Balance
6 August 1998
by Ed Rubin

Balance, balance, balance, balance, balance. Sitting against a lonely wall, Hida Naoki repeated his cherished mantra to himself again and again. He had been trying now, for what seemed like eternity, to regain a balance in his mind, so that he might be able to rest for the coming mission with the cavalry. The balance that Naoki so longed for, however, continued to elude him, pushed away by a confusion carried by higher concerns than the ones he normally contemplated in the hours before a major military engagement. The usual scene involved a debate, if you could call it that, with his friend Kataji.

Kataji always spoke, in no uncertain terms, of finding a walking skeleton, smashing it in half, and, hopefully, entangling the shattered ribcage on the end of his tetsubo. "That," he would say, "is the best way to maximize the damage done in other fights. The more weight and area on the weapon connects better with other foes, and jagged shards of bones also helps cut up the more fleshy opponents. I LOVE the sound of bone and metal together mangling goblin, ogre, and oni!" The rest of the squad was not so enamored of Kataji's technique. The added and unfamiliar weight made blows less certain, Naoki and the others would repeatedly argue, and there was greater likelihood of the weapon sticking or tangling in an opponent at a bad moment.

The conversations never turned to honor, because honor so clearly flowed from the performance of duty, and duty was nothing less than obvious: Kill the creatures of the Shadowlands, and then return to prepare to do it again. On those battlegrounds, the opponents were obvious: If it is human, it is a friend, if not, an enemy. If it was formerly human, it was not so much an enemy, but duty was, sadly, still clear–cut it down, for it is your brother, sister, relative, or friend no longer.

Oh, for the simplicity of the "ribcage" debate! On this battlefield, among non-Crabs, the talk had the tendency to turn to honor too frequently. And to concepts of duty that seemed strangely foreign to Naoki, and even stranger because they were so often disconnected from honor. Were not those two the same? Of course, here, in this battle, Naoki and his companions were not fighting from duty, but rather from Jin, the compassion of bushido.

Bushido, yes. It must certainly provide an answer for the confused questioning occurring in his mind now. It was the guide for his life, as he assumed it was for every samurai. Certainly Ishi had demonstrated that clearly, tonight, in his exhibition of Yu, his heroic courage. It had been Ishi who proposed a small, probably suicidal, attack on Takiro himself. And this out of compassion, Jin, for the Hare, and not out of Chugo, duty and loyalty. For Ishi owed loyalty and duty to no one, so it must be Jin. Ishi's behavior often led others to conclude that he did not understand bushido, that he had no honor. But this was foolishness, and bushido itself demonstrated that point. Meyo, honor, was vague in the code of bushido, except in the one point that truly counted in evaluating Ishi: There can be no judge of Ishi's honor but himself, and the result of Ishi's judgment was clear. He was fighting alongside Naoki, the others of their brave band, and the Hare. His Jin must be at the root of the decision, but he himself had clearly judged the decision honorable. His heroic courage further demonstrated that judgment to be worthy of respectful acknowledgment, and Naoki was pleased that he had always tried to provide just that in his dealings with his cousin.

These thoughts of Yu, Jin, Meyo, and Chugo, brought the swirling anger, frustration, and disbelief back to the forefront of his mind. Bushido was clear: The true samurai has only one judge of his honor, and that is himself. It was not necessary to remind a true samurai of this fact. In discussions of honor that Naoki had been part of, though, the tone had taken on implications of a lesson. "Honor is this way, my way. I know what honor is, and you must heed my words, or you are not honorable." It all came down to the same thing, it seems: "I judge you dishonorable, for your difference from me."

Naoki noticed that he was unconsciously but methodically trying to squeeze fists-full of sand into glass, so, with an effort, he loosened his hands, spilled the sand slowly out of them, and with deep, steady breaths, again returned to his mantra: balance, balance, balance, balance, balance. When his mind slowed to follow the pace of his breath, he returned to his line of thought. These others are worthy samurai, they know their bushido. They only appear to be insulting me by implying that I do not know bushido, that I am not a worthy judge of my own honor. For a few minutes, Naoki mulled over what actual effect he thought they might be trying to achieve. But he concluded that their concepts of honor, filled in by the traditions of their clans and their own, certainly worthy, insights, were simply too, well, different from his own to clarify (he couldn't rightfully think that they were "too silly" or "too impractical", despite the urgings of his still present, though suppressed, anger).

His anger berated him for not having called them out, each and every time. But that, his rational mind correctly concluded, was just stupidity. Fighting among ourselves would be the same as meekly surrendering to Takiro, and that was completely beneath Naoki's dignity to contemplate any further. When there is time, and no outside distractions, we could gather together, take offense at each other's characterization of honor, and then "honorably" cut each other down to determine who would live and who would die.

Of course, it was merely about life and death, because bushido had already decided who had the correct ideas concerning honor. It was right there in the code, the only clear point that bushido provided about honor. It has nothing to do with what is best in this, or any other situation. It has nothing to do with who studied where, or with whom. Only the samurai himself could judge his own honor. Others must simply be insulted, or not. To judge, on the other hand, was both an insult and a violation of bushido. Blades must then decide the issue. An incongruous smile crept onto Naoki's face, as he once again recited his mantra. Balance, balance, balance, balance, balance.

An aspect of balance that Naoki had never previously considered leapt forth in his mind. To have no feelings for one's companions was a type of balance, nothing good, nothing bad. But when positive emotions such as concern, care, respect, and others were placed on the scales of a relationship, did there need to be negative counterbalances as well? Was this burning desire to stomp, smash, and swing, then, simply budding friendship? Naoki broke off his mantra with a bellowing laugh that startled the Hare bushi patrolling the castle wall above his head. It lasted a full two minutes, and when it ended, and he wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes, Naoki had finally found the balance he had been looking for, so he went to find his bed.

He found it, unsurprisingly, exactly where he had expected it to be.