart thus allowed him to finally establish himself.

Based on this experience, Tatsunori emphasized the necessity of learning above all else.
Therefore, this family precept can be said to primarily expound on the principles of learning, grounded in a concern for scholarship and reason.

First, he begins by advocating penmanship and scholarship: "In one’s youth, one should devote night and day to penmanship and literary studies."
"Those without scholarship find it difficult to distinguish right from wrong," but what was being encouraged there were literary arts and various other skills.
Moreover, this encouragement stood under the ideal of cultivation modeled on Heian court literature, like Kaneyoshi’s *Sayononezame* mentioned earlier.
The fact that this was being advocated by a brave warrior of the late Sengoku period is what we find profoundly intriguing.

However, an even more striking feature of the *Tatsunori Family Precepts* lay in its encouragement of rational thinking through the concept of "calculation."
He stated, "To know calculation is to know reason."
"To know reason is to have no confusion."
This 'ri' referred not only to the order inherent in natural phenomena but also to the normative laws governing human actions.
Moreover, when considering the latter, he proved quite thorough.
For example, as an instance of human reason, he put forward the proposition: "If one’s conduct exceeds their station, they will incur divine punishment."
This aligned with the same concept that the Greeks had strenuously guarded against hubris, and indeed in Greece too, divine retribution had been swift and visible.
However, he added afterward: “If one demeans oneself below their status, punishment will befall them.”
Losing self-respect became equally deserving of punishment as arrogance.
Here, we could perceive the sense of respect for personhood that had come to be recognized through the experiences of actual combat.
He called such ethical reflections "calculation."
Even among those with whom one was intimately familiar at home, maintaining courteous manners in public spaces; ensuring servants strictly adhered to discipline in front of guests while showing them care when unobserved—such distinctions between public and private spheres were also what he considered "calculation."
When it came to methods of disciplining people as well, discerning that frequent minor transgressions held greater consequence than rarely committed major ones was also what constituted "calculation."
Major transgressions were rare, but minor transgressions, being committed daily, would become habitual if left unchecked.
Therefore, major transgressions might be forgiven by people, but minor transgressions must never be forgiven.
That Sengoku warriors had diligently practiced such calculation was something we might well say deserved attention.

The three family precepts mentioned above were written by prominent Sengoku warriors themselves.
From these alone, it may be difficult to fully comprehend the ideology of the new warrior class, yet we may acknowledge that guiding principles existed here.
With such a perspective in mind, when reading accounts by Christian missionaries about Japanese warriors of the late Sengoku period, we find numerous points that indeed make us nod in agreement that it must have been so.
The moral character of Sengoku warriors was by no means weak.
Moreover, in their tendency to love truth, reject superstition, and attempt to think rationally, they were already prepared to accept the modern era.

Considering the above, even amidst the disordered social conditions following the Ōnin War, we can assert that the ideological conditions necessary to encounter and assimilate European culture had sufficiently taken shape.
Therefore, the work carried out by Christian missionaries over half a century actually achieved astonishing results.

However, the national seclusion policy—arising not from cultural motives but other reasons—through hysterical persecution, thoroughly eradicated the influence of European culture that the Japanese had absorbed during this era.
Under that influence, all cultural products created by the Japanese people—save for a few exceptions surviving by chance—were indeed thoroughly annihilated.
Consequently, such a grand and deeply rooted cultural movement came to be treated in Japanese history as little more than a minor episode.

As material for understanding the ideological climate of the Japanese people during that period when such things were occurring, I take profound interest in the *Kōyō Gunkan*.

According to its own claims, this book is said to have been compiled by Takeda Shingen's veteran retainer Kōsaka Danjō Nobumasa for his young lord after Katsuyori's defeat at Nagashino. The contents—including Takeda Shingen’s house laws, a chronicle of Shingen’s life, records of retainers’ words and deeds, and biographies such as Yamamoto Kansuke’s—are diverse, but military strategies one might associate with the title are treated merely as an appendix, with the bulk consisting of moral precepts. If this work had indeed been compiled as claimed, it would require treatment as contemporaneous with works like the *Tago Tatsunori Family Precepts*. However, critiques since the early eighteenth century’s Hōei era (1704–1711) presume Obata Kanbei Kagenori (1572–1663), an early Edo military scholar, as author. Kagenori’s grandfather Obata Yamashiro—a senior Takeda vassal—had defended Kawanakajima Kaizu Castle alongside Kōsaka Danjō, the *Gunkan*’s attributed author. When Danjō died, seven-year-old Kagenori might have faintly retained memories of his features. Some basis likely existed for Kagenori’s pseudepigraphical attribution to Danjō. Though the Takeda clan fell when Kagenori was eleven, many retainers from his father’s generation joined Ieyasu’s forces, from whom Kagenori presumably gathered accounts. The text’s composition is estimated around the Keichō era’s end in the early seventeenth century.

If one reads through this book (*Kōyō Gunkan*), we think that parts of differing natures will likely become discernible to anyone’s eyes.
(1) is the part that speaks from Kōsaka Danjō’s perspective.
(2) is an interweaving of Shingen’s chronicle and Yamamoto Kansuke’s biography, and is thought to have used records left behind by Kansuke’s son, a Zen monk, as material.
(3) is the section called Iwashimizu Monogatari, consisting of quotations from Shingen and his veteran retainers.
This appears to derive from elders' oral traditions, yet it is extremely fascinating.
(4) is the volume on military law, which probably uses some old records.
(5) is the volume on public affairs, which compiles trial stories, but its prose resembles that of (1).
(6) is the future military chronicle, and this also resembles (1).
If (5) and (6) are merged into (1), they would roughly form four parts.

The Kōyō Gunkan discussed an extremely diverse range of matters in these sections, yet it seemed that a single moral ideal ran consistently through them all. Even in the volume on military law, the primary concern lay not in the particulars of tactics or strategies, but in probing their "foundation." The "foundation" of good military law lay in good command. The foundation of good command lay in good laws. The foundation of good laws lay in honesty, compassion, and wisdom. This was the principle of military law. Because of such a perspective, whether in Shingen’s chronicle or in records of Sengoku warriors’ words and deeds, they were imbued with an extremely strong moral admonitory character.

As an example here, let us present the four types of “generals who ruin our nation and destroy our house” found in “The Scroll of Life’s Span” (Volumes 3–6).

The first is the foolish general—the excessively dull-witted commander.
When we speak of “foolishness” here, it does not denote a lack of intelligence.
Even among those possessing superior talent, strong willpower, and exceptional martial skills, there exist fools.
Such individuals are those afflicted by self-conceit.
They are people who “consider every act of self-assertion to be perfectly executed.”
These commanders find their wisdom pilfered by subordinates.
This occurs because, intoxicated by flattery, they lose the capacity to independently judge right from wrong.
Consequently, they grow increasingly foolish.

However，retainers tended to praise their lord’s actions even without such malice．Against this，proper discernment was essential．A wise general judged the merits and demerits of matters himself．Therefore，“Praising good deeds was regarded as reasonable，while praising bad deeds was taken as catering to me or mere formal courtesy．” However，according to some people，there were those who became angry at individuals who even praised bad deeds，denouncing them as frivolous．This was foolish．Within an entire household，retainers who would speak candidly to the lord would likely number no more than three to five．The majority typically engaged in frivolous talk．To become angry without understanding this was nothing but foolishness．

The consequence arising from a general being a fool was that he favored similar fools.
That fool then assigned various duties to similar fools.
Therefore, all those who bustled about in active service within the household ended up being complete fools.
The people of the household praised those fools as discerning and clever individuals.
Finally, nine out of ten members of the household became frivolous flatterers; forming alliances based on mutual interests, they strove to praise their peers and exclude the honest.
Moreover, the general—due to self-conceit—failed to notice this situation.
Even if there had been four or five wise individuals among a hundred, they would have escaped his notice.
When a critical moment arrived, only these four or five proved useful, while the ninety-five who had always put on loyal faces vanished into the shadows.
The house could only meet destruction.

The second was the excessively shrewd general.
He was extremely astute in calculating profit and loss but lacked both wisdom and fortitude.
"He possessed a crude grand strategy, erred easily, and appeared vulnerable."
In times of good fortune he trampled over others, but when faced with misfortune he wilted away.
He paid lip service to propriety but showed no mercy due to his calculating nature.
He was also a show-off - whatever he did was primarily driven by avoiding others' criticism.
He desired to display his own originality and became constrained by caution against seeming imitative.
Even when emulating others, it turned into mere performative virtue.

Such generals were skillfully exploited by wealthy commoners and townspeople.
Before long, the family’s customs became townspeople-like, and those skilled in eloquence who used profit to win people over began to dominate.
Out of a hundred people, ninety-five adopted townspeople-like manners, while the remaining five were spoken ill of, treated as mad, and rendered unable to voice their opinions on anything.
Out of these five, three eventually compromised with townspeople-like manners, while the remaining two left the household.
Thus, this household—from the chief retainers down to the lowest servants—descended into a mean-spirited atmosphere where everyone strove to outdo others.

The third was the cowardly general.
He was described as "a person who—being foolish-minded and resembling a woman in disposition—suspects others, favors the wealthy, loves flattery, does not investigate matters thoroughly, lacks discernment, and being merciless while failing to comprehend things deeply—cannot truly understand people"; in short, one lacking mental fortitude and weak in moral character.
Therefore, he acted not according to duty but based on reputation.
For instance, he became the type who granted excessive stipends lest he be called stingy.
A strong general, when needing to store goods out of necessity, did not care whether others called him greedy or miserly.
Stipends were awarded based on character and meritorious service—they bore no relation to reputation.

Under a cowardly general who acted based on reputation, frivolous and unsteady individuals ran rampant.
They were weak-willed individuals lacking moral backbone who tried to out-argue others with mere words—envying those superior to themselves while despising those inferior.
This envy and contempt had to be strictly distinguished from criticism directed at others.
Criticizing braggarts or disparaging boasts constituted legitimate criticism; it was neither envy nor contempt.
To envy meant dragging down superior value; to despise meant heaping scorn upon character—both were morally that which should have been most vehemently rejected.

The fourth is the excessively strong general.
He is courageous at heart, perceptive of opportunities, eloquently articulates grand strategies, surpasses others in wisdom, remains patient without short temper, and appears calm and profound—yet detests seeming weak in any matter.
It is due to this single flaw that various breakdowns arise.
The chief retainers，apprehensive of the general’s domineering nature，cannot fully articulate their intended moderate arguments with logical coherence.
Therefore，they appear half-hearted and conventional.
The general feels dissatisfied with this.
Taking advantage of this opening，when an ambitious samurai proposes a hardline opinion that aligns with the general’s inclinations，the general immediately seizes upon it.
Ambitious individuals increasingly fan the flames.
As a result，the general comes to disregard wisdom and strategy，ultimately losing all his courageous warriors.
The reason is this：Among warriors，those who are “strong and discerning” constitute merely 2% of the upper tier；those who are “strong and perceptive” make up only 6% of the middle tier；and those who “seek military exploits and excel in one path” amount to just 12% even in the lower tier.
The remaining 80% are no more than “average men.”
Yet under an excessively strong general，the 20% of warriors across upper，middle，and lower tiers are killed in battle，leaving only mediocre samurai of ordinary caliber behind.
In such cases，even if 80% remain，it is no different from total annihilation.

The above four types constitute categories of generals who destroy nations; conversely, through them emerges in sharp relief the archetype of the ideal general.
This is a figure of wisdom, steadfast in moral character and abundant in benevolence.
Within this archetype operate powerfully the ancient ideals of integrity, compassion, and wisdom—yet what stands out most conspicuously appears to be its vehement emphasis on "discernment in evaluating others."
To attain such discernment requires purging selfish inclinations like arrogance, vanity, and suspicion; yet once a general achieves this clarity, his warrior band transforms into an indestructible force.
This signifies that respect for moral character comes to govern his samurai contingent.
We maintain that this work's envisioned samurai ideal consists solely in cultivating moral excellence.

When expounding on the samurai ideal in general terms, it was evident that the ideals of honesty, compassion, and wisdom formed the foundation; however, we could identify one distinct feature that remained evident throughout this entire book.
That was an intense sense of self-respect.
Earlier, we had cited from Tago Tatsunori’s house precepts the words that if one belittled oneself, punishment would be incurred; however, this sentiment was strongly advocated throughout this book.
This was particularly evident when addressing martial arts, the way of men, bushido, and similar subjects.
These terms had originally expressed techniques of combat; however, once "mindset" became a point of focus, they clearly transformed into moral meanings.
And there, what occupied the central position was this sense of self-respect.
That one was cowardly was something one could not permit within oneself.
Therefore, from within oneself emerged a mindset that did not fear death.
For such a person, their honor being more precious than life stemmed not from being governed by reputation, but because their sense of self-respect demanded it.
Similarly, one's own stinginess and baseness could not be permitted within oneself.
Therefore, here as well, from within oneself emerged a masculine mindset.
To value integrity was not for the sake of reputation but out of a sense of self-respect.
Thus, when the mindset grounded in self-respect gradually formed the principal substance of martial arts and the way of men, the meaning of martial arts as combat techniques came rather to be expressed through the term "heihō" (military strategy).
Thus, what were called martial arts, the way of men, and the way of warriors could be said to constitute a morality that—from the standpoint of self-respect—abhorred baseness itself and esteemed nobility itself.
This was a morality that took nobility and baseness as its foundation, and was therefore aristocratic.
The foundation capable of connecting with gentlemanly morality had been sufficiently established there.

This moral stance might be expressible through the motto "Respect your enemies" rather than "Love your enemies."
Within the Shingen House Laws there existed a provision prohibiting speaking ill of enemies.
While there may indeed have been a strategic calculation involved—that provoking enemies through insults would only strengthen them, thus resulting in loss—the fundamental principle lay in the conviction that those unworthy of respect did not merit being considered enemies, and that deeming someone an enemy itself constituted proof of their worthiness for respect.
There were also passages that explained such a mindset in detail.
Shingen himself had demonstrated this through his respect for Kenshin.
What was said to be Shingen’s will instructed Katsuyori: "After my death, make peace with Kenshin. If peace is achieved, say to Kenshin, ‘I entrust this to you,’ for Kenshin is a person worthy of such words."
Be that as it may, Shingen was considered such a person.

If Obata Kagenori wrote the *Kōyō Gunkan* around the end of the Keichō era, then Tokugawa Ieyasu’s new cultural and educational policies had already begun by that time.
The core of this policy likely lay in transferring spiritual authority over the Japanese people from Buddhism to Confucianism.
It is thought that what spurred such policies was the stimulus from the Christian movement.

Six years after Hideyoshi issued the Edict Expelling Christians in Bunroku 2 (1593), Ieyasu, then fifty-two years old, summoned Fujiwara Seika to hear lectures on *Zhenguan Zhengyao*.
While quietly observing the fifty-eight-year-old Hideyoshi struggling with his plans to conquer Ming, Ieyasu contemplated why he could not govern the realm from horseback.
Thus, when Ieyasu seized power five years later—at the same age Hideyoshi had been when launching the Ming campaign—he inaugurated his era through scholarly promotion rather than military conquest.
Beginning with the printing of *Confucius’s Family Sayings* and *Six Secret Teachings and Three Strategies* in Keichō 4 [1599], he devoted himself year after year to publishing *Essentials of Governance from the Zhenguan Era*, collecting ancient texts, establishing libraries in Sunpu and Edo Castle, and preserving works at Kanazawa Bunko.
Then in Keichō 12 [1607], he formally employed Hayashi Razan.
Ieyasu began persecuting Christians five or six years thereafter.

Fujiwara Seika, who lectured Ieyasu on the *Essentials of Governance from the Zhenguan Era*, was a scholar who vehemently argued that universal principles exist within any particularity.
He also assisted in overseas exchanges.
We cannot think he was such a narrow-minded scholar.
The works passed down as his writings, *Kana Seiri* and *Chiyo Motogusa*, expound Confucian morality in plain terms; however, it remains unclear whether they are truly his works.
The same work had been published anonymously under the title *Shingaku Gorinsho*.
Initially, it was rumored that Kumazawa Banzan wrote it, but Banzan himself denied this, stating that it had existed since ancient times.
It was only later that the work began to be attributed to Seika.
On the other hand, there existed works titled *Honsaroku* or *Tenka Kokka no Yōroku*, whose contents largely aligned with the aforementioned *Gorinsho*.
This work, while said to be by Honda Sado-no-kami, was long viewed with doubt.
Arai Hakuseki was commissioned by the Honda family to write this textual analysis, but his conclusion seemed rather evasive.
However, whichever it may be, the fact that the names of Seika, Banzan, and Honda Sado-no-kami are linked through the same text remains profoundly intriguing.

Honda Sado-no-kami was a hereditary vassal of the Tokugawa family of Mikawa, but he supported the Noro uprising during Ieyasu’s youth, and when the uprising was suppressed, he fled the Tokugawa family and went to Kaga, the heartland of the Ikkō ikki.
After working there for eighteen years, at age forty-five, he returned to Ieyasu during the Honnō-ji Incident.
From his history, he could be inferred to have been an ardent Ikkō sect believer; however, according to reports from Christian missionaries, among Ieyasu's senior vassals, he was said to have held the greatest sympathy toward Christians.
In Keichō 6 (1601), he praised Christians to Organtino and worked diligently toward lifting the ban on them.
In Keichō 12 [1607], he also mediated for Paez.
The ones who gave missionaries the impression that there was hope for easing the ban on Christianity were he and his son, Ueno-no-kami.
Had the fanaticism of the Ikkō sect still persisted, they likely could not have taken such an attitude.
Therefore, we can only surmise that by the time of his return, his fervor for the Ikkō sect had cooled.
However, his disposition to immerse himself in religious faith likely remained unchanged, and it is not difficult to imagine that this disposition also gave rise to his understanding and sympathy toward Christians.
That must have naturally given the missionaries a favorable impression.
However, the surrounding circumstances pushed him not toward Christianity but rather toward Confucianism.
Thus, Sado-no-kami, with his unchanged disposition, emerges in *Honsaroku* as an ardent devotee of Confucianism.
The object may change, but the attitude remains the same.
The principle of Heaven’s Way, the Way of Yao and Shun, and the teachings of the Five Relationships are expounded with almost religious passion.
What is called Heaven’s Way is defined there as “the master between heaven and earth,” not an abstract principle.
While its exposition of this “master” permeating all things appears somewhat pantheistic, the insistence on treating it strictly as the sovereign ruler of heaven and earth evokes a similarity to Amida Buddha—the object of Sado-no-kami’s fanaticism—and the Deus preached by Christians.
Considering such points, the attribution of this book to Sado-no-kami becomes profoundly intriguing.
Seika and Banzan were composed scholars, lacking Sado-no-kami’s fanatical tendencies.
The statesmen who established the Edo shogunate’s educational policies and sought to suppress ideological unrest through Confucianism likely required not calm theory but rather fanatical zeal.

Hayashi Razan participated in the shogunate’s cultural and educational policies from Keichō 12 (1607) onward.
He was twenty-five years old at the time.
Razan had been a fervent critic of Buddhism even prior to this time and had written several such essays; according to them, enlightenment was merely a private affair and not the realization of human ethical principles.
At the same time, he was also an ardent persecutor of Christians, having written *Hai Yaso* [Expelling Jesus] in the year prior to his government appointment.
This is an account of when he visited Fabian Fucan, author of *Myōtetsu Mondō*, together with Matsunaga Teitoku.
At that time, the first issue that arose was "whether the Earth was round."
Hayashi Razan did not accept Fabian's explanation at all and did not even attempt to consider this issue.
Next came the issue of prisms and lenses, but Razan directed his hatred toward Christians even onto such instruments and made no attempt to consider the phenomena of light.
Finally taken up were *Myōtetsu Mondō* and Matteo Ricci’s writings.
Razan pointed out that the critique of Shinto, Confucianism, and Buddhism in *Myōtetsu Mondō* amounted to mere vilification rather than proper criticism.
However, Razan’s own critique of Deus followed the same pattern.
Since his stance was that "the sin of insulting sages alone is intolerable," there could hardly be any real debate.
Therefore, this work suggests that the young Razan had an extremely narrow perspective and an unfree way of thinking.

Hayashi Razan was extremely erudite and left behind works in many fields.
His discourses were likely revered as authoritative.
However, the biased thinking evident in his *Hai Yaso* had never been overcome.
Moreover, this very aspect was precisely why he was valued by the shogunate politicians who required fanatical zeal.
After he had served the shogunate for the latter half of a century, there existed a letter from Jōō 3 (1654) in which he discussed heterodox studies with Ishikawa Jōzan.
He asserted that while Jesus had vanished from the surface, he had transformed into heterodox studies and thrived there, just like the fox spirit transformed into Daji.
The writing gave a truly macabre and hysterical feeling.
Anyone who stepped even slightly outside the bounds of Neo-Confucianism and thought freely had to be attacked as a transformed manifestation of Jesus.
In his *Sōzoku Zengo-ki*, he listed Kumazawa Banzan as such a heretic of heterodox studies.
Although Banzan was a far superior scholar to Razan, under a shogunate that favored Razan, he had no choice but to face suppression.

In Tokugawa Ieyasu’s attempt to establish educational policies through Confucianism, one might have recognized a certain insight.
However, this attempt to deliberately revert to ancient Chinese ideals precisely when Shakespeare and Bacon were completing their “modern” work in Europe would, by any measure, have been unable to escape accusations of anachronism.
While Tokugawa Ieyasu himself may not necessarily have intended to reverse the course of history, the Hayashi Razan he employed clearly hindered the free intellectual activities of the Japanese people through conservative reactionary bias.
Since this occurred simultaneously with the national seclusion policy, it could be said that the misfortune for the Japanese people’s intellectual activities was doubled.
The intellectual capacity of the Japanese people at that time was by no means weak.
If one examines what Nakae Tōju, Kumazawa Banzan, Yamaga Sokō, Itō Jinsai—followed somewhat later by Arai Hakuseki and Ogyū Sorai—demonstrated, it was rather exceptionally outstanding.
If these scholars had been able to receive a free and unrestrained education within a broad perspective, seventeenth-century Japan’s intellectual world could have fully rivaled that of Europe.
When we think of that, the fact that someone like Hayashi Razan held authority over education and culture becomes an indescribably unpleasant matter.

While the national seclusion policy undoubtedly became Japan’s misfortune in that it excluded external stimuli, an even greater misfortune was that it oppressed the spirit of free inquiry domestically and allowed conservative, reactionary narrow-mindedness to run rampant.
From the Keichō to Genroku eras—that is, during the seventeenth century—the robust and adventurous spirits still remained through the lingering momentum of the previous age; however, thereafter, Japan’s creative activities visibly began to wither.
The intellectual climate was also the same.

(February 1951)