The flowers of Yagyu: coded language and layers of meaning

It is the beginning of April, and cherry blossom is just appearing. In a week or so, it will be falling, which brings to mind this verse from Yagyu Jubei’s Tsuki no Sho, a verse which, incidentally, Jubei credits to the priest Takuan.

The fine rain that dampens my clothes

Is invisible, yet I see it;

The blossom that falls earthwards

Is inaudible, yet I hear it.

This is part of the ‘secret’ teaching of the school – teaching which was revealed only to advanced students. Like most secrets, it means little if you don’t have some understanding of the concept it is illustrating. In this case, it is describing the kind of awareness necessary for performance of the more advanced techniques.

A Yagyu tsuba: hanaikada design (flower raft)

In modern times, intellectual understanding, the ability to talk about or explain, is common currency; even beginning students of martial arts can read up on information and often consider themselves to be (rightly or wrongly) as well or better read than their teachers (though whether this knowledge is accurate is another matter.)

In traditional ryu-ha in the pre-modern era, knowledge and skill, were far more closely connected.  Knowledge was closely guarded; not only was it given out with the care now reserved for industrial secrets, it was often hidden in code, some of which was simply obscure phrases that had no apparent meaning to outsiders (the waters of the West River from Yagyu Shinkage ryu is a good example) or using alternative characters or pronunciations to give yet more meanings. In addition, meanings could be layered, so that deeper meanings of concepts were taught the further one progressed in a ryu-ha.

Another way in which teachings were structured was to widen the scope of their application; Miyamoto Musashi’s writing on small scale and large scale strategy is comparatively well-known, but as information on traditional ryu-ha becomes more widely disseminated, it seems that this was the norm – many schools included higher level teachings on military tactics, strategy, and a range of other applications that extended beyond hand-to-hand combat. Very few of these would appear to exist in usable form nowadays, and the quality must have varied from school to school, even in those days. This kind of teaching was reserved for students of higher social and or military rank, as well as the most advanced students of the ryu-ha. (Many of these worked in advisory capacities, and thus while they would offer their services, their deeper teachings were kept secret).

It is likely that the nature of these advanced teachings also informed the lower levels of the curriculum, and may account for the somewhat arbitrary seeming nature of techniques at these lower levels.

Some of this language is jargon – professional language to refer to concepts that are out of the normal run of things; some is specifically meant to hide or obscure meanings from the uninitiated.

The Yagyu Shinkage ryu offers many examples of both types in its documents and teachings, but it seems particularly given to hiding meanings. (Compared to Miyamoto Musashi’s writings which, for the most part, are fairly straight-forward.) Perhaps the most well known are setsuninto and katsuninken – the killing sword and the living sword. Nowadays, these are generally given moral/philosophical implications connected with using a sword to kill or using non-lethal means to end a conflict. Indeed, Yagyu Munenori did refer to them in this way; the original and primary meaning, however, was technical, and (roughly speaking) referred to the extent to which one controlled the opponent’s technique or allowed it some freedom.

Other terms are introduced and explained in increasing detail in documents. One example in Tsuki no Sho is the concept of suigetsu, which merits a number of sections including ‘The true suigetsu’, denoting deeper levels of meaning regarding the concept.

The Yagyu Shinkage ryu also had specific ways of writing or pronouncing common terms. Heiho (兵法), commonly pronounced hyoho, and used to refer to bugei or martial arts in a general sense (as well as strategy and tactics), was written as平法(heiho) when it was used in reference to attacking with the sword; it was pronounced as iwato, which can be written with the characters for one, eight and ten. The strokes used to write these characters are the same as the lines of the strokes used for the principle attacking sword cuts:一八十Furthermore, the characters for heiho/hyoho兵法 could be pronounced yokehazusu, which meant to avoid/slip aside, as this was a major part of the strategy of the style.

Other ryu-ha might use the same terms, but with different connotations. The Tenshin Shoden Katori ryu also writes heiho using the characters 平法, but the meaning is ‘art of peace’ rather than ‘art of war’, denoting the philosophical stance of the school with regards to the use of  its teachings.

Confusing to say the least. The Yagyu Shinkage ryu was a very public one: as principal sword instructors of the shogun, as well as spymasters and advisors, their teachings were widely disseminated, and so the need for secrecy was likely greater than for many other schools, but it seems that ryu-ha with much lower profiles employed similar means to encode their secrets.

To take but one example, the Katayama Hoki ryu included among its teachings the short scroll entitled Heiso Jirinden Furoku, written by Katayama Hisayasu in 1647, which explicitly explains concepts of individual iai kata as they relate to issues of behaviour concerned with the administrative roles many bushi had. (https://archive.org/details/HeisoJirindenFurokuenglishVersion)

Other documents in the tradition also explain the meanings of kata name with respect to tactical and behavioral considerations, and make for interesting reading.

http://katayama-ryu.org/en/

Although I am wary of allowing such intellectual enquiry to effect my actual practice, it can allow us a deeper understanding of the thoughts and ideas of earlier generations of practitioners of bugei and the way they regarded their own arts.

Autumn – change and loneliness

Kyoto, November 2014

Autumn in Japan is characterised by its mild temperature and the brilliant colours of the foliage that tinges the hills with russets and brilliant reds, and the occasional burst or brilliance dotted throughout the cities. However, in literature and art, the season has strong links with feelings of desolation, loss and longing, which in western literature are more often associated with winter. Indeed, the ‘withering wind’ (kogarashi) is so intimately associated with autumn, that its mention alone is sufficient to conjure up the season.

Such phrases used in poetry are known as kigo, and among the educated, they had strong associations. Indeed, it with such a phrase that Yagyu Sekishusai began his collection of 100 verses:

One autumn evening, to while away the hours, I went to visit old friends in Yamato, but found some of those old men had already passed away, while others had gone, I know not where.

In fact, the term yugure (evening) which he uses doesn’t strictly refer to autumn, but since the late Heian period it has had particularly strong associations with the season, being mentioned by Sei Shonagon in her Pillow Book as being the exemplary time of day for that season. Given the generally sparse tone he takes, it would not seem out of place to translate it as autumn evening, rather than simply evening.

 

Autumn grasses in the Moonlight - Shibata Zesshin

Other common symbols of autumn include deer, the full moon, flying geese, the seven grasses of autumn (nanagusa) and, of course, momiji or scarlet maple leaves.

Despite the strong seasonal associations, there is less specific mention of such symbolism in traditional martial arts than might be imagined. This may partly be owing to the strength of these cultural associations – loneliness and loss, though all fine and good in everyday life, are quite far from the kind of feelings that are normally encouraged in the training and practice of bugei.

There are some connections, however. I have discussed Musashi’s use of the autumn monkey (also here)(stretching for the reflection of the full moon) before; likewise his momiji uchi (falling leaves strike) which cuts downwards, knocking an opponent’s sword away. 

Hiza-guruma - a technique of the Kito-ryu

Occasional references also occur in other ryu-ha – both the Mujuushin Kenpo of Harigaya Sekiun and the Kito Ryu school of jujutsu contain what is substantially the same verse extolling the virtues of flexibility:

Autumn wind, deep in the mountains, fiercely sways and shakes the leaves of the oak, while barely moving the pampas grasses

Rarer is the example provided by the Jikishinkage ryu, which includes a foundation kata named Hōjō no kata, based on the energies ascribed to the four seasons in the Chinese theory of the five elements. Autumn, in this case, emphasizes varied tempo and cutting to left and right, illustrating change. This specific linkage to elements seems unusual in Japanese bujutsu - although the basic principles illustrated by the Hōjō no kata are said to have been transmitted by Matsumoto Bizen no Kami, the school's founder, it is possible that they were later reorganized and matched to the four seasons.

Still on the subject of the five elements, there is another set of verses which is worth mentioning, although this is from the Chinese art of Xinyi, and is attributed to the founder Dai Fengzhong:

Red Maples have forgotten the six alignments

Tranquility will reveal the Five Elements



The first verse points to the naturalness and spontaneous nature of advanced technique, while also

suggesting (at least to me) the spirit of forging oneself – the bright leaves can certainly look like hot 

coals or heated metal, and I feel the specific choice of maple leaves must be saying something about the redness.
Kyoto, November 2014




This particular aspect was also used by Hikita Bungoro in momiji no metsuke (gaze of red leaves) in his Hikita Kage Ryu. Yagyu Jubei mentions this in his Tsuki no Sho, describing it as an important concept of the school, a technique of the mind to effect the opponent’s mind and movements from a distance, as if ‘viewing red leaves on yonder mountain.’ Jubei, on describing the technique in his own school describes it as ‘dying the opponent’s movements with the blood red intentions of your own mind.’




This symbolism might also be read into Hojo Ujimasa"s death poem:







The blossoms of spring do not resent the spring wind

For the red leaves of autumn are still to come




In this case, the blossoms would be the Hojo family, defeated by Toyotomi Hideyoshi's spring wind, while the red leaves would, perhaps, be future generations of the Hojo.




Uesugi Kenshin, by Utagawa Yoshitoshi



Although autumn symbolism may not have featured strongly in the bugei as a whole, bushi seemed to use it often enough when they turned their hands to artistic pursuits. One example of this
is a poem by Uesugi Kenshin:

Frost Fills the Camp and the Autumn Air is Still

Lines of Returning Geese Cross the Moon of the Third Hour

Another of his poems runs:

The warrior makes

Of his armor a pillow

For his head alone

The first wild geese cry nearby

…which returns us to the theme of loneliness. 

Personally, however, my own feelings are closer to Keats and his

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Sendan no uchi – the sandalwood strike of the Shinkage ryu

A small branch of sendan, showing the way the leaves diverge from the
stem in pairs at each node.

Of course, it’s the cherry trees that garner most of the attention in Kyoto in spring, but it was another tree that caught my eye a few weeks ago as I strolled along the canal. Not a shoot or a sign of a bud, (and even now, at the end of April, when everything around it is a mass of new leaves, it is only tentatively putting forth a few green shoots) but the plaque tied around the thick trunk proclaimed the tree to be a ‘sendan’. I’d had an interest I this tree ever since I came across the somewhat cryptic references in Yagyu writings to the technique and concept of ‘sendan no uchi’.

A quick botanical note – sendan (Melia axderach) is also known as the bead tree or sandalwood; however, it is not the true sandalwood (byakudan) (of the incense type), although the word sendan is sometimes used to describe that tree, too. This may be the route of a well-known saying:

            sendan wa futaba yori kanbashi

The literal meaning if this is sendan is fragrant even in bud, and it is often used metaphorically to refer to the presence of a person’s talent from childhood.

I had come across sendan in the writings of Yagyu Jyubei, and while his style is fairly clear in itself, it is ­– like most of the writings of the period – meant for initiates of the style. His father, Yagyu Munenori, also mentioned the technique, and in both cases the references left me wondering how they related to the sendan tree.

This was obviously also a problem for translators of Munenori’s works into English. In the notes Wilson included in his translation of The Life Giving Sword it says:

“The meaning of Bead Tree (Melia axderach) is obscure, but it may be an allusion to the “Bead Tree Board” or sendan no ita… (a piece of armour) protecting the lacing connecting the chest armour to the back.”

Although, in this case, I don’t believe it has anything to do with the sendan no ita, Wilson’s understanding of the term itself (“This seems to have been a way to avoid striking and being struck at the same time”) is correct as far as it goes ­– unlike Thomas Cleary, who gets it the wrong way round (“The sandalwood state of mind is a code term for slashing twice in exactly the same line.”)

Yagyu Toshinaga

I was hoping Yagyu Toshinaga (20^th headmaster of the (Yagyu) Shinkage ryu) would make things clearer: he wrote that sendan no uchi (the sendan strike) was a reminder not to fall victim to aiuchi – the situation in which you are hit at the same time as you hit the enemy. Instead, one strike is just slightly always ahead of the other.  I must admit that, to me, the reference was not altogether clear on this: from what he wrote it could be inferred that sendan no uchi is aiuchi, which is clearly different from what the early generations of the Yagyu had written –  a similar reference occurs in writings from the Eishin ryu attributed to Oe Masaji, a noted headmaster of that school in the mid 1800s, who quite clearly says that sendan no uchi is, indeed, the same as aiuchi.

 

Oe Masaji (with his daughter)

It also seemed that the both Munenori and Jubei’s understanding of the term is broader. But in all cases, the key feature is that it refers to two of something. In the case of aiuchi, it is two swords both striking. In the case of Munenori and Jubei, the meaning appears to be that of two diverging sword trajectories.

In either case, the meaning derives from the saying mentioned above:

            sendan wa futaba yori kanbashi

The key to the meaning is in the word futaba (bud), which is written with the characters for ‘two’ and ‘leaves’. The character for leaf, ‘ha’ (or ba) has the same pronunciation as that of blade, and thus futaba can be taken to mean two swords.

In this sense, it is, as Cleary stated, a code term related to two actions.Whilst by the 20^th century, it seems to have become a term that referred to aiuchi, Munenori and Jyubei both expressly state otherwise (which we will get to later). In both cases the connection with two swords is clear.

It would have been a little disappointing if the symbolism went no further than the saying (although that seems to be the primary source for it), so I was especially interested to see an actual sendan tree.

What I saw, in the pre-bud stage, suggested that the shape of the tree might have played some role in the adoption of this saying by the Yagyu family. It is also interesting to note that this is attributed to Hikita Bungoro (by Munenori, I believe) who perhaps had an affinity for trees… he seems to have been a bit of a wanderer, and Jyubei mentions another of his teachings that features tree symbolism, koyo metsuke (the red maple leaf gaze).

Hikita Bungoro. He was a student of
Kamiizumi Nobutsuna, and senior to Yagyu Sekishusai, and thus
 the generation above Yagyu Munenori.

So, the question remains, how does the symbolism of two relate to the technique Munenori and Jyubei are talking about? What is key, I think is the way that the shoots diverge. Looking at the pictures, what struck me first, on seeing the tree, was how sword-like the bare branches looked. This was especially noticeable with the amount of blossom and new leaves on all the surrounding trees; in addition, each new branch has its opposite, which diverges at an angle from the main branch. To my mind, this suggests the idea of alternative angles/paths of attack, and this is what may have been in the mind of the Hikita Bungoro when he named the concept (if, indeed, it was actually he who did so).

Jyubei says:

My father said the true meaning of sendan no uchi was to be found in the state of mind known as futaba. Although it is bad to strike and step together, it is valid to do so, to avoid the tip of the enemy’s sword and strike his hands. To slip off the line of the enemy’s attack is called sendan (with ‘sen’ being written as tip)….

As two shoots share a single source, the equivalent of that source is the hands. It is a strike to separate the hands from the body.

The concept of angling is key in the teachings of the Shinkage ryu, and seems to be a key element in this technique/concept. Whereas the + is the key shape for syuji shuriken techniques, with sendan, I think it is the V , with the point of the V being the opponent's hands, one line being the line of the opponent's sword, and the other the line of your own sword. It is a technique which enables you to slip off-line and strike the enemy, (so avoiding aiuchi). Both Jyubei and Munenori mention its use against a spear (a very difficult thing in itself) and the possibility of using it as a one-handed technique, but overall, it seems to receive less treatment than syuji shuriken with which it has certain similarities.

Finally, the term kanbashi has another meaning: to be preferred or superior. Thus sendan wa futaba yori kanbashi could also be rendered as 'avoiding the path of the opponent's sword is preferable to aiuchi', a sentiment with which we can probably all agree.