Wisdom from Samurai High School

Sanada Yukimura gives advice to the young hero

This is a lighthearted but fun drama series from 2009. (Broadcast by NTV).  It stars Miura Haruma, who does a very good job, both as a goofy high school kid and as the samurai whose spirit possesses his body. It may not be to everybody's taste, of course, but if you like light comedy and bear in mind that it's aimed at teenagers, it's actually pretty good.

Every episode, the hero is taken over by the spirit of his ancestor at a critical point and goes into action. We get to see an idealized young samurai in modern times –  his disciplined outlook on life is contrasted strongly with his lackadaisical but likable modern descendant... of course everything works out happily in the end.

By putting a samurai into a modern day setting, it provides an interesting example of the way 'samurai' are seen in the present day. Not surprisingly, it is more nuanced than the typical view we are used to in the west. It is also, of course, idealized.

It also raised more serious points: one which I will discuss below is something often missed in western treatment of samurai and bugei, and one that has quite important ramifications to serious students of martial arts.

Perhaps this quote is typical of the way in which samurai are viewed (in a non-academic context, of course):

The fighter is to be always single-minded with one object in view: to fight, looking neither backward nor sidewise. To go straight forward in order to crush the enemy is all that is necessary for him.
(D.T. Suzuki, Zen and Culture, p. 62)

Although he was talking generally about the attraction of Zen for the warrior class, the limitations of this point of view were raised nicely by a flashback scene in Episode 2, where the samurai youth is talking to his lord, Sanada Yukimura.

The conversation runs something like this...

'Are you ready for your first battle?'

'Yes! I plan to cut through the outer defenses and go directly for the enemy general to take his head.'

'Well said. It is a fine plan for someone 17 years old.'

This is the crux of it – this attitude of rushing straight in and carrying the day with your determination is vital, but it is not everything.

The bugei do vary in their treatment of the psychology of combat, but there is a tendency to treat them monolithically.  Even within a single style, there are differences in stages of teaching during which different approaches are appropriate. Although much writing (especially, but not limited to, that which is connected to Zen) tends to emphasize the power of determination, this is not necessarily equally stressed at all points of training.

In the late Edo period, there seems to have been a consistent effort to stress the development of this aspect of swordsmanship. For various reasons not wholly related to combat, this aspect was further emphasised during the Meiji and Taisho periods, and aspects of this are still visible in modern day kendo.

The older bugei were not so simplistic. This is especially evident in the teachings (and writings) that are closer to the warring states period. Not only were different attitudes emphasised at different stages of training, but the aims of training differed within and between ryu-ha. Those destined to be leaders would be taught tactics and strategy at a greater level of detail than simple warriors, with much of the higher level material being based on the physical skills that had been mastered in training with weapons. Some ryu-ha, such as the Shinkage ryu, seem to have had quite a strong strategic component, and were patronised by higher ranking warriors. There were also ryu-ha of strategy, which dealt specifically with managing troops. I suspect that, beyond this, there were family teachings and traditions, probably mainly oral, that were passed from generation to generation. There is some evidence of this in the Tokugawa family, with the instructions Tokugawa Ieyasu passed on to his successors; the Sanada family is also an example in which a high level of tactical ability was evident in several generations of the family (with two successive generations bringing the Tokugawa war machine to a halt).

Different writings may be seemingly contradictory, but this is not always the case. The courage and dynamism expressed in sentiments such as those expressed in the Suzuki quote may be very attractive, and certainly are impressive as isolated quotes. However the real strength of the bugei, in my opinion, is that they contain but are not limited to this approach. They are able to harness and build on this fierce attacking energy, but not be controlled by it.

To return to Samurai High School, Sanada Yukimura continues to advise his young vassal:

'In war, things do not always go as expected... a warrior who is certain of victory is arrogant. He only sees what is straight ahead. We must look to the left... to the right... and above us.'

Still, it is hard not to admire the teenage samurai's admonishment to his enemies before he ploughs into school bullies and local hoods:

'I cannot help but pity your miserable existence!'

In Business - The Book of Five Rings

Corporate Kendo - Tips for the Marketplace (from Samurai Businessman, New York, June 29, 1981)

Back in the 1980’s, The Book of Five Rings was partly popularized by selling it to the business crowd – touted as the secret of Japan’s economic success, managers and executives of all stripes were encouraged to read it and benefit from the insights their competitors’ thinking.

I came to Musashi myself through a teenage interest in the exotic, of which martial arts were part, and this was certainly pretty far from its use for business, but Musashi’s popularity in the USA was, indeed, business driven. An article from a 1981 edition of New York Magazine makes for interesting reading, explaining that one of the early proselytizers, the advertising executive George Lois said:

"I have some advice for American businessmen who are trying to figure out why the Japanese excel in business. Buy and study a copy of Musashi's A Book of Five Rings."

It also includes the corrective from a senior correspondent for the Nihon Keizai Shinbun, who said that Japanese businessmen were “far too concerned with the future to be rummaging around in the past.” (Flippo, C. (1981) Samurai Businessman, New York, June 29, 29-31).

Interestingly, he was turned on to it by Kaneda Masaichi, a famous baseball pitcher. (perhaps it was in the air - Oh Sadaharu, a contemporary of his, practiced batto (drawing and cutting with the sword) to improve his batting).

I recently came across an article addressing historical sources of East Asian strategy and their application to business. It dealt with Gorin no Sho, the Three Kingdoms and Sun Tzu, highlighting connections between them and giving guidelines for using some of the key concepts they contain in business.

Here are the main points it presented with respect to Gorin no Sho:

1) Grasping relationships and multiple perspectives… To gain new knowledge or find innovative solutions, the student must avoid unilateral thinking and the limitations of a one-track mind.

2) Seeking knowledge and information. Victory may be achieved when the “rhythm of each opponent” is known.

3) Being patient. It is best to wait for the opponent to make the first move, according to Bushido (the way of military men).

4) Training and disciplining oneself.

5) Disguising emotions and intentions. “(A)lways be the same way in any situation, and keep your mind in the Middle Way attitude,” wrote Musashi… Furthermore, people should never reveal their honne (real intentions) and always “ act in such a way as to not reveal the depth of your spirit to others, “ Musashi stated.

6) Possessing flexibility. Despite Musashi’s advocacy of the middle-of-the-road approach, he emphasizes physical, psychological, and emotional flexibility during a confrontation.

7) Using diversion. Wrote Musashi: “Once you have distracted {your opponent}, gain the advantage by following with your attack.” While promoting patience, Musashi also advocates swift action at the opportune moment… (here the author goes on to expand this point rather than talking about diversion).

8) Divide and conquer. “(W)hen you have seen that the ranks of the opponents have been disarrayed… push in and strike strongly without allowing any time to lapse.”

9) Assessing the terrain. Musashi’s analysis is analogous to Sun Tzu’s statement that “it is of utmost importance to force the opponent into a disadvantageous position.”

Tung, R.L. (1994) Strategic Thought in East Asia, Organizational Dynamics, Vol 22(4), 55-65.

This brings up a couple of interesting points.

Firstly, I’m not sure I would be able to reduce my understanding of Musashi’s work into only nine or ten points, but I find it interesting to see the ideas of someone who has done so, if only because examining someone else’s view of a work enables you to reassess your own view of that work. It gives you a tool to measure or assess your own understanding.

Secondly, it calls into question the value of works such as Gorin no sho, that were clearly written with regard to specific contexts, for a specific audience, and referenced things with which the average reader no longer has knowledge of. The concepts outlined above are not particularly profound – whether or not they are particularly useful in a business context, I am not qualified to say. I suppose they might provide some food for thought, especially for those involved in business with East Asian companies, who were not familiar with the culture.

Sun Tzu, which was also discussed in the article, is referred to much more commonly – despite the lack of a familiar context, it seems to have become a much used text in a variety of contemporary business and military contexts. There have been far more incisive and focused texts on strategy and tactics in these areas, but it has remained one of the most often cited works, famously quoted by Gordon Gecko and assigned as reading by the USMC for officer training. Perhaps the very fact it is so general that it allows for creative interpretation for its readers and broad applicability across a variety of fields and situations.

In Japan, too, Sun Tzu has been written about in a business context, but a quick perusal of the book shelves suggests that it is less often used as inspiration than The Romance of the Three Kingdoms and other, home grown sources. In this latter category, it is not Musashi who features most often, but the generals of the Sengoku period, the Age of the War.

Yes, there's plenty of interesting material there!

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.

Ishikawa Idayuu - the unknown swordsman

Ishikawa Idayuu (1825-1894)

Occasionally a name or an incident will crop up that will make you want to stop and find out more. Names of people long dead continue to resonate, and some of these, though well-known  in their own day are all but forgotten now.

One such is Ishikawa Idayuu, a swordsman of the Shounai Domain, who was famous enough in his day to be known as one of the three notable masters of the domain (Shounai san meibutsu). The others were a jujutsu master of the Shibukawa-ryu called Akashi Jiemon, and Sagara Judayuu, master of the Mukyoku-ryu of sojutsu, both of whom lived a century or so before Ishikawa.

(The term meibutsu is nowadays used mainly for famous products with which each prefecture is associated – an early government marketing ploy to help local businesses and tourism. Typically, each prefecture has one meibutsu, many of which are taught to school children, who will be able to recite Ehime – mikan (tangerines), Aomori – apples… to name two of the most famous.

The style Ishikawa practised was the Shinkyu-ryu, (新九流) of which little is known nowadays. It was popular both in Shounai and neighboring Aizu, but as both were hold outs against the new Meiji government during the Boshin War, it is not surprising that many of the martial practices in the area would have been supressed. In fact, both Ishikawa and some of his students were active in that war, commanding military units of various sizes, and were afterwards removed from their official positions and subject to other punitive measures.

Ishikawa was born as the 3rd son and adopted as heir into another branch of the same family, who were the hereditary teachers of Shinkyu-ryu heihou. He excelled at this and eventually inherited the position both of head of the style and of the family.

I came across Ishikawa in Matsuura Seizan’s work Joseishi Kendan, where he is the subject of a rather interesting episode. Seizan is interesting as a swordsman in his own right, and as a one-time daimyo was able to travel comparatively freely. Although he does not say so, it seems most likely that he met Ishikawa in Edo – as the chief instructor for swordsmanship for the domain, it is not unlikely that he would have travelled to Edo with his lord, or on other han business and Seizan, too would have spent some time there. Shounai later became responsible for managing security for the city of Edo, and the Shinchogumi – the Edo version of the Shinsengumi – was under the control of Shounai. It was, incidentally, set up by Kiyokawa Hachirou, who was a ronin from Shounai.

The story is related as if Ishikawa is the senior, though in fact Seizan was both older and of higher social status. Seizan did, in fact, study widely, even after being awarded mastery in swordsmanship, and even quite late in life, so it seems he was happy to learn where he could, and from whom he could. He notes how although Ishikawa always talked about swordsmanship (and this was a day and age where it was soon to become, yet again, a very real survival skill), on one occasion he had become very drunk and was stumbling all over the place on his way home. Seizan, who was with him, was thinking to himself that surely Ishikawa was now in a pretty vulnerable condition. When they got back, Ishikawa, who had obviously been faking, said he knew what Seizan had been thinking, but he shouldn’t be too sure of his initial assessment. It was only when he had discovered what someone was hiding that he should be content.

Like many stories from this period, it gives us a glimpse of some of the concerns of swordsmen in those days, and shows us that their art and knowledge went beyond the use of the sword in the dojo. This was knowledge that was tested in the Bakumatsu period – as it happens Kiyokawa Hachiro, a skilled swordsman himself, was killed in the street after being heavily plied with food and drink. (Although he was from Shounai, he was not one of Ishikawa’s students).

Sakai Noritsuge

Students

Sakai Noritsuge (1842-1876), son of an important domain official,  and nick-named ‘Oni-Genba’, was personally involved in the round up of the remnants of the Mito Tengu Insurrection, and there is an account of his skill in using a single sword thrust to bring down a sword wielding opponent. He was also well versed in chinese poetry and playing the flute. Later he became a batallion commander in the Boshin War, and was involved in some fierce fighting, as were both Ishikawa himself and another of Ishikawa’s students, Nakamura Shichiroemon (1843–1907), who became the next head of the Shinkyu-ryu. Lest you have the image of a totally outmoded army of swordsmen facing modern weapons, it must be noted that Nakamura commanded a rifle unit. Nakamura was actually connected to the Sakai family by marriage, and performed as kaishaku at the seppuku of Sakai Noritsuge’s uncle, Ukyou, a leader of han reformers, in 1867.

Ishikawa Shizumasa's portrait of Saigo

The connection with Saigo Takamori

Not 'The Last Samurai', perhaps, but there is an interesting connection with Saigo Takamori, who led the Imperial forces against Shounai and its allies in the Boshin War. After the war, Saigo settled very lenient terms with Shounai, and through this approach won the admiration of many former opponents. The official ‘Records of the Shounai Domain’ reflect this attitude with laudatory comments concerning Saigo’s magnaminity. Prior to this, one of the domain elders, Suge Sanehida, travelled to meet Saigo. He was accompanied by a painter, who later painted this portrait of Saigo. The painter was Ishikawa Shizumasa (1848-1925), the son of Ishikawa Idayuu.

The story of the fishermen

There is one other story of Ishikawa that bears repeating. As well as being famous as a swordsman, he was a famous for his yawara (or jujutsu) – probably as a part of the Shinkyu-ryu teachings. Three young fishermen came to him asking him to teach them yawara for protection in case they were attacked by robbers. Ishikawa accepted them as pupils and for six months had them running up and down the beach as basic training.  Eventually they asked him when he was going to teach them yawara.

“This is your yawara” he replied. “You have a very important job. If you start getting into yawara, you’ll neglect your fishing, which is crucial. So, if anyone attacks you, run! Escape! By losing, you win. Escaping is your victory!”

Saya no Uchi - principle and practice

From Ratti & Westbrook's Secrets of the Samurai

One of the attractions of the Japanese martial arts are the esoteric sounding concepts it contains. One such is saya no uchi, which literally means 'within the saya' and is a shortening of a phrase which can be translated as 'victory is obtained while the sword is in the saya'.

It is an interesting concept, but like many others, it is open to a variety of interpretations. The principle differences in this case lie on either side of the line separating the classical martial arts and the more modern disciplines. Whatever we call them, we can see quite a large difference between the older disciplines which claim their primary focus is combat, and the more modern ones, especially those that have positioned themselves as modern budo. Their aims and philosophies also colour their interpretations of concepts such as saya no uchi. The differences are sometimes slight, but they are telling.

If we look at the mindsets at the two extremes of these positions, the differences are quite clear. This is a description of the aims of modern iaido:

"Iaido does not actually mean overcoming an enemy, but overcoming one's own self. The only and the most dangerous opponent in iaido is the practitioner himself. Victory in iaido consists of a forgiving heart and avoidance of fight. Iaido means training toward human perfection. In it there is never a murderous intention to kill another human being. It is said that with endless practice the practitioner learns to understand his place in the universe."

(From a Musoshinden-ryu site)

 

Contrast this with the opening line of Hirayama Shiryu's Kensetsu (Sword Theory), written at the beginning of the 19th century:  

  My swordsmanship is for slaying the enemy brutally. 

With such different perspectives, it is no wonder that concepts contained in both arts are interpreted differently. In iaido, the normal interpretation of saya no uchi is that it means winning without drawing the sword; a victory of the spirit. It is held out as a kind of ultimate goal. How exactly this is to be achieved is not clear, but it is sometimes held to be a kind of moral position - the ability to win without fighting.

This is in sharp distinction to the stance taken by combat oriented arts, in which it refers to the positioning that puts one in a winning position prior to the fight. Rather than winning without fighting, it is attaining victory before fighting. On an individual level, this might involve extremely subtle movements, but could easily be extrapolated to large scale conflicts involving armies. Sun Tzu expressed just this concept when he wrote:

Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.

We might be justified in regarding it as a strategic or tactical principle, in fact. However, in the classical martial arts, such principles were not left as theories, but were taught through concrete techniques and applications, though often ones in which the mental aspect was also vital. Matsuura Seizan, writing in the early 19th century, alludes to this in his Joseishi Kendan:

I will tell you the key to learning this: the potential of drawing the sword and cutting down the opponent is present while the sword is still sheathed. Even as you glimpse an opportunity as the opponent moves, that cut is already present in the sheathed sword. 

Which is to say, the sword is in operation even though it is still in the saya. The technicalities of this are another thing entirely, but those who are familiar with this from personal experience will recognize the truth of Seizan's explanation.

That is not to reject the value of resolving conflicts without fighting. In fact Seizan gives an example of this from his first meeting with the man who was to become his teacher in Confucianism, Minagawa Kien. This was a man not particularly known for his swordsmanship, a scholar, in fact, but who wore two swords as men of his class did in those days. Seizan, who was young and serious about his swordsmanship, made fun of Kien for wearing swords despite his scholarly demeanor. "What would you do if I attacked you now?" he asked. Kien was not in the least perturbed, but replied that every time he picked up his swords he did so with the resolution to use them, and so he was perfectly prepared to use them now, if necessary. If Seizan wanted proof, he had only to attack him and he would show him. Seizan backed down and was forced to admit that he had been defeated by the strength and sincerity of Kien's commitment. This is much closer to the saya no uchi of budo, but Seizan doesn't comment on whether he regarded it as an example of the concept or not. I rather think he didn't, although he does say how impressed he was with Kien.

I will take this chance to recommend my book 'The Samurai Mind', published by Tuttle and due out next month, which includes translations of Seizan's Joseishi Kendan and Hirayama Shiryu's Kensetsu. It is by me, of course, which is another good reason to check it out.

The Last of the Yoshiokas II

This piece is a loose translation of a section of a book called “Miyamoto Musashi to iu Kengo”(The Swordsman Miyamoto Musashi) by Kōzō Kaku. If you have some experience reading Japanese essays, you may be familiar with the style – a mix of fact and opinion, rolled up in one and difficult to separate. On top of that, there is my translation, which includes a few clarifications, and you have a real mix. Despite that, it’s an interesting read, and offers some interesting insights on some tactical aspects of Seijiro’s fights.

There is not much written about this in English – John M. Rogers’ invaluable translation of the Honcho Bugei Shoden in Monumenta Nipponica and William Wilson’s The Lone Samurai (see his appendix) have about the only detailed information I could find, although this merely records Seijiro’s name as Kempo, leading to some confusion.

“According to the popular account, the Yoshioka school’s series of losses to (Miyamoto) Musashi were the chief cause of their decline and fall. The Yoshioka–den, however, paints quite a different picture: it was really the bravery of Yoshioka Genzaemon Naotsuna (Seijūrō) and his youngest brother, Seijirō, that ensured the fame of the Yoshioka family.

In the Kyoto-Osaka area, there was an expression, ‘hitsukoi’, a corruption of the common ‘shitsukoi’, which means annoyingly persistent or bloody-minded. It had distinctly negative connotations, which were even more pronounced in the related term ‘dobitsukoi’, which was formed by the addition of the prefix ‘do’, and referred to a habitual state of ‘hitsukoi’, as well as suggesting something of the sense of dread we attach to a word like ‘stalker’ nowadays. This was the term used to describe Yoshioka Seijirō.

In the Keicho period (1596-1615) the Yoshioka family was well-known in the city of Kyoto for their skill as swordsmen; so much so that their practice hall was widely known as the House of Kempo. However, it is said that people were wary of Yoshioka Seijirō and tended to keep their distance from him. He was one of the three sons of the third generation head, Yoshioka Naokata, with two older brothers who both excelled in swordsmanship (and fought Musashi, according to the popular version). According to one theory, he may actually have been the cousin of Naotsuna and Naoshige, but after his death, it was seen as more proper to refer to them as brothers.

There are many questions that remain unanswered about the Yoshioka School: it flourished from the time of the founder Naomoto down to the fourth generation Naotsuna, and then suddenly disappeared. It’s fame was greatly increased by the affair involving Seijirō, but this also proved to be a source of great trouble for the family.

Although Seijirō was Naokata’s son, there is no record of his posthumous name nor his succession. Of course, it is possible that he was still a child or an adopted child, but there is some likelihood that this was connected to his sullen disposition, which also served to trigger the affair. The fateful event took place on the 22nd day of the sixth month of 1614 (Keicho 19). That was the day that Toyotomi Hideyori, the young son of the late Taiko Hideyoshi, who held the rank of Minister of the Right, held a celebratory feast to mark the completion of the Great Buddha Hall in the Higashiyama district of Kyoto.

Although it seems surprising nowadays, there were times when commoners were allowed to visit the Imperial Palace, and it was said that crowds of townsfolk came to see Noh or Sarugaku performances.

In the Korō Chabanashi, it gives the date as the 11th day of the 6th month of the 16th year of Keicho, but this is slightly confusing as this doesn’t match the date of the completion of the Great Buddha. Similarly, in the Jozan Kidan it gives the date as Keicho 7, but Hideyori was given the rank of Minister of the Right in the 4th month of Keicho 10. If we take the date as the 22nd day of the 6th month of Keicho 19, which appears to be most likely, it was ten years after the contest between Musashi and the Yoshioka school.

A Disturbance at the Palace

That day, the accounts say, Seijirō joined the crowds making their way to watch the Noh performance, but it seems he wasn’t in a very good mood even before setting out. Most of the spectators had to stand to watch, and the jostling of the crowd would only have served as an extra irritation. In several writings there is mention of zoushiki, the attendants and porters of the Imperial archives and the retired emperor’s palace, one of whom, it is written, mistakenly hit Seijirō with the stick he was carrying. 

In the Kourō Chabanashi it says that he was hit on the head, but it is difficult to believe that someone as skilled as Seijirō would allow himself to be struck like this by a palace attendant. Reading carefully, one can detect a feeling that the palace attendants would have had no very high opinion of a townsman who had gained prominence as a swordsman: the Yoshioka family were tradesmen, and their occupation, dyers, was not a particularly distinguished one. In any case, the attendant must have been careless – he was probably unaware of his sullen, headstrong nature, and banged into him with the cane he was carrying. If the attendant had apologised, the events that followed would probably never have taken such a fatal course. However, it seems likely that he either didn’t apologize or gave him an insulting look. Even if this was not the case, it is easy to imagine the attendant, who had most likely been drinking, raising his voice threateningly. Both parties probably exchanged a few words, with both of them giving as good as they got. Finally Seijirō must have lost patience and drawn his sword, attacking the man. He would have cut him down easily, all the more so if the attendant was drunk. With his sword still drawn he regained his composure, but the situation was not good. There were many people in the palace who had been watching the quarrel: instantly the attendant’s friends surrounded him.

The Fight

Seijirō remained unperturbed, typical of his obstinate nature. Taking care not to allow anyone to move round behind him, he slowly closed in on the opponents in front of him, though he had no intention of attacking straight-away. Rather than attacking, he was probably considering provoking their attacks so he could counter. There were a great number of opponents, and he was on his own, so it was important for him not to waste his strength.

Closing the distance can also serve as an invitation: it is almost certain that the enemy will be unsettled by such a manoeuver and take the bait. The strategy known as “go no sen” is relevant here. This teaches how to utilise waiting to your advantage. But there is more to it than this; it can be dangerous to advance. If you expose a blind spot, you will be vulnerable to a thrust from this quarter.

The tension Seijiro had created was too much – his assorted opponents began to attack.

According to one theory, Seijirō was using a short sword – when he was at distance from which he couldn’t cut, he would suddenly raise his sword revealing a momentary opening to the opponent with whom he was engaged; as the opponent attacked Seijirō took that opportunity to enter and cut his opponent down. According to the Honcho Bugei Shoden, he climbed onto the stage to get his breath, jumped down and cut, then mounted it again; when the enemy surged forward dangerously, he could jump down and strike again. Seijirō utilised the art of tengu jumping – reminiscent of Minamoto Yoshitsune’s hassō tobi, it certainly seemed to come from the Kyo-ryu, passed down from the tengu of Kurama.

A number of Yoshioka students saw what was happening from afar, but nobody moved to help Seijirō. It’s true that they needn’t have interceded in the scuffle, but why did they look on passively? That was probably because they put so much trust in his skill and sheer bloody-mindedness.

Here comes the fuzz

The chief magistrate of Kyoto (Shoshidai), Itakura Katsushige, Lord of Iga, was informed immediately of the disturbance in the Imperial Palace. It was his job to deal with it. According to the Jozan Kidan, Katsushige took a naginata and faced Seijirō himself - however, this can be put down to exaggeration. It would have been highly unlikely for Kazushige, who was then in his 60s, to undertake something like this himself. The versions in which he sends his vassal, Ota Chuubei, seem far more probable. Chuubei, whose personal name was Kaneuji, was also known as Ryukage. He came from Hanawa-mura in Omi-kuni (present day Shiga Prefecture), and was skilled in the Yagyu Shinkage ryu. So, Seijirō, with an art directly transmitted from the Kyo ryu, itself descended from the Shinto ryu, would be facing Chuubei, who was skilled in one of the three great streams of swordsmanship, the Kage ryu. And it was not just the Kage ryu, but the extremely polished Yagyu Shinkage ryu that would be contrasted to the art of the, as yet undefeated, Yoshioka ryu – it was definitely something worth seeing.

As far as skill was concerned, both men were on a par. It was impossible to predict the winner. However, when they crossed swords, somehow, from the impact, Seijirō slipped. In the Honcho Bugei Shoden it says the cords of his hakama had come undone causing him to stumble and fall. If we check the Gekiken Sodan, it notes that he fell face upwards. Chuubei then spoke, “Striking a fallen foe is shameful for a bushi. Stand, and we will fight in the normal way.”

Seijirō took these words at face value. No sooner had he heard them than he began to rise. While he was doing so, Chuubei cut him down with a single blow. Those watching praised Chuubei for cutting down his opponent as he rose, but afterward his master, on the recounting of the victory, asked whether he should be proud of killing a fallen foe. With a faint smile, Chuubei replied, “In a situation like this, if you try to cut a fallen oponent, you will be opening yourself, and it is you who will be cut instead. Even when lying down, there is kyo and jitsu. When he was on the ground, Yoshioka may have been kyo or, then again, he may have been jitsu, but in any case, he was not an opponent it would have been easy to cut. While lying on the ground, he may have looked kyo, trying to defend himself, but it seemed that in the next instant he could have cut me as I drew close (jitsu). But whether it is really kyo or jitsu, it is not as if a fallen foe cannot regain his feet. Indeed, it is just at this moment that he is really in a defenceless kyo state. It was this that I was relying on when I struck him down.

The effects of Seijirō’s death

(As the Honcho Bugei Shoden notes, the magistrate Itakura Katsushige decided to take no action against the Yoshioka family because of the restraint they showed during Seijiro’s fight – which seems rather unusual). Seijirō was not head of the family, but if his name was so well known, word went around that the head of the family must be really skilled indeed, and the fame of the Yoshioka ryu echoed around the whole country. The quiet city of Kyoto was in shock … and the Yoshioka family, with its connections to the shogunal house of Ashikaga, came under the close scrutiny of the Tokugawa Bakufu. They were probably under extreme pressure. In the 10th month of that year, on the advice of one of their relatives, Mishuku Masatomo (1566-1615), Lord of Echizen, the Yoshioka family took part in the Winter Seige of Osaka, on the Toyotomi side. There is a theory that, when peace was declared, they took down their shingle, and abandoned the martial arts. After the war, based in the Nishinotoin Shijo-sagaru area, they learned kurocha dying from the Chinese Li San Kan to create what was known as nanban kurozome. The founder of this dyeing wasn’t Naotsuna (i.e. Seijūrō) but Naoshige (Denshichirō), it is said. They specialized in the business of dyeing, building up their fortune through their speciality Yoshioka-zome and kenpo-zome. (I must admit there are several inconsistencies in the way these accounts have been meshed, but I’ll let them pass).

The Yoshioka school of swordsmanship still just managed to survive, according to one account: in the Mukashi Banashi, a journal written by a warrior of the Owari domain, Chikamatsu Shigenori, it mentions that there were records of an adept by the name of Yoshioka Kahei in later years, who showed some of the secrets of the Yoshioka school to the Lord of Owari.”

Just to add to the confusion of names, the picture is Utagawa Kuniyoshi's print of Yoshioka Kanefusa.The picture clearly depicts Seijirō's battle at the Palace, but Kanefusa is also the name given, in some accounts, to Seijūrō, who fought Musashi. It comes from the wonderful Kuniyoshi Project.

Time to get moving

Time is a vital element in strategy.

I was reminded of this the other day when I was reading Fukuzawa Yukichi's autobiography - he mentions an unsuccessful attempt on his life during the tumultuous years of the bakumatsu period (1860s), when he had returned to his home domain to bring his mother to Edo where he was living. Xenophobic forces were strong, and as he worked as a translator for the government, he was seen as a suitable target for assassination by the young hotheads of the domain. Fortunately, his would be assassins spent so long arguing over who was to actually kill him, that he and his mother, both unaware of the danger, were gone by the time the attackers reached the inn where they had been staying. (Fukuzawa wryly notes that the precautions he took to preserve his life were never directly used, while he didn't realise he was in danger the times his life was really threatened).

A similar incident occurs in the Heike Monogatari, the account of the fall of the Taira clan in the 12th century. Prince Mochihito, supported by the monks of Miidera, just on the other side of the mountains to the east of Kyoto, are planning a night attack on the Taira mansion in the city. Of course, surprise is of the essence, but they take so long planning the thing that it's almost morning by the time they are ready to set off and the whole thing has to be called off.

It had a very familiar ring to it, which I think must have come from early exposure to Tolkien's use of the same idea in The Hobbit, when Gandalf gets the trolls fighting till daybreak and they are turned to stone.

But literature aside, the ability to make decisions and get things moving is a key factor in all kinds of strategic endeavors. A notable example in the military field is Alexander the Great, who was particularly good at this - much of his success was based on his ability to move faster, and more directly than his opponents, and not just when he was faced by the unwieldy Persian war machine. His early campaigns on the Danube are excellent examples of this.

More recently, the German blitzkrieg in WWII was predicated on constant forward motion - Rommel, for example, noted that his favoured form of reconnaissance was attack. Boyd's OODA loop also touches on this, and the more I go on, the more examples come to mind.

Perhaps the reason why it is so important is that people have a tendency to over-consider their choices before making a move - when we act, our move will change the situation so the choices we spent time considering may no longer exist. The ability to think or act on the fly gives a strong advantage to those who can do it, but ill-considered moves against a strong opponent can prove disastrous. Experience and real skill make all the difference.

But even in everyday life, the ability to move from one activity to another, to act 'immediately' after deciding, is a real boon (and not always my strong point, I admit). The ways in which this don't happen are numerous, and correct timing is also a vital consideration - sometimes you have to wait and pick your moment - but on the whole, it gives you an immense advantage to be able to do things fast.
Illustration: The Tale of Heike Illustrated Scroll, Edo period, Okayama Art Museum

Unconventional Strategy

I first read about this ploy in Walter Mosley's "Devil in a Blue Dress", but recently came across an account of it being used in reality rather than fiction.

The fictional account concerns Mouse, Eazy Rawlins' psychopathic friend (and an excellent character in his own right) and his killing of his step-brother, Navrochet. Figuring that he had come in the bar looking to kill him, Mouse had taken note of Navrochet's expensive boots and already opened his fly. When he was taken outside, and a gun put against his head, he played scared and then urinated on his step-brother's boots. Not surprisingly, but unwisely, Navrochet jumped back and was dead before he hit the ground, bullets courtesy of Mouse.

I came across the real-life incident in the memoirs of Fukuzawa Yukichi, the founder of Keio University, and whose face graces the 10,000 yen bill. Not a fighter himself, one of his colleagues in the early days of the Meiji Restoration, Wada Yoshiro, was an expert in jujitsu, and well able to take on several men by himself. Like Fukuzawa, he thought wearing swords in those 'modern' times was outdated. One night, walking home with a group of friends, their way was blocked by a band of local toughs wearing swords and swaggering along the street towards them. Wada strode along the middle of the street towards them, starting to piss as he walked along. Although the situation was tense, the toughs moved out of his way and trouble was averted.

Portrait of Fukuzawa Yukichi by Matsumaro Kikutaro Keio Daigaku

Regional Strategy

It seems the excitement never stops!
Once again, discounting the rights and wrongs of the situation (and everyone involved has pretty strong views), the flare-up over the arrest of the Chinese fishing captain for ramming a Japanese coastguard vessel brings up several interesting points.

The timing, in particular, is quite interesting - it happened immediately after Kan's defeat of Ozawa - for all his short-comings, Ozawa is certainly far more vocal, out-spoken and less likely to be pushed around on foreign policy.

China's quick resort to this kind of strong-arm tactic has set off alarm bells throughout the region - it is very likely the shape of things to come. What is also interesting, though perhaps not immediately apparent, is the thinking behind this kind of tactic. Whereas America utilises a similar approach based on the belief that they are right, China seems to disregard the rightness or wrongness of the situation in favor of what works - if it looks like Japan will retreat a step or two, it's worth a try to gain some tactical ground. They have plenty of experience in heating the pot and then letting things cool for a while.

International opinions are worth watching, too - for all China's economic strength and bluster, the country is part of the web of international relations that will be affected by actions of this kind. Already there seems to be a feeling that though they have won a tactical victory, strategically, it may have been a misstep.

Ozawa Falls

As a quick follow-up to my last post, despite the initial dispositions of the power blocks in the party, and a fairly strong showing in televised debates, Ozawa was comprehensively beaten, and Kan retained leadership.

The key was was the rank and file of the party: Ozawa just couldn't overcome the seeds of distrust and dislike that had already been sown by his previous behavior. It seems he had misread the strength of feeling against him.

There might be something in the need to create enemies if you want to get things done, but this is an example of when creating too many can come back to bite you in the ass.

Strategy in Politics

Occasionally, you get to watch strategy at work in national or world events as they play out around you. Although not privy to all the details, it can be fascinating to observe events as they unfold, with an eye to the moves and the tactics of the main players.

The Ozawa Situation
I have never been particularly interested in politics, and politics in Japan, even less so, but the current situation in Japan is just too interesting to ignore. Ichiro Ozawa, the 'kingmaker' is making a bid for the throne. He is not a popular politician with the public at large, and his name has been besmirched over the last few years with the taint of financial scandals, but he has emerged ready for a fight for the leadership of his party, the DPJ, and the country itself.

It is the stuff novels are made of - the backroom politicking must be intense. Setting aside personal opinion, what is obvious is that Ozawa is a master of the game. He has built up his influence and support, allowed Yukio Hatoyama, the ex-prime mimister to take the blame for reneging on impossible election promises, let his successor, Naoto Kan, work off the inevitable resentment and unpopularity arising from the current strength of the yen against foreign currencies, and is now poised to step in before Kan has really had a chance to get to work.

But how has he got this chance? The unfathomable rules governing political parties seem to dictate that elections for leadership should take place within the party on a regular, unchanging basis - never mind that the current leader has just taken over the reigns of power, now he has to battle to hold onto his position as well as lead a country. Never mind, also, that polls show 75% of the country see no reason to change leadership, the situation allows Ozawa to fight in an arena where he holds most of the cards, in the closed arena of his own party. Far easier to win here than in a general election. He has even threatened to leave the party if he doesn't win... a strange move for a man who says he has the party's best interests at heart.

And why? Cynics would say it's naked ambition. The chances of being able to win the next election are already looking slim - it will probably be back to business as usual with the LDP in power, and the DPJ might not get another look-in for 10 years or more, so he is probably right in thinking that if he doesn't take a shot now, he will never become PM.

Of course, it's all politics, but now is a fascinating chance to watch a master at work.

Soccer Strategy 2

One of the most interesting ways to watch soccer, is to concentrate on its confrontational aspects. This is even more apparent if you have played it yourself and are aware of the difficulties involved. This is more than just ball skills, it is the ability to beat (in this case to get the ball past) your opponent.

Soccer Strategy - broader implications

With the World Cup in full swing, It has been quite interesting to reflect on the games and what they offer in the way of strategic insight. Sport is not everyone's cup of tea, and I admit to have gone through periods when I greatly enjoyed watching sport on TV and others when I had no interest at all.

When I was young, of course, football was my chief sporting passion, and like most boys my age, school consisted of waiting to get into the playground to kick a ball around in the rough and disorganized games we played then. We would kick anything around at a pinch - usually a tennis ball - and the players' skills and personalities became five minute legends amongst us. By the time we got to secondary school, the organized nature, muddy pitch, invariably cold showers and the increasing gap in physical abilities took away most of the fun from the game, and with it my interest.

Looking back on those years, there are several points come to mind, both as it affected me and with regard to the way it was taught and skills developed.

Skill was a function of physical capabilities

You might have all the ball skills in the world, but if you can't run to save your life, you're not going to make it as a forward. (After seeing the England match with Germany, I would add defenders should be able to run, too. Unless, like me, they rarely leave their penalty area).

Get in there and kick the ball

This was largely the approach we grew up with as kids, and is reflected in English football to this day. Those with some skill and talent were, no doubt, given some ideas of tactics and worked on stamina and other attributes, but by and large, we learned by playing. We developed only as much skill as we needed, which wasn't very much.

Commentary reflects approach to play

Commentary here in Japan is very different to the commentary in England. Whereas the English style tends to be descriptive of the game, who has the ball and what are they doing with it, Japanese commentary is much more discursive, offering a commentary that links to the events of the game, but doesn't describe what is happening. It often centres on the tactics the sides are using. The game, too, tends to be more thought out in Japan (to its detriment, I might add), with kids in school endlessly practising set plays and spending very little time playing games.

Practice has different aims

While one might imagine that the aim of practice is to improve in a skill or to improve as a team, there is a clear disconnect between practise methods and stated or inferred aims. Clearly, there is more at work here than meets the eye. And this is as it should be - sports practised at school and professional levels do have different aims. But good practice will help you to achieve those aims - so it behoves you to be clear on what you are practcising and why.

Eye level vastly changes the game

This is another important point with wider implications. What you see on TV is not what you see when you're playing the game. The pundits and armchair critics might think very differently if the view they had of the game was the same as that of the players. (The first time I saw a live match I was surprised by how little I could see and consequently how boring it was. Not what I had imagined at all!!)

In practical terms, this means that the skills you are developing, the tactical/strategic awareness, must be operable from ground level. The awareness of the individual must be attuned to this level of play.... it is obviously much easier to see what is going on from the spectators viewpoint, but much more important for the man on the ground to be able to assess the situation.

(Picture above is by Tenmyouya Hisashi)