Recent Publications

In the interest of those readers of this blog whose first language is not English, I have been a little remiss in not publicizing the two translated versions of my book, The Samurai Mind.

There are, in fact, two other versions:

Italian

La Mente del Samurai, Roma: Astrolabio, Ulbatini Editore. 2011

Spanish

La Mente del Samurái, Barcelona: Editorial Kairós. 2012

I do have a couple of the Italian ones, which I would be happy to send to anyone who drops me a line (first come, first served), but unfortunately, none of the Spanish edition.

If you are a Spanish or Italian reader, please pick up a copy and see what you have been missing. 

While we are talking of publications, be sure to check out the latest version of Kendo World (available in Kindle edition, too). This is, as the name suggests, primarily of interest to Kendo enthusiasts, but it is well-written and professionally produced and well worth a look for anyone with an interest in  such things.

The latest edition has Miyamoto Musashi as its focus, and it includes one of my articles: Confucian Voices in Swordsmanship II: Kenjutsu no Fushikihen. 

As the title suggests, it examines the relationship between Conficianism and swordsmanship in the work ‘Kenjutsu no Fushikihen’. This is a little studied work even in Japanese, but it’s inclusion in one of the major collections of original documents on martial arts at the beginning of the twentieth century suggests that it deserves to be examined more closely. 

Western readers have had very little exposure to it (if they haven’t read The Samurai Mind, that is), although a few quotes pop up here and there, from DT Suzuki’s Zen and Japanese Culture, where he casts it in a decidedly Zen light, also doubting that the writer can have achieved much in the way of enlightenment. In actual fact, it is a work steeped in Neo-Confucianism, although the references to Zen might confuse a casual reader. The title, however, is a pointed reference to Zen – or could be taken as such. Fushiki is the Japanese translation of the answer Bodhidharma is said to have given to the Emperor Wu when asked who he was, “I do not know.”  The O Yomei (Wang Yangming) branch of Neo-Confucianism was familiar with Zen, and the founder was strongly critical of it. Nevertheless, they often used references to Zen in their teachings, so this doesn't seem at all unusual. (I know I am always criticizing Suzuki, and he does deserve it, but it must be said in his defense that he wrote extensively (if partially) on subjects that had received very little serious treatment in English before then.)

I wrote a little more about Confucianism previously, (The Confucian Swordsman I & II) and of course, the complete text of Kenjutsu no Fushikihen is included in The Samurai Mind.

Although it is a little obscure in places, it is a fascinating explanation of how to teach an art that relies on spontaneity to be effective. It is, in effect, the criticism of a jazz musician for classical training as a way to prepare someone for a jam session. As someone whose own music training (not to a very high degree, I must admit, but I did play the trumpet from the age of eight until starting university) left him very poorly prepared to jam, I appreciate it.

The Spirit and the Swordsman: the spiritual side of martial arts

Detail of a painting by Takahashi Deishu, friend of the more famous
Katsu Kaishu (and Yamaoka Tesshu). The calligraphy on this piece
(not shown) muses on the inevitability of death.

Asian martial arts have always had something of an air of mystery in the west, and part of that is their connection with the spiritual and religious traditions of their countries of origin. However, many people mistake these connections for spiritual content. Characteristics such as slowness and deliberateness of movement, exotic clothes, unfamiliar terminology, not to mention the age and ethnicity of practitioners, are sometimes taken as further evidence of spirituality. Of course, things are not so simple, and there are some hard questions to be asked about just what is 'spiritual' about martial traditions.

There are also those who dismiss the spiritual side completely, and perhaps this is a wise course. In many cases it has been overplayed - the connection between Zen and traditional Japanese martial arts is just one example - but still, there is something in Asian martial arts that lends itself to such misunderstandings, something that seems quite different from European traditions, and it might be that such an interest is not so terribly misplaced after all.

To examine this issue properly, you would have to look at:

-the nature of the spiritual traditions
-their role and status in society
-relationship by proximity,
-personal religious preferences of practitioners of martial arts
-the nature of the martial disciplines themselves

...at the very least.

Below are a few of the thoughts I have had on the subject:

The place of the 'spiritual' in society
Part of this difference must lie in the difference in religious traditions between Europe and East Asia. The Christian tradition was, historically speaking, militantly monotheistic and intolerant, both of other religions and variations of its own teachings. Religious practice was organised and centred on the church. Alternative spiritual practices were forbidden. Usually on pain of torture, death, or some combination of the two.

This led to a comparatively narrow definition of what constituted 'spiritual' practices.

In the far-east (I am most familiar with China and Japan, but much of this is quite general) a number of different religious and spiritual practices were tolerated and practiced in geographically close communities - often within a single community. Not only did differing schools of each particular religion co-exist, but also different religions. This allowed extensive cross-fertilisation, and the development of collateral disciplines. Many of these were concerned, to some degree, with the use and development of particular mental states, breathing, concentration etc., some of which had obvious value to the warrior. Whether or not these were directly absorbed, the higher levels of bugei were also concerned with 'inner' factors that gave the warrior access to superior performance. It is safe to say that whatever the relationship between these two sets of skills, those involved in spiritual practices were more likely to have developed a vocabulary to describe and help pass on this knowledge. Much in the way that scientific terms have become generally used in society today, terms stemming from religious/spiritual practice were adopted by bugei, and often appear in writings on the subject. This does not mean that the arts were directly influenced by the practices, but to an outsider, this may appear to be the case.

Another factor that seems relevant is the role of religious buildings in community life. Markets, festivals, village meetings - all of them could be held within temple or shrine precincts. In Japan, larger temples were also used for a variety of civic and private functions, including lodging visiting dignitaries, makeshift barracks for military forces, artist's studios, dance performances, administrative centres and so on. They were also ideal places for the practice of martial arts. Even the simplest temple or shrine in Japan would include a flattened area of beaten down earth that would make a suitable practice area. Unlike western churches and cathedrals, temples and shrines usually consisted of a number of discrete structures within the grounds, with plenty of open space in between. Many included sub-temples which themselves consisted of a series of buildings. This physical organisation was highly suitable for the promotion of a whole range of activities that might have no direct connection with the teachings of the temple/shrine itself, and brings us to the subject of proximity.

The Japanese martial traditions have grown up in close proximity to religious practices, and the creation of fixed kata or forms, may even have originated as ritual dances performed at Shinto shrines. The oldest traditions seems to have been passed on within families of shrine officials, and there are many accounts of the founders of different traditions going into seclusion in shrines or temples to refine their arts. 

Additionally, (especially, but not exclusively, in the latter part of the Edo period and the beginning of Meiji), there were several influential figures who practiced Zen alongside their swordsmanship. Other swordsmen were of other religious or philosophical persuasions - although this may have coloured their teachings, it doesn't necessarily imbue the arts with spiritual content. The terminology and/or conceptual underpinnings of their preferred spiritual disciplines may have been used a means of explaining concepts within the art - which could lead to some confusion for those familiar with the art chiefly from writings on it.

Katsu Kaishu, an important political figure of the Meiji Restoration,

swordsman and Zen practitioner, brushed this: 理事忘遠心 : Mind far away, theory and practice forgotten.

(Courtesy of/robynbuntin.com)

Much of this seems to have been taken as evidence of spiritual content, and as we are separated by several hundred years, it is difficult to view it from an accurate perspective, but I think it would be safer to say that it speaks of proximity, rather than evidence that martial disciplines can function as vehicles for spiritual development.

The 'spiritual' in the arts

Morally ambivalent swordsmanship is the subject of 'The Sword of Doom'.

Of course, the very terminology used by the arts does much to reinforce the impression of spiritual content, and certainly much of it does refer to the mysterious world of the mental and subconscious. Concepts such as will, spirit, ki, hara, do indeed speak of something beyond the physical - but this does not make it spiritual, however nice it might be to think so.

However, training these qualities might have benefits beyond the merely practical realm of fighting, and this is what the early developers of the modern budo disciplines clearly felt. Practicing these arts brings about valuable changes in behavioural/psychological/emotional areas, even if these are by-products - it is clear that writers in 18th century Japan recognized this and were trying to position swordsmanship as something more than just a practical skill for fighting. We can see several works that criticize swordsmanship of other schools as 'animalistic' or 'savage' - which was Neo-Confucian terminology for learning which was not concerned with moral development on a Confucian path - as well as arguments that show how swordsmanship can be a vehicle for this kind of development - the Great Path - leading towards enlightenment or sagehood.

Interestingly, at least one writer also argued that although swordsmanship was, in itself, a minor art, the same could also be said for sutra reading and meditation. Simply engaging in mechanical tasks would not lead to spiritual development, but that once one was on a spiritual path, any discipline could be practiced as a vehicle for furthering development on the path.

On the other hand...

... any path is what you make it.

As Shimada Toranosuke (incidentally the teacher of Katsu Kaishu, whose calligraphy is shown above) famously put it... 'The sword is the mind; if the mind is not correct, the sword will not be correct. To study the sword, first study the mind.' This 'mind' is the Japanese kokoro, a concept that resists exact definition, but which lies close to the root of much of Japanese thinking. Sometimes translated as 'heart-mind', it is often set in opposition to the intellect, and contains elements of feeling and sub-concious processes. There is even something of a moral element in it. In the sense that spiritual teachings also, ultimately, aim to affect the kokoro, this does offer support to claims of spiritual content in the martial arts, but once again, I would think it safer to say that there are parallels and points of intersection, rather than make any grandiose claims. 

For film buffs, of course, Shimada Toranosuke, played by Mifune Toshiro, and the amoral killer, Ryunosuke meet in The Sword of Doom (Daibosatsu Tōge), giving an interesting look at the role of skill and morality in the sword. For those of you who have always wondered what happens after the final frame of the movie, you might like to know that there were at least two other film versions of the same film. These were trilogies, with Part One of both covering the same story as The Sword of Doom. Parts 2 & 3 cover the further adventures of Ryunosuke. Oh, and of course the novel on which it was based runs to about 20 volumes. I believe the author died before he had brought it to a conclusive finish...but I digress....

The Confucian Swordsman II

Confucius, from the recent film of the same name

It's difficult to generalise about neo-Confucian writings on the sword - they need to be read, and then pondered over. Their rationalist approach has a certain clarity, but it also demands some work on the part of the reader - all the more so as the idiom in which they are written is unlikely to be familiar to most readers nowadays.

Part of the difficulty lies in the use of terms in unfamiliar ways: 'principle', 'virtue' and 'filial piety' are all terms we recognise, but they also seem strangely out of place in a work about swordsmanship. Obviously there is a moral dimension to learning and teaching martial arts, but it has become almost second nature to reject formulations that promise success to the virtuous and doom for the unjust as unrealistic.

For these to make sense, the reader has to be able to perceive the way they correlate to the practical concerns of sword use. The ability to do this is partly dependent upon ones own experience in these arts, but this is part of what makes the writing valuable.

Fact or Fantasy?

The danger of this approach is that it can fall in to the trap of wish-fulfilment or creative imagination, somewhat in the manner in which authors have taken famous Chinese/Japanese texts, comparing and combining various translations of the originals to give new versions, supposedly more relevant 'for our times'. While there may be some merit in this approach, I doubt it gets us any closer to the meaning of the originals, which is what interests me.

The neo-Confucian texts were not meant to be coded, secretive works which would reveal their knowledge only to chosen initiates (and even Yagyu Munenori's Heihokadensho, which has a good deal of neo-Confucian content as well as the more often noted Zen aspects, makes a point of pointing out which terms are coded) - they were meant for a far wider readership. This means they should be accessible to readers today.

This, in turn, requires a little knowledge of the conventions of the genre. Some of the works are fairly self-explanatory, (e.g. Joseishi Kendan) while others use terms that were actually key concepts in a wider discourse, and thus have additional connotations which might not be immediately obvious.

Filial Piety

The latitude allowed for interpretation of these concepts can be found in the writings of some of the major thinkers of neo-Confucianism in both China and Japan. A good example is ‘filial piety’ – certainly a concept that seems more at home in a moral text than one about swordsmanship. When a writer says something like:

You should simply adopt an underlying attitude of loyalty and filial respect.  - Kimura Kyuho

are we justified in applying it in a wider context? One of the early figures of Japanese neo-Confucianism, Nakae Toju (1608-1648), had this to say about it:

What gives birth to Heaven, to earth, to human existence, and to all things is nothing but this filial piety.

Nakae Toju

(Even as basic an education as those offered in the village school, the terakoya, taught: “…it is the beginning of filial piety to take care and preserve yourself from injury.”)

Clearly it means more than just taking care of your parents – in the abstract, it is a statement of relationships. Seeing it in such broad terms enables us to apply this kind of reading to these works across the board.

Interestingly, there have been some voices in the field of Confucian studies (e.g. Robert Eno) that recognise that earlier Confucian writers (Confucius and Mencius, for example) were referring to something like this in their writings - 'right' was a psycho-physical state as much as an ethical construct. the insistence on the importance of doing things the right way was to entrain this state, rather than to enforce conformity.

Wild beasts

Another concept that appears intermittently, and somewhat confusingly, is that of ‘wild beasts’. It can be found both in Tengu Geijutsuron and Kenjutsu Fushikihen, as well as the Kenpo Sekiun Sensei Soden, written by Odagiri Ichiun and seems somewhat out of place – it is used as a pejorative term for those schools of swordsmanship that emphasise techniques - until we realize that it was a metaphor used to describe those who engaged in all manner of activities without regard to ri. Of course, this has a moral dimension, but it also allows a practical interpretation to the term, depending on how we interpret ri in swordsmanship.

And in English…?

Although there were many, many works in the Japanese martial tradition that were shaped by the currents of neo-Confucian thought, very few are accessible to the English reading public. (It must also be said, that they have received, on the whole, little sustained interest in Japan, either… at least in recent years.)

For the interested reader, I recommend Tengu Geijutsuron, translated by W.S. Wilson in The Demon’s Sermon on the Martial Arts, and Joseishi Kendan and Kenjutsu Fushiki Hen, both of which are in my The Samurai Mind. As I mentioned earlier, I don’t regard Tengu Geijutsuron as terribly authoritative in the deeper areas of sword practice, but it does provide a philosophical justification of bugei practice along neo-Confucian lines. Kenjutsu Fushiki Hen provides a rebuttal to some of the points in Tengu Geijutsuron, and is written with knowledge of the earlier work. It is, importantly, claiming to represent authentic teachings of a swordmaster, and is thus a sort of companion to Tengu Geijutsuron – they both touch on many of the same points and the authors appear to have had a similar grounding in neo-Confucianism, though we do not know the extent of their learning.

Minagawa Kien

We are on firmer ground with Matsura Seizan, the writer of Joseishi Kendan. Seizan was the student of a well-known Confucian scholar, Minagawa Kien, and was himself known as a scholar as well as a swordsman. He embodied many aspects of neo-Confucian ideals in himself and his writing. Rather than explain a theory of how swordsmanship can embody the universal principle, he display in his writing several of the over-riding concerns of his schools of thought, such as education and the doctrine of kakubutsu chichi – the importance of investigating diverse areas to gain a greater understanding of the way in which the universal principle underlies everything.

His work includes passages on numerous aspects of daily life which he ties in to the discipline of swordsmanship. Though this might at first glance seem to be merely an intellectual exercise knowing that he was also a master of the sword requires us to assess it in a new light. The no-nonsense advice he gives further reinforces this – where he does directly refer to Confucianism, the impression he gives is very far from the empty theorizing of an armchair swordsman – which criticism is often leveled at Confucians, either explicitly or by implication.

There are also, as I mentioned above, neo-Confucian currents in Yagyu Munenori’s Heihokadensho, which has been translated by both Thomas Cleary and Wilson. It is an interesting exercise to read it with an eye to these, rather than the more often noted Zen aspects.

An underlying theory

Finally, neo-Confucian thinking gives us a theoretical justification for the study of martial arts: this is ri, the underlying principle (of life, the universe and everything). Because it is underlying, it is also connecting – the search and discovery of it in one area can affect our performance in other areas because they all share the same principles. This became a powerful (though unstated) component of the modern budo disciplines, and provides, at some level, an answer to the question, “How does this discipline make me a better person?”

Perhaps this is what separates this school of thought from other theoretical currents that informed the bugei. Neo-Confucianism is fundamentally concerned with life, with being a part of society, and pursuing one’s way within these boundaries. And that’s what makes it so rewarding to read.

The Confucian Swordsman I

Kano Eitoku - Scholars playing weiqi (go in Japanese)

Preamble
Confucianism often gets a bad rap - in its Japanese context it is characterised as a form of not so enlightened paternalism, intent on preserving the hierarchical authority and keeping women and peasants in their place.

The trouble is, that even as I read decidedly anti-Confucian works like the Tao of Pooh (or was it the Te of Piglet?), I couldn't help sympathising with the Confucians - the ideals ascribed to them, though a little outdated, seemed to me more attractive than the muddle-headed approach of the bear with very little brain. Nobility, loyalty, humanity - they don't sound too bad.

Meanwhile, Zen, of course, has received a lot of attention with regard to it's role in various arts and ways. Too much attention, many would say. This is not to deny that it did have influence in a number of fields, but perhaps not as much as its supporters would like to have us believe. Part of the problem is that many disciplines share the same vocabulary and related or analogous concepts. So, while Zen is cool, (Daoism even more so), Confucianism is straight-laced and conservative - anything that sounds interesting is habitually ascribed to Zen, and anything connected with hierarchy, paternalism or empty theorising, is blamed on Confucianism.

A little balance?
In terms of Japanese martial arts, Draeger had some interesting things to say about neo-Confucianism, chiefly dwelling on the role of the Wang Yangming school (O-Yomei in Japanese), with its emphasis on action, on the main figures of the anti-government movement which culminated in the overthrow of the Tokugawa government in the 1860s. For Draeger, an ex-marine, the philosophies of action seemed attractive (he was also a populariser of the theory of Zen influence in Japanese martial arts), but he didn't touch on the deeper influence of neo-Confucian thought in the disciplines themselves. However, even his description O-yomei neo-Confucian sounded suspiciously like a Zen substitute.

The first work available in English that did look at this issue on its own terms was a translation of the Tengu Geijutsuron (a translation from German into English, as it happens - although William Scott Wilson's far better version is now available). The title, Zen and Confucius in the Art of Swordmanship alerted the reader to the subject matter, although rather misleadingly, threw Zen into the mix- probably out of habit. Unfortunately, for the sake of our understanding, the original writer seems to have lacked the authority of a real master of the sword. An enthusiast he may have been, but he appears to have only partially understood some of the deeper aspects of the art. That his work was criticised by his near contemporaries, and on quite specific points, also attests to its popularity and influence on other writers.

It does, however, provide an interesting counterpoint to the better informed works, and can be usefully read with them.


So, why look at neo-Confucianism anyway?
Firstly, because it did influence classical Japanese martial arts, and this influence has stayed with them, in one way or another until the present day. Gaining an understanding of these influences can help us understand a little more of the arts themselves.

Secondly, Neo-Confucianism offers an interpretive framework that is firmly rooted in its own time, and yet is also fairly accessible to us in the present day. Its thinking is recognisably rational and, more-or-less, logical, rather than mystical or religious, and it seeks to explain with reference to the everyday. A number of writers used it as such, knew what they were doing, and so provided us with authentic perspectives of these martial arts when they were in a very different state than today. The terms and the analogies they use may be unfamiliar, but they are open to analysis and exploration, making the study of works written from this perspective to be quite rewarding. They appeal to our understanding, but the best of them stand as something more than theoretical interpretations.

Finally, due to their concern with life and living, they situate the practice and ideals of martial arts within daily life, providing a perspective on issues that are still very relevant to practitioners today.

It's not where you're looking but what you look at

This is section of a painting by Ryohei Yamashita..used for the cover of  a novel about (and entitled?) Bokuden

One of the challenges of studying a discipline in another language is understanding the multiple meanings that pertain to certain expressions. I have often found myself quite able to understand an expression in  a particular context, only to fail to realise its wider implications or, indeed, its more general meaning.

My teachers have always taken great pains in their explanations to me and other non-Japanese members of the dojo, but even so, explanations often fail to achieve the resonance that would be felt by a native speaker. This is even more true in the mysterious world of the intangible concepts that form an important part of higher level bujutsu.

An example of this is the term metsuke. This means where you look or what you look at, but it can often be reduced in meaning to a particular kind of looking or gaze, depending largely on the specific circumstances in which it is usually encountered by a student. In kendo, for example, enzan no metsuke is encouraged - abroad gaze that takes in everything... the opposite of tunnel vision.

However, even within that trope, there must be an awareness of what is important or relevant to the confrontation, and what is not. This kind of sight is what enables you to, eventually see through the enemy, to intuit his moves. To what extent this is a function of the conscious mind is a moot point - certainly, enzan no metsuke works on one level by allowing us to see movement that we may not be consciously aware of. On the other hand, a more precise awareness of where such movements begin, of what constitutes this kind of movement, is surely a necessity (or at least a big help) for developing higher level skills.

However, anecdotes are legion of those masters who had developed superlative ability, but were unable or unwilling to analyse the source of this ability, but instead taught only in the broadest of terms. This is what Kano Jigoro experienced when studying jujitsu - his teacher would repeatedly throw him but couldn't explain how he was able to do it.

Another example is the old cat's teacher in Neko no Myojutsu, who could not explain his skills. Similarly Kimura Kyuho, in his Kenjutsu no Fushikihen (The Unknown in Swordsmanship), concludes by saying that the root of this knowledge is unknown and unknowable.

My favorite story, however, is about Tsukuhara Bokuden.

In one 'friendly' duel he fought with wooden swords, he struck his opponent in the head, causing him to go deaf.

His opponent, far from being discouraged, was able to develop his skill to new heights, developing a fearsome concentration through this disability. Some years later, they fought a return match. Bokuden instantly realized his opponent was now of a near equal ability to himself. Putting up his sword as if the contest was at an end, he stepped back. His opponent, assuming the contest was over and that Bokuden had said as much, likewise put up his sword, bowed and turned to exit the field... at which point Bokuden smashed him over the head from behind. This blow caused his hearing to return, and he found he had lost the ability the had developed while he was deaf.

Clearly, his senses, especially those that fall into the intangible category of mukei, had been heightened by his plunge into deafness. Bokuden was quick to realise this, but as other anecdotes show, he was a master of the broader aspects of strategy as well, and was quick to utilise these when appropriate.

Zen again - what a pickle

The subject of Zen and the sword is a perennial chestnut. The 'traditional' view that kendo is a kind of 'zen in motion' seems to have gained great popularity both from D.T. Suzuki's "Zen in Japanese Culture" and from Donn Draeger's writings. It seems to have been quite popular amongst Japanese adherents of kendo during the pre-war and post-war periods, and for all I know still is, and various non-practitioners writing about the martial arts seem to have continued this trend, basically following the same sources. 

More recently, writers who have some experience in the bugei have countered this early misconception by pointing out a range of other 'spiritual' (for want of a better word) influences on swordsmanship and related arts. In particular, I am thinking of Karl Friday, Cameron Hurst, "The Classical Warrior Traditions of Japan" edited by Diane Skoss, and probably other worthy volumes that I can't recall just at the moment. 

Zen still has a strong hold on the regular martial artist's imagination, if the prevalence of the topic on various discussion forums is anything to go by. And, I must admit, there are a few well-known examples of swordsmen who did have a strong connection with Zen (though whether it was an integral part of their swordsmanship or merely(?) their chosen spiritual discipline, and thus part of their life, is a moot question). For the promulgators of Zen, any connection will do, particularly the use of 'Zen' terminology. While those unfamiliar with Japanese culture might assume the strength of the connection, anyone who has delved a little deeper will be aware that such terminology was not the sole prerogative of any one group, but was used because it could be used to described certain phenomena for which no better terms existed. Similarly, if we talk about someone being egotistical, it doesn't mean that we are committed Freudians. (I recommend Bloom's "Closing of the American Mind" for more on how much of our language and ideas are based on philosophies we don't really understand...but this is getting off-track...). 

 An example of this is Suzuki's discussion of the work Fushikihen, which roughly translates as "On the Unknown/Ignorance (in Swordsmanship)" written by one Kimura Kyuhou in the 18th century. Suzuki includes a short extract from his work in his discussion of Zen in swordsmanship, using Kyuhou as an example of a Zen swordsman. A closer examination of the writing reveals that though he uses some Zen terms such as mushin, and 'drinking the waters of the West River', he also refers to Confucius and Laozi on several occasions, and specifically refers to another work on swordsmanship that refutes the idea of meditation as useful for developing skill in the sword. In fact, the work is mostly Neo-Confucian in vein. (For a full translation see my (quick plug) "The Samurai Mind" to be published in March 2011).  

So where does this idea come from? One of the reasons is undoubtedly Takuan. The friendship of this Zen abbot with Yagyu Munenori is well-known, not least through the letters he wrote to him. These have generally been mediated (perhaps primarily, but certainly not exclusively, by Suzuki) as Takuan teaching Munenori the deeper aspects of swordsmanship through his deep knowledge of Zen. There is, of course, something faintly(?) ridiculous about this, but it seems largely to have gone unquestioned. For a more considered approach, try "Zen and the Creative Process: The "Kendo-Zen" Thought of the Rinzai Master Takuan" by Dennis Lishka.  His take is that Takuan is explaining Zen in terms that his audience will understand, rather than explaining swordsmanship in terms of Zen - isn't that more reasonable?