Simplicity in Chaos - the aesthetic of kata (and keeping tabs on what you know)

It's well into 2026 now, but the catalyst for this rather freewheeling essay was something that is particularly noticeable around the end of the year, when everything is thoroughly swept and tidied in preparation for the New Year holiday – the aesthetic of neatness and simplicity. 

You can almost feel it as you walk along the streets, even in some of the downtown areas. It is also there in the stripped down aesthetic of the tea ceremony, as well as the look we have come to call, however erroneously, ‘Zen’. More to the point, in terms of this blog, it is also reflected in the clean lines and spare movements of many styles of Japanese martial arts.

It's slightly later in the year, but you get the idea... a quiet temple entrance in north Kyoto

Simplicity and chaos

Yet, in reality, this simplicity exists alongside a dense visual clutter that is common in many aspects of daily life: street signs, websites, kimono designs, homes and offices – sometimes overwhelmingly so. Even the natural world seems chaotic –  with plants and insects in great profusion in untended parts of the city, let alone the countryside.

It might very well be that, from very early times, when land first needed to be cleared for agriculture and habitation, people felt a need to bring some sort of order to the world, and strong, precise boundaries became important, the decisiveness of the boundary line being a statement in itself. In a form of agriculture that involves flooding rice fields every year, there is also a very obvious value to marking clearly what is going to be underwater, and what is not. Many of the farmhouses themselves, some in the countryside no longer, can look like raised islands, mounted on a base of stone. A similar effect can be seen in some of the famous rock gardens.

Certainly, there is something attractive in the way inessentials can be pared away and clarity imposed upon the seeming chaos of the natural world, and this has become a feature of the Japanese aesthetic. 

The chaos of combat – distilled but disorganised?

Combat is another kind of chaos so it may not come as a surprise that a similar approach can be seen in the way unpredictability is reduced in Japanese martial arts by concentrating on the essentials, both in the clarity of the movements themselves, and the variety of movements or techniques that are taught. 

These are typically organised in kata, which may be seen as a distillation of a vast array of potential techniques, rather than a full catalogue of techniques or an approximation of a realistic exchange.

A distillation it may be, but one that may appear somewhat ad hoc, with little obvious sense of organisation (in many cases) beyond the progression through the various kata. To an outsider, this can seem lopsided or incomplete (and perhaps to some insiders, as well), but is this just a matter of perspective? Could it be analagous to another well-known aspect of Japanese aesthetics –  asymmetry (fukinsei)? This is often mentioned as an important feature of Japanese aesthetics (coming from China, of course, and closely linked to Zen), and although few in the west would think anything unusual about asymmetry in design, it may be that this kind of principle in knowledge is more difficult to appreciate.

If a more profound framework exists, it is well hidden. (Which is not to say the art itself or the skills it develops cannot be profound). Instead of a broad organising principle, there are fundamental movements, examples of approaches or solutions to particular problems – a set of ideal or abstracted responses. The shape of the whole remains undefined – the student seeks depth of understanding – a refinement through which he or she develops the ability to deal with the unrehearsed nature of real combat.

A progression

But perhaps I am looking at the wrong model – maybe a framework does exist, but a radically different one, one that is not primarily visual. I began by considering the way organisation of space might affect organisation of knowledge, but if we are going to go down that route, it might be a good idea to look at other ways that might influence the organisation of knowledge in early bujutsu. 

The study of bujutsu is a process – it takes time. In Chinese and Japanese culture, it has been seen as a path – as is clearly referenced in the very word 'budo' (martial way/martial path) – and the major philosophical and religious disciplines are also referred to as ways or paths. 

Early bujutsu seems to have had a particularly close relationship to what we now know as Shinto, and many of the early founders and practitioners of bujutsu had close connections with shrine traditions, particularly those of the Kashima and Katori shrines. Architecturally, there are many points of interest in shrines and temples, but it is the layout that I think may have some relevance here. 

As you can see in the picture above, shrines are laid out very much as a progression with various stops on the way. A visitor enters through the torii on the right, rinses their mouth and hands, then proceeds along the main path, perhaps stopping to pray at one or more of the smaller shrines, before arriving at the main shrine building. Bigger shrines are more complex, often with more subsidiary shrines, and usually with a number or torii on the main route, not to mention the ones at the smaller shrines.

If we return to bujutsu ryu-ha, we can see how the teachings might be compared to this: the student passes through a gate (maybe several) into the knowledge of the school. There might be a whole series of discrete stops on the way (different weapons, anomalous kata and so on) but you know where the main path leads - the inner teachings of the school. You may get there, or you may not, but even the wayside stops are within the precincts of the school.

It is a simple way of organising information, but a natural one, which allows packets of knowledge to be added whole, without the need to do more than find a place for them.

 

An ideal view

Durer's woodcut of an artist and his grid

Of course, kata can develop many facets of skill – positioning, timing and control of distance, for example (for 2 person kata). This is to view kata as, essentially, drills, but it brings us back to the relatively partial coverage that they offer. (You will have to forgive me if you practise a style that takes a maximalist approach). Effective drills tend to have multiple variations and well-articulated aims. Kata, especially with the start and finish sections, which tend not to be strictly combative in nature, are clearly doing something else.

If we ask exactly what that is, it is not immediately clear. This is the way things are taught, and who are we to argue why?

In a sense, perhaps, they can be regarded as a kind of overlay on reality. It reminds me of the kinds of visual tools used by artists: holding up your pencil to gauge proportions, using a grid, or a camera obscura. These are tools by which 'reality' may be grasped (or rendered onto paper, at least). They require discipline to use well, but once mastered, they no longer constrain, but allow the artist to produce pieces of extraordinary power and beauty.

Raphael's School of Athens. The imposed single-point perspective helps us to see the order in the composition. It is worth noting that ideas of order and harmony were central to the aesthetics of the day, not just an add on because it looked nice.

Perhaps, my sense of the underlying order of the world is too deeply rooted in my own background (Greco-Roman art and architecture always did appeal to me) to sense the structure of traditional ryu-ha at a deep enough level that it feels well organised. But then, this is also part of bugei themselves – hidden, secretive, privileged, so that full understanding emerges after long study, rather than being presented in a transparent and fully comprehensible whole. I admire those who can pull abstractions and principles from the techniques and schools they practise, but that has never really been one of my strengths. Maybe, that's not such a bad thing.

When is a sword not a sword? When it's a bokuto

It's a little dark, but you get the idea – a practice fight
with bokuto from the film Gohatto

I’m not a collector – these days, space is at a premium, so I rigorously avoid stimulating any such instinct I may still have, but the other day I chanced upon something that was rather nice, and a steal for the price.

I found it in a junk shop – Japanese antique shops tend to be rather pricey, but cheaper ones have been cropping up recently selling all kinds of interesting stuff, not in very good condition for the most part, but worth an occasional look.

Amid the old fishing poles, rulers and other assorted stick like objects was a bokuto. (Bokken is the more common term in English, but my dojo always used the term bokuto, and it is more common in Japan). 

A bokuto is, as I’m sure you know, a wooden practice sword. They must have been common since a long time back, but I haven’t seen any that pre-date the Edo period.  Mind you, that’s hardly surprising – they were certainly not the kind of thing that would usually be handed down, and I’m sure many of them were little more than sticks. The term ‘wasters’ is commonly used in western martial arts, and it gives a sense of their disposability.

(There are a few from the early Edo period connected with Miyamoto Musashi, and there may well be others I don't know about. I wrote a bit about Musashi's bokuto here: Distance Matters).

Nonetheless, they are important and a well-chosen bokuto can last more or less a lifetime of practice.

I only have a few, all acquired for specific practice reasons. The first – I’m not sure of the wood – was made from a model carved by my teacher. The second (red oak) was shop bought. I went through the whole barrel looking for the one with the best balance. “They’re all the same,” the shopkeeper said – they weren’t and there was some noticeable variation in weight and balance, so I would recommend trying out yours before you buy, if possible. 

And then there’s this one.

It looks short here, but it's actually about 71cm in total (2 shaku 3 sun 5 bu). When swords are measured, what you see are the blade measurements. This is the total length, so that would make it equivalent to a long wakizashi. 

It’s probably a bit older than the others – 30 or 40 years old, I should think, judging from the colour and feel. What attracted me was the balance – it’s reasonably heavy and feels good in either one or both hands.

It is an unusual length, too, somewhere between the normal shoto (short) and long bokuto. That makes it useful both for practice and, if the need ever arose, as a weapon. Bokuto, Miyamoto Musashi notwithstanding, are not designed as weapons. They would do in a pinch, but the normal practice type are a touch too light, and are not as versatile as something like a jo, the short staff used by the riot police here.

That is not to say they are not capable of serious damage – getting whacked around the head by a piece of oak is not going to be good for anyone’s health, but their length makes them susceptible to grabbing and less effective in close quarters. 

The other interesting feature of this bokuto is that it has a squared-off tip. This is slightly unusual these days – most bokuto have kisaki (tip) resembling that of a real blade. I don’t mind this, but I certainly wouldn’t choose this design for my main practice bokuto. 

As there are more than 100 different designs of bokuto, (https://www.seidoshop.com/blogs/the-seido-blog/01-the-different-types-of-bokken-a-visit-at-the-horinouchi-workshop), it would not be surprising if among them, there was something like this. On the other hand, the tip looks quite banged about, and it is possible it got damaged somehow and was cut off.  It also looks as if it might have been cut down purposely to its current length – this is certainly not a standard length, and the tsuka (the end of the hilt) has been cut off square, without the edges being rounded at all (unlike the kissaki). 

Careful examination shows evidence of use – a few marks on the mine (spine), and some marks on the side – some of these have clearly been done with a sharp blade, more likely a practice sword than a real one.

Some koryu styles have bokuto specific to their style, (and there are differences within styles, too) but many make do with what is available. Kendo and aikido tend towards the standard types for kata work and heavier types for developing strength and body connection, but I’m sure there are variations there as well. I have tried some rather poorly balanced bokuto in the past – no doubt mass produced, probably for kendo(?), (although you get poor quality ones sold as souvenirs) and I would not be very happy if I had to use them on a regular basis. 

I have seen comments online about issues connected with weight – I never had any specific instruction on this from my teacher, but on the subject of swords, he once explained that it was good for lighter, less strong practitioners to start with heavier swords to develop the structure to be able to handle them well, and for stronger practitioners to use lighter blades, so they could develop their sensitivity for the weapon. This was under supervision, of course, and with the unspoken corollary that they would eventually progress to a sword that suited them better, if necessary. (Having used several quite heavy swords of varying balance, I can say I have benefitted, but they were not always comfortable to use).

Bokuto occasionally make it to the movies, too. There have been a few noteworthy scenes. Perhaps, the one that most western audiences would know best is in The Last Samurai, where Tom Cruise earns the respect of Sanada Hiroyuki by refusing to give up as he is pounded into the ground again and again. 

Round 2

A more conventional encounter is depicted in Ame Agaru (see below) where Akira Terao proves his worth to the local lord. (You can see it here: https://youtu.be/KaiZBey83rk?si=W3NfRVlwh9mHIrbS) 

This scene was choreographed by Otake Risuke, the head of the Tenshin Shoden Katori Ryu, and reflects the swordplay of that school. Other scenes (e.g. solo practice ) are based on Mugai Ryu, the style the character is supposed to have studied.

There were also interesting scenes in Gohatto (where new members of the Shinsengumi are tested in the dojo - see picture at the top of the page) and Zatoichi (2003). 

In Zatoichi, the character played by Asano Tadanobu, a wandering swordsman who makes short work of most of his opponents, thinks back to when he was in steadier employment and learnt, to his dismay, the shortcomings of thinking a bokuto is the same as a sword – a lesson, perhaps for everyone.

Are you allowed to do that?

Anyway, if any of you have seen a bokuto like this, I’d love to hear about it.