Early summer rains – water and weather in swordsmanship

Travellers sheltering from the rain

‘This endless rain’ wrote Ki no Tsurayuki in the 10th century in a poem about the rainy season. This is a sentiment shared by many in Japan at this time of year, although as that season, exceptionally short this year, ended more than two weeks ago, perhaps less so than usual. Nevertheless, I seem to have been dodging sudden downpours ever since – what is known here as guerilla rain – culminating in heavy rain last week on the very day of the Gion Matsuri procession, when richly decorated wooden floats, some weighing several tons, are pulled through the streets of downtown Kyoto. I’m sure many of those involved in the festival could sympathize with Ki no Tsurayuki’s feelings.

It rains elsewhere, of course, but Japan seems particularly well supplied in this respect. The country is criss-crossed with streams and rivers (often concreted over in the cities) with many, like the gentle Kamogawa which runs through Kyoto, transformed into raging torrents after heavy rain. In times gone by, people must have been acutely aware of the power and danger of these natural forces.

My local stream on a rainy day

It is hardly surprising, then, that they worked their way into the martial disciplines of the time, serving as metaphors for changeability, flow, power and softness. Miyamoto Musashi wrote of water as representing the clarity of his teachings, as well as the key principle of adaptability. In this case, he used the example of the way water can adapt to the shape of its container, as well as the many forms it can appear in. ‘Take water,’ he said, ‘as the model for my school of strategy.’

Although a closer reading doesn’t offer much more specifically on the topic, it is this kind of passage that is suggestive of the depth of his studies and the way in which he intended them to be applied. We can infer that the subsequent techniques are really strategies or tactics that should be applied in a range of situations. And given his statement that he didn’t believe in inner and outer teachings, which is to say ‘secrets’ that were taught to some of his students and not to others, these may be seen as key aspects of his art. 

A detail from a print by Toyokuni showing Musashi fighting
the evil monk, Kainen (from the popular novel A Tale of Two
Swords - Sasaki Miyamoto Eiyo Nito den). Note the water themed background.

To take this further, we have to look at the way concepts are embodied in kata practice in other schools. There is a tendency in Japanese culture not to explain, but to have students repeat their actions until they get it – or not, as the case may be. Those who are familiar with Japanese arts and crafts may well have seen this – it is not limited to martial arts – and there seems to have been a general feeling that this combination of dedication and single-minded striving is the ‘correct’ path to developing skill. It enables practitioners to feel the skill in their body. If that is the way you have developed it yourself, it is probably not easy to conceptualise it verbally, especially in a culture given to vagueness and allusion in its language.

These arts contain a range of strategic and tactical principles that are largely hidden within the movements of the kata. Master practitioners might embody these principles naturally, or they might have been revealed more explicitly to students at the higher levels.

Musashi, then, in observing the nature of water, it’s clarity, mutability, and ability to take on the shape of its container, tells us that the spirit of his art, or his art itself, is present in every move. His pointing to the clarity of water indicates that these deeper principles are there to be seen, not hidden in the kata (unlike, he suggests, most other schools of his time).

It is tempting to read into Musashi’s words that his approach was to explain the concepts as he introduced the techniques to his students, and this might, indeed, be so. One thing that we can be sure about, however, is that he would have required a lot of unforgiving practice to ensure these principles were really reflected in the techniques.

While water is related to flow and change, related phenomena such as mist or fog (kasumi) and thunder also figure in martial lore. Mist indicates things that may be hidden or unclear – in a country as full of mountains as this, often partially obscured by mist or approaching rain, perhaps it is no wonder that this was used as a metaphor (though by no means universal); lightning refers to techniques that strike with extreme speed, usually directly downwards, a cutting through of distractions or barriers.

Familiarity with these elements was a kind of cultural literacy, useful as an aide memoire, but perhaps more so in pointing towards the deeper secrets of the energies of the natural world, energies that were surely recognised and utilized in the disciplines of war. Though these were largely concepts involving patterns of movement, rhythm and mindset, they could also be more esoteric. One of the more interesting techniques involved a way of reading the ki of a situation based on visual clues. This is illustrated in old manuals like mist rising above the mountains or enemy encampments, but the details of how this was perceived and trained remain obscure. 

 

This text shows two kinds of ki - the one on the left is roki – if 'smoke' is broken and and does not rise gradually ... it is defeat; it is weakness; it is evil. The other, ritsuki, shows the 'smoke' rising straight, without a break. the commentary explains that this is a great blessing for all things. Although the text talks about 'smoke', this is not meant literally.

Those techniques may have been lost, but weather continues to feature strongly in Japan’s cultural consciousness. Rain has been used to particularly good effect in the film world, where it is used both to highlight and increase emotional tension, and here, Kurosawa is the master. The final battle in The Seven Samurai is a case in point, but it also goes beyond the creation of heightened drama to create its own distinct aesthetic. It plays an important part in other movies of this genre - Rashomon comes to mind, but more familiar to many in the western audience would be the scene in The Last Samurai where Tom Cruise is soundly beaten by Hiroyuki Sanada, and in doing so, earns his grudging respect. While the aesthetic effect is not as strong as in Kurosawa’s work, its use to heighten tension and mark the significance of an event is similar.

From Rashomon, Kurosawa's first use of rain as a dramatic element

Now, as we approach August, and the heat of summer is truly with us, we might wish for a bit more of that rain from time to time. But not too much of it – the typhoon season is only just around the corner!