A little over one hundred years ago, Nitobe Inazo (1862-1933), then a thirty-six-year-old scholar visiting the United States, wrote the following in a letter to William Griffis, author of many books on Japan:

"... I have begun a paper on Bushido -- Precepts of Knighthood -- as an essential of Japanese character, in fact, as a key to understand the moral sentiment of her people."

This is the first reference we have of Nitobe's plan to write this book, which appeared in American bookstores early in 1900. A few years later, riding upon the wave of interest generated by the Russo-Japanese War, an enlarged edition of the book became a best-seller and launched Nitobe into the role of publicist for Japan. While serving as a cultural mediator for over three decades, Nitobe also distinguished himself in other diverse fields as an educator, author, and public servant.

Born into a high-ranking samurai family of the Nambu domain in Morioka prefecture, Nitobe entered the Sapporo Agricultural School in 1877, where he came under the influence of Christianity. He formally joined the Society of Friends (Quakers) while studying at Johns Hopkins University in the United States (1884-87), and remained throughout his life a devout member. Nitobe pursued his advanced studies at several universities in Germany (1887-90), where he received his doctorate in agricultural economics; and, before returning to Japan, he married an American Quaker, Mary Elkinton, which strengthened his personal ties to the U.S.

After a teaching stint at his old alma mater, the Sapporo Agricultural School, Nitobe moved to a position as a colonial administrator in Taiwan (1901-03) under General Kodama Gentaro and Goto Shimpei. Through the latter's connection, he was appointed to a professorial post at Kyoto Imperial University; later, he served as headmaster at the prestigious First Higher School (1906-13); and finally as professor of colonial policy at Tokyo Imperial University (1913-19). Nitobe also had many affiliations with other schools, including Tsuda College, Takushoku University, and Tokyo Women's Christian University, where he served as its first president.

In the latter part of his illustrious career, Nitobe worked as an under-secretary general at the League of Nations (1920-26); served as a member of the House of Peers (1926-33); and was the Japanese Chairman of the Institute of Pacific Relations (IPR; 1929-33), an organization created to improve relations among Pacific-rim nations.

Nitobe's experiences as a young man abroad in the 1880s provided him with the inspiration to write Bushido. He writes in his Introduction that the idea first germinated after a visit with the Belgian scholar, M. de Laveleye. The latter had asked how Japanese taught moral education to young people. Unable to answer as he was, the question had lingered in his mind. His wife Mary, too, had frequently asked him thought-provoking questions about Japan. Thus, after many years, it dawned on him that "it was Bushido that breathed the answers into my nostrils."

Bushido, we see in retrospect, owes its existence to an unexpected crisis in Nitobe's life. While at the Sapporo Agricultural School, Nitobe suffered a severe nervous breakdown that left him unable to work. Taking a leave of absence to regain his health -- Nitobe seems to have been a workaholic -- he was finally afforded the leisure to contemplate his subject without distraction, and to put his Bushido ideas into writing. After spending time first in Kamakura, then in Shonan, Nitobe next took his family to the United States, to Monterey in northern California, where he wrote most of the book.

A family friend, Anna Hartshorne, who was travelling with the Nitobes, played an important role in the production of Bushido. When Inazo was no longer able to write, Anna transcribed at his dictation; later, she helped design the jacket for the first edition. Inazo expresses his thanks to her in his Introduction. Mention must be made, too, of another friend, Uchimura Kanzo (1861-1930), who indirectly influenced Nitobe at this time. A few years before Bushido's appearance, Uchimura -- himself a well-known Christian evangelist and author -- had published two English-language books in a similar genre: How I Became a Christian and Japan and the Japanese. These books rank among the earliest attempts by a Japanese to write for a Western audience. Okakura Tenshin (1862-1913) was another contemporary whose books, The Book of Tea and Ideals of the East, enjoyed similar success in the same period.

While the first edition of Bushido enjoyed modest sales in the United States, Nitobe arranged with a Japanese publisher, Shokabo, to print and distribute the book in Japan. This version sold well and went through nine reprints between 1903 and 1909. A few years later, Nitobe switched publishers and had the book contracted to Teibi Publishing Company in Tokyo. He also arranged for selected extracts from Bushido to be reprinted in the Eigaku Shimpo, a magazine for young people studying English. This venture was initiated by Tsuda Umeko and her staff, who had close ties to Nitobe. Sakurai Oson, the editor, appended notes in Japanese to help the novice overcome difficult passages. Sakurai also made the first translation of Bushido into Japanese in 1908.

Nitobe's Japanese translation of Bushido apparently caught the attention of prominent people, including Inoue Tetsujiro, Professor of Ethics at Tokyo Imperial University, who was perturbed that an amateur such as Nitobe would write on the subject. Uemura Masahisa, too, the well-known Christian leader, criticized the book and its attempt to "Christianize" the moral values of the samurai. Some foreigners who wrote about Japan, most notably the Englishman Basil Hall Chamberlain, in his Things Japanese, expressed distaste for Bushido. Chamberlain refers to Nitobe disparagingly as a "nationalistic professor." But despite the criticism, the book sold well....

[the entire chapter, minus one footnote and the original italics]

Bushido made the sword its emblem of power and prowess. When Mahomet proclaimed that "the sword is the key of Heaven and of Hell," he only echoed a Japanese sentiment. Very early the samurai boy learned to wield it. It was a momentous occasion for him when at the age of five he was apparelled in the paraphernalia of samurai costumes placed upon a go-board[1] and initiated into the rights of the military professions by having thrust into his girdle a real sword instead of the toy dirk with which he had been playing. After this first ceremony of adoptio per arma, he was no more to be seen outside his father's gates without this badge of his status, even though it was usually substituted for everyday wear by a gilded wooden dirk. Not many years pass before he wears constantly the genuine steel, though blunt, and then the sham arms are thrown aside and with enjoyment keener than his newly acquired blades, he marches out to try their edge on wood and stone. When he reaches man's estate, at the age of fifteen, being given independence of action, he can now pride himself upon the possession of arms sharp enough for any work. The very possession of the dangerous instrument imparts to him a feeling and an air of self-respect and responsibility. "He beareth not the sword in vain. What he carries in his belt is a symbol of what he carries in his mind and heart, -- loyalty and honour. The two swords, the longer and the shorter, -- called respectively daito and shoto or katana and wakizashi, -- never leave his side. When at home, they grace the most conspicuous place in the study or parlour; by night they guard his pillow within easy reach of his hand. Constant companions, they are beloved, and proper names of endearment given them. Being venerated, they are well-nigh worshipped. The Father of History has recorded as a curious piece of information that the Scythians sacrificed to an iron scimitar. Many a temple and many a family in Japan hoards a sword as an object of adoration. Even the commonest dirk has due respect paid to it. Any insult to it is tantamount to personal affront. Woe to him who carelessly steps over a weapon lying on the floor!

So precious an object cannot long escape the notice and the skill of artists nor the vanity of its owner, especially in times of peace, when it is worn with no more use than a crosier by a bishop or a sceptre by a King. Sharkskin and finest silk for hilt, silver and gold for guard, lacquer of varied hues for scabbard, robbed the deadliest weapon of half its terror; but these appurtenances are playthings compared with the blade itself

The swordsmith was not a mere artisan but an inspired artist and his workshop a sanctuary. Daily he commenced his craft with prayer and purification, or, as the phrase was, "he committed his soul and spirit into the forging and tempering of the steel." Every swing of the sledge, every plunge into water, every fiction on the grindstone, was a religious act of no slight import. Was it the spirit of the master or of his tutelary god that cast a formidable spell over our sword? Perfect as a work of art, setting at defiance its Toledo and Damascus rivals, there was more than art could impart. Its cold blade, collecting on its surface the moment it is drawn the vapour of the atmosphere; its immaculate texture, flashing light of bluish hue; its matchless edge, upon which histories and possibilities hang; the curve of its back, uniting exquisite grace with utmost strength; -- all these thrill us with mixed feelings of power and beauty, of awe and terror. Harmless were its mission, if it only remained a thing of beauty and joy! But, ever within reach of the hand, it presented no small temptation for abuse. Too often did the blade flash forth from its peaceful sheath. The abuse sometimes went so far as to try the acquired steel on some harmless creature's neck.

The question that concerns us most is, however -- Did Bushido justify the promiscuous use of the weapon? The answer is unequivocally, no! As it laid great stress on its proper use, so did it denounce and abhor its misuse. A dastard or a braggart was he who brandished his weapon on undeserved occasions. A self-possessed man knows the right time to use it, and such times come but rarely. Let us listen to the late Count Katsu, who passed through one of the most turbulent times of our history, when assassinations, suicides, and other sanguinary practices were the order of the day. Endowed as he once was with almost dictatorial powers, chosen repeatedly as an object of assassination, he never tarnished his sword with blood. In relating some of his reminiscences to a friend he says, in a quaint, plebeian way peculiar to him: "I have a great dislike for killing people and so I haven't killed one single man. I have released those whose heads should have been chopped off. A friend said to me one day, 'You don't kill enough. Don't you eat pepper and egg-plants?' Well, some people are no better! But you see that fellow was slain himself My escape may be due to my dislike of killing. I had the hilt of my sword so tightly fastened to the scabbard that it was hard to draw the blade. I made up my mind that though they cut me, I would not cut. Yes, yes! some people are truly like fleas and mosquitoes and they bite -- but what does their biting amount to? It itches a little, that's all; it won't endanger life." These are the words of one whose Bushido training was tried in the fiery furnace of adversity and triumph. The popular apothegm -- "To be beaten is to conquer," meaning true conquest consists in not opposing a riotous foe; and "The best won victory is that obtained without shedding of blood," and others of similar import -- will show that after all the ultimate ideal of knighthood was peace.

It was a great pity that this high ideal was left exclusively to priests and moralists to preach, while the samurai went on practising and extolling martial traits. In this they went so far as to tinge the ideals of womanhood with Amazonian character. Here we may profitably devote a few paragraphs to the subject of the training and position of woman.