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| A print by Kawanabe Kyosai (2 panels of a triptych) showing Ushiwakamaru (later known as Minamoto Yoshitsune) practicing swordsmanship with the tengu. |
The Asian martial arts are intimately
connected with language and concepts that seem esoteric and difficult to pin
down. This is partly exacerbated by the problems of translation, where
specific, and sometimes technical, terms become glossed into language that is
general and quite difficult to pin down. Typical of this are terms such as kokoro or shin, i, and ki. The problem lies partly with the way
in which the term is used in the original language, and partly with our own
knowledge of these areas as reflected in our own language.
Take kokoro.
This is often translated as mind, or heart, or heart-mind, or spirit. Though
this gives us a general idea of the concept, it is quite difficult to
conceptualize without further points of reference. When specific instruction on
this point is being explained, it can make it almost impossible to grasp the
real meaning of a text – all the more so when other terms that refer to related
mental or physical faculties are used.
Nearly all the famous texts on
swordsmanship include these terms, but I feel that much of the specific flavour
and, indeed, meaning, is difficult to grasp without a clear personal understanding
of what these terms refer to – a perfectly good translation may or may not
provide this understanding.
But that is not all. Sometimes the original
writer may not understand what he is talking about.
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| Print by Utagawa Kunisada showingg Ushiwakamaru training with tengu in the mountains of Kurama, outside Kyoto. |
Let us take the Tengu Geijutsuron, written by Chozan Issai and translated by
William Scott Wilson as The Demon’s Sermon on the Martial Arts. This is a good
translation, and worth reading, especially since it appears to have been quite
widely read in its time and to have influenced several other works. It is, I
believe, the first Japanese work on swordsmanship written for a general
readership.
It is not an easy text to follow, however,
and the author’s own admission that he was not an expert in swordsmanship may
put doubts into the reader’s mind, not least of which might be, “Is it worth
trying to understand exactly what he’s saying?” And this is an important point,
because he talks at some length and in some detail about a variety of topics
pertaining to learning and developing skill in the martial arts. From my own
perspective, there are aspects of it that are interesting, mingled with others
that smack of armchair theory… and this is just what Otsuka Yoshioka wrote in
his work Kenjutsuron, which appeared
in the mid 18th century, not so long after Tengu Geijutsuron.
Otsuka himself was a third generation
student of Miura Mugan, who created the Mugan Ryu of swordsmanship. He also
founded his own school, the Otsuka Ryu, and so his opinions are worth
considering. What is more, his criticisms include his own explanations of these
quite abstruse concepts and make for interesting reading in their own right. It
is also interesting as it is not often that we get to see a master of
swordsmanship directly criticize another work on the subject.
In fact, he is critical of a number of
points in Tengu Geijutsuron, but to begin with, lets look at how the two
writers explain the relationship between mind (kokoro) and ki (which
Wilson calls ch’i,
following the Chinese pronunciation.)
Tengu Geijutsuron
“Listen, form follows ch’i and ch’i follows the
mind. When the mind does not move, there is no movement of ch’i; when the mind
is at peace and there is nothing to agitate it, the ch’i is also in harmony,
follows the mind, and technique responds to circumstances naturally. When there
is something in the mind, ch’i is obstructed and the arms and legs cannot
respond with their function. When the mind resides in technique, the ch’i is
hindered and is not in harmony.”
The Demon’s
Sermon on the Martial Arts p. 97
Otsuka
comments on the passage as follows:
“He
writes, ‘when the mind is still, the ki does not move.’ To say ‘the mind does
not move’ is correct. ‘The ki does not move’ is incorrect. As mentioned
previously, the ki must move, up and around, without stopping even for a
moment. It preserves the outer circulation. If this energy doesn’t stop
circulating even for a moment, it cannot respond to outer influences. Therefore
it is called ki. You should think of preserving ki. If it does not move, does
not circulate, it is not living ki. Usually, those who discourse on the state
of mind and ki, blithely confuse the two.”
As you can see, the first passage closely
links the mind and ki, making them, in effect, manifestations of the same
phenomenon, as if ki is a slightly more solid version of mind. Otsuka, however,
draws a clear distinction between them, envisaging them as complementary
concepts. He goes on to explain them in greater detail – if you have an
understanding of what he is referring to, this can be understood without too
much difficulty; certainly, it is possible to recognize the use of mind and ki
from ones own training. Without this personal experience, it might be
difficult.
For those interested, I have included some
of his further descriptions of mind and ki:
“The
movement of the mind holds back the ki. If the ki is still it holds back the
mind. When it is held back by the mind, the ki should ride over the mind. When
the mind is held back by the ki, it should master the ki. If you cannot use the
mind to master the ki, or use the ki to ride over the mind, you will be unable
to reach the level where you can respond with complete freedom. This is not
limited to swordsmen; among scholars too, there are many who keep their minds
fixed and undistracted and have learnt not to stop the movement of their ki.”
This makes
sense if ki is understood as something physical; if you think of it as an
intangible energy, it might be more difficult to make sense of this.
“To
settle the ki is not like a cloud settling on the edge of a mountain. Settling
the mind is certainly like the wind stopping and the rain ceasing, when
everything becomes calm. Settling the ki is more like settling affairs of
state, making good use of everything, neglecting nothing. The ways of settling
the mind and the ki are completely different.”
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| A superb late 18th century suit of armour designed to look like a tengu. |
The Tengu Geijutsuron also speaks at length
on settling the mind and the ki, but the images it presents do not really
distinguish between the two. The basic message is that if you do something for
long enough, even difficult tasks will become natural for you, you will do them
easily, thus your mind will be settled. If your mind is settled, your ki can
move freely as the occasion demands. The examples he gives, such as a boatman
running up and down the deck of a fast moving boat, ignore the one problem that
has beset practitioners of fighting arts over the ages, and came to be a topic
of contention during the Edo period in Japan – it is all very well to develop
merely physical skills, such as moving on a boat, by repetition, but how do you
train someone to fight, when not only is the situation continually changing,
but someone is actively trying to hurt you just as you are trying to hurt them?
How do you keep the mind ‘still’ in this kind of situation? How do you have the
leisure to learn in such a lethal environment? And how do you develop skills
that are sufficiently superior to your adversary’s to ensure a high probability
of survival?
These are
questions that continue to tax martial artists to this day. Tengu Geijutsuron doesn’t really offer
any answers. Otsuka’s comments suggest that he did have answers, and I believe it is this level of insight that
the masters of swordsmanship tried to convey in their writings, and what makes
them worth reading.
I will
leave Otsuka to have the last word for now:
“Even
if we outline the method of distinguishing the mind and the ki nevertheless, it
is for the most part insufficient - is it not necessary to complete intense training?”
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