The Real Musashi: The Bukoden

I have been sitting on this book, waiting for the time to give it the review it deserves, and even so, I will have to skimp a little.

It is the second in the series by William Lange, the first being The Bushu Denraiki, which I reviewed here.

A complementary volume, "Miyamoto Musashi: a life in arms" which looks to go into the life of Musashi in more depth, from a variety of original sources is due out soon, so perhaps this is timely. 

Like The Bushu Denraiki, this volume consists of a translation of one of the main source documents concerned with the life of Miyamoto Musashi, together with copious notes and explanations.

Both the Bushu Denraiki (1727) and the Bukoden (1755) were later rewritten ­– as the Heiho Senshi Denki (1782) and the Nitenki (1776) respectively, by a former pupil (in the case of the former) and the son (for the latter) of the original authors. It is these 2^nd generation works that tended to be drawn on by later generations of writers, especially the Nitenki. Both the Bushu Denraiki and the Bukoden were compiled from handed-down accounts of those who had known or had contact with Musashi, and thus provide a fascinating picture that goes beyond the well known anecdotes that many of us are already familiar with.

Both of them have strong connections with the followers of Musashi’s style of swordsmanship, and although they are not technical works, they are particularly recommended for those who are studying Niten Ichi-ryu, as examples of historical documents relating to their study.

Matsui Toyoyuki (1704-1771) head of the Matsui
clan at the time the Bukoden was written. (Courtesy
of Yatsuhiro Museum, Kumamoto).

The Bukoden was written by Toyoda Masanaga, who was a senior retainer of the Nagaoka (Matsui) family, who were vassals of the Hosokawa, an important daimyo family based in Kumamoto and with whom Musashi spent the last years of his life as a guest. The Nagaoka family had direct dealings with Musashi both during his early years (as sponsor for his duel with Sasaki Kojiro) and later on, and were assigned to care for him in the very last months of his life. To this day the Matsui Collection has some very impressive examples of Musashi’s artwork (I wrote about it here) as well as much else, and Toyoda Masanaga was fencing instructor to the family in Nito Ichi Ryu, Musashi’s style.

Given that he was based in Kumamoto, Masanaga’s account has more detail on the later period of Musashi’s life, complementing the Bushu Denraiki (which tends to be stronger on the earlier period), and Masanaga had access to his father’s collection of oral traditions, writings, letters and artwork. His father had also been sword instructor to the Nagaoka and had compiled his own technical treatise many years earlier.

The Shadow of Musashi's father - a painting
by Inoue Takehiko.

Much of the content of The Bukoden will be more familiar to readers than was the case with The Bushu Denraiki, and there are few surprises in the general outline it gives of Musahi’s life. The anecdotes it includes are interesting, and several were completely new to me. One interesting story told how Lord Hosokawa’s attendants had, at the instigation of their lord, planned to slam a pair of sliding doors on Musashi as he bowed prior to entering the anteroom to the lord’s chambers. Musashi had placed his fan in the grooves the doors ran in and so the doors were jammed open, earning Lord Hosokawa’s praise. The same story is also told of Araki Murashige, who had earned the wrath of Oda Nobunaga, and it is possible this same story was handed down and the names changed. In this version, it was planned as a trick or a test, but in the Araki version, the intent is murderous. As well as the nature of the attack and the response, there is another connection between the two,– Musashi’s father appears to have had a close connection with the founder of the Araki Ryu (Araki Murashige’s father), and it may even be that this precaution was passed down within Musashi’s father’s teachings.

Where de Lange shines is the detail he puts into the background notes. This is a valuable resource especially where it fleshes out minor characters referred to in the text. However, the nature of this kind of material can make it somewhat hard going, and this is not helped when details are repeated or material is included which has only a passing relevance to the text (relating to the Bushu Denraiki , for example) and I think some tighter editing might have been helpful here. The same goes for the appendices, which include details which seem quite unrelated to the text, in fact.

But these are minor quibbles, and this book is a valuable addition to the field. If you want to know where all those stories of Musashi came from, this is one of the primary sources, and as such, should be on the reading list for all serious Musashi afficianados.

The Demon's Sermon – a swordsman’s perspective

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. 

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 18^th 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.”

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?”

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.

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!'

What the Sengoku Warlords can teach you!

Oda Nobunaga berates his followers in typical style

As I mentioned in a previous post, the Sengoku busho – generals, daimyo, and battle commanders of various stripes – are well-known and popular figures from history, and the lessons their lives and actions contain are sometimes taken as models in the self-help/business field. Sometimes, this is done quite seriously, and sometimes in a more light-hearted way.

Typical of the latter is this article I came across in a women’s magazine, which presents an upbeat look at management using some of these famous figures as examples.

It’s no surprise to find that it treats them a little cavalierly, and it was obviously more concerned with teaching business skills than historical accuracy. Nevertheless, it makes for quite an interesting read, and I spent a good few hours of my New Year holiday translating it. The accompanying illustrations are from the original article, and are good examples of typical (and easily recognizable) depictions of the generals in question.

Below is a summary to give a flavor of the analysis that was presented, so read on, and find out why a good leader delegates power, rather than keeping it all to him/her self…

Takeda Shingen "Men are your castles, men are your walls. Friendship is your ally, enmity your foe."

Shingen excelled in ‘people management’, utilizing a pyramid management model. This allowed control of a wide-ranging territory. With Shingen at the top, his immediate subordinates, in turn delegated responsibility to those familiar with each particular area, who were trusted to work out solutions individually. Giving responsibility encouraged positive action ‘on the ground’.

The system was reinforced by meetings to keep everyone informed of developments.

Even those who had proved themselves on the battlefield were observed carefully when placed in a position of responsibility. The skills required on the battlefield and those needed for organizing people were not the same, And Shingen was aware of the possibility of resentment resulting from placing those with no familiarity of a situation in charge of those who were familiar with it.

Shingen would personally watch over his subordinates development until he judged they were ready.

Shingen tended not to place blame or enforce his own solutions on problems. There is an interesting anecdote in connection with his flood control project. In one fiercely flowing stream, the water crashed and swirled around one large rock. Shingen mused aloud, “I wonder who that reminds me of…?” The rough warriors accompanying him were surprised but were forced to look at their own behaviour. In this way, he was able to encourage self-reflection among his subordinates.

Uesugi Kenshin “Fate is in the heavens. This is a holy war! The time to advance is now.”

His great rival, Uesugi Kenshin, was very different, and suffered from an inability to share ideas.  For Kenshin, the timing in battle was a divine revelation from Bishamonten. Secluding himself in a temple, he would wait for inspiration to strike. He would give the order to advance suddenly, and then would gallop through his troops, arbitrarily dividing them into groups. Although this was in accord with his plan, it remained unclear to his subordinates. (Shades of Sun Tzu here).

Kenshin also failed to establish clear aims. Having been appointed to the role of controlling the region by the bakufu, and being charged with punishing those who disturbed the peace, he repeatedly stated that his campaigns were not aimed at the acquisition of territory. To his followers, who made their careers by taking enemy lands by force, there seemed no clear motivation for his wars – and morale clearly suffered.

Kuroda Jyosui (Kanbei) “Was that all you could do?”

Kuroda Jyosui was able, but cold towards his subordinates, failing to recognize their achievements. There is a story that after the battle of Sekigahara, his son was praised personally by Tokugawa Ieyasu for his deed on the battlefield. When he told his father of this sometime later, Jyosui snapped, “You should have struck him down with your empty left hand.” 　(I looked further into this and found that his son said that Lord Ieyasu had taken his right hand and praised him. Jyosui replied “What was your left hand doing then?” with the implication being that he should have taken the chance to cut him down – Jyosui thought that he, rather than Ieyasu, should have been Hideyoshi’s successor, but it was not to be.)

Oda Nobunaga “If the bird won’t sing, kill it!”

(Nobunaga is usually given good press, despite some reservations about his manner, but this article doesn’t find much to emulate in his management techniques, commenting on his unwillingness to delegate, and the way he ridiculed his employees. And, of course, we know what happened to him!)

Although this was not a current magazine, it seems that something has been in the air in the past decade.

Lest you think this is an isolated example, how about this, from the website of the Japan Management Association:

During the Warring States period, some 400 years ago, each feudal lord had his 
own distinctive banner. Shingen Takeda's furinkazan and the bi of Kenshin Uesugi,
 who held power around my hometown, are still famous today. These banners raised
 morale during battle, helped to distinguish friend from foe, and provided rallying 
points as tens of thousands clashed in confusion on the field. Though banner
 designs varied from stylized kanji characters to flashy colors combinations, it
 can be said that each represented the enthusiasm and aspirations of the lord and
 samurai that rallied round.

Etsuhiko Shoyama
 President and
 Chief Executive Officer, Hitachi, Ltd.
 Director, Japan Management Association

(http://www.jma.or.jp/jmanews/2005february.html)

And then there’s this – an NTT campaign from late 2012, where even Sen no Rikyu gets to make an appearance.

But I digress – we have moved on from lessons learned to pure advertising. Nevertheless, it points towards the continuing popularity, and the instant recognizability, of these figures in mainstream Japanese culture. If anyone has any more examples, I would be interested in seeing them.