Decoding Armored Combat - the NHK Way

I try not to spend too much time scrolling through online feeds, but like most of us, I suspect, I often find myself doing it more than I would like, especially these days, when the the news seems to propel us from one disaster to the next. Sometimes, however, something a bit more interesting crops up. 

In this case, it was courtesy of NHK World, and was a combination of a broadcast TV programme (for the domestic Japanese audience) and a section with a foreign panel, two of whom, Alexander Bennett and Christopher Glenn, know their stuff with regards to Japanese martial arts and armour (Akino Roza, the other panelist, has more general cultural knowledge). At about 30 minutes, the programme is a reasonable length to make it worth watching, and I think there is something in there for the lay person and enthusiast alike. I have been around Japanese martial arts for a good number of years, but I certainly got something out of it.

https://www3.nhk.or.jp/nhkworld/en/shows/5001439/?cid=wohk-fb-org_vod_5001439_dps-202502-001

I am putting the link here, but it will only be available till September 2025, which seems like a long way off now, but for anyone reading after that date, I’m going to describe some of the parts I found more interesting below.

The action begins sometime around the three minute mark, with a demonstration of how spears were used in military formations. Although I have seen some people bitterly protest about the use of spears as, basically, striking weapons which would be raised and then used to strike from above rather than as pointy sticks, the weight of informed opinion seems to be that this was common practice during the Sengoku period (when spears became one of the principal weapons on the battlefield. Indeed, you can well believe that training men to use the spear this way would have been very time efficient.

Anyway, there is a demonstration of the power this technique can produce (yes, we all know boards don’t fight back, but illustrative, all the same). The higher level version of this is also interesting – the use of the flex of the spear shaft is not usually shown in Japanese systems, whereas it is a common feature (sometimes unrealistically so) in Chinese systems, both for usage and also training purposes. I have some experience of Japanese spears, and the shafts certainly do have a certain amount of flexibility – the one used in this demonstration was quite long, and I think that length is certainly an important consideration for this kind of technique. Many Japanese spearheads have a triangular cross-section, which makes them especially suitable for this bludgeoning type of attack. Other types would most likely have been used differently.

Any way, you can see the flex here:

A couple of other points that were interesting were presented in the discussion of foreign the foreign panel. In particular, I found the point about the overlap of armour particularly interesting – the cuirass wrapped around the body with the back overlapping the front on one side. This seems counter-intuitive: a spear thrust might get caught rather than glancing off, for example (although that in itself could be further examined). However, an overlap to the back would also provide a grip for an opponent if they came into grappling range, something you certainly wouldn’t want.

A cuirass showing the overlap coming from behind.

Moving on, there is also a section on using weapons on horseback, and you get to see the stubby Japanese ponies that were common in those days. There is also a section on Shosho Ryu Yawarajutsu – an early type of jujutsu. This is interesting as preserving aspects that involved fighting an armoured opponent. Many Japanese schools preserve this aspect to a greater or smaller degree – there are several interesting videos online showing techniques from Tenshin Shoden Katori Ryu that many people are probably familiar with – so this may not be new to you, but it is quite interesting all the same. 

An illustration by Oscar Ratti from his well-known book. The illustrations were an important part of the book and certainly added colour and atmosphere, despite certain artistic liberties. Of course, something like this is pure fantasy ... or maybe not?

As well as younger, more mobile members of his dojo, the 87 year old headmaster of the style demonstrates some of the techniques, including kicking someone wearing armour, which is worth seeing.

A well- produced documentary with something for everyone – at least, those who are interested in those kinds of things!  

Zen Secrets of the Spear

The letters sent by the priest Takuan are perhaps the most famous example of giving an explanation of bugei in terms of Zen (or vice versa). Of course, it is not the only one.

Bankei Yōtaku

Here is another example, from Bankei Yōtaku (1622-93). A Rinzai Zen priest, he taught what he termed Unborn Zen, which emphasised direct experience of the human state and eschewed the use of koans or highly ascetic approaches. 

Fu-shō (Unborn) by Bankei

In later life, he became the most popular Zen teacher of his day and travelled widely and often. Among his students (and patrons) was the daimyo Katō Yasuoki, Lord of the Ozu domain in present day Ehime (Shikoku). Katō (whose Zen name was Gesso) was also a keen student of the spear, and Bankei gave him this advice. (For more about the spear, see an earlier post here).

Katō Yasuoki (Gesso)

Instructions for the Layman Gesso, given at his request

In performing a movement, if you act with no-mind, the action will spring forth of itself. When your ki changes, your physical form changes along with it. When you’re carried away by force, that is relying on “self”. To have ulterior thoughts is not in accordance with the natural. When you act upon deliberation, you are tied to thought. The opponent can tell (the direction of) your ki. If you (try to) steady yourself by deliberate effort, your ki becomes diffuse, and you may grow careless. When you act deliberately, your intuitive response is blocked; and if your intuitive response is blocked, how can the mirror mind appear? When, without thinking and without acting deliberately, you manifest the Unborn, you won’t have any fixed form. When you are without fixed form, no opponent will exist for you in the whole land. Not holding on to anything, not relying onesidedly on anything, there is no “you” and no “enemy”. Whatever comes, you just respond, with no traces left behind.

Heaven and earth are vast, but outside mind there is nothing to seek. Become deluded, however, and instead this mind becomes your opponent. Apart from mind, there is no art of combat.

From: Bankei Zen: Translations from the Record of Bankei by Peter Haskel

What can we read into such a description? Is it instruction in the spear or in Zen? Or are the two linked at some deep level that makes them fundamentally the same?

If we regard it simply as instruction in use of the spear, it might be boiled down to the importance of not overthinking an activity, which doesn't seem particularly unusual. Today, it would be a common-place observation. Anyone involved in sports, for example, knows that thinking too much about any one part of it will likely result in a performance that falls short of their potential. In Zen terms, we are looking at something deeper, but let's stick to the spear for the time being.

Gesso must have spent years training in the use of weapons, so we might imagine he was aware of this – the importance of not thinking. Bankei, however, was a perceptive man. While he had probably never seen Gesso use a spear, nor used one himself, it would not be difficult to extrapolate from what he knew of his pupil that this would be an aspect of his practice that was holding him back. Bankei was known for his wit and intelligence and had built a reputation for being able to engage with a range of different people and overcome them in a kind of meta-physical debate. He was at the top of his field, and in feudal Japan, the ability to read people this way was, in any case, part of the particular skill set of Zen priests.

We might also consider that both these men were involved in their respective disciplines to the extent that they were dealing with far smaller tolerances than are allowed for in normal language (or, indeed, in everyday life). The hesitation they are talking about might be so small that it would barely register to the untrained eye. For those involved in serious training, the experience of simply being unaware of some aspect of the body’s movement until it is pointed out is probably common.

Although the skills and plausibility of Zen practitioners might lend credence to their opinions, there is a danger in applying this learning too broadly. This would suggest that traditional arts did not deal with these aspects of combat, and that Zen was necessary to enable practitioners to reach the highest levels of their arts. In fact, Bugeisha seemed to have turned to a variety of religious disciplines for any number of reasons: social, spiritual, and political. If deeply involved in a spiritual discipline, they might naturally have drawn parallels with the teachings of their martial studies, but Zen was just one of many disciplines.

An interesting example of Zen’s position as one amongst many is provided by Oishi Yoshio Kuranosuke, leader of the famous 47 loyal retainers (a.k.a. The 47 ronin). He received instruction in Zen from none other than Bankei. (According to Leggett’s book, ‘The Warrior Koans’, Bankei was said to have given him the koan of the paper sword to work on, but given Bankei's style of teaching, this seems unlikely). One might be tempted to see this as a prime mover in his actions to avenge his master, but he was also a direct student of Yamaga Sokō, a noted Confucian scholar and thinker, and it is Sokō who is usually cited as his major influence.

Oishi Kuranosuke, from a print by Yoshitoshi (courtesy of Fuji Arts)

Even for someone who accepts Zen's place as only one influence amongst many, it is not necessarily easy to ignore, and one may well ask why this should be so. Perhaps it is less to do with what Zen actually is than with what it represents. Whether this was a reflection shared by practitioners in feudal Japan, I do not know. Possibly not. But in the modern world, perhaps especially in the west, Zen is a symbol of something more than itself. It invokes a sense of the role of intuition, of the deeper levels of the mind, and in pairing it with the martial arts, it invites us to consider the importance of these faculties, of the practitioner’s inner world, not just in the pursuit of such a physical activity, but in all areas of our lives.

The facility with which Zen practitioners turned to a variety of creative arts, and the undoubted power of some of the works of art they created helps foster this connection. So too does the history of sponsorship of a wide variety of arts by Zen institutions, arts that have become associated with and coloured to a lesser or greater degree by Zen. (Although a closer inspection often reveals a mix of influences, it is often claimed that they exhibit a ‘Zen’ aesthetic.) In fact, it may be the very emptiness and wordlessness of these pieces that attract us and allow us to imbue them with meaning, to see depth and relevance that may or may not relate directly to that which was originally intended.