The Lone Samurai

by William Scott Wilson

  Strong similarities in the fundamental assumptions of Takuan and Musashi vis-a-vis the art of combat are difficult to ignore. The following are a few examples.

  In the section “Using the Eyes in the Martial Arts” in his Water chapter, Musashi discusses the difference between “seeing” (見), the simple act of looking, and “observation” or “contemplation” (観), the act of looking through. The etymology of the character for seeing (見) is derived from an eyeball on legs, indicating nothing more than the physical activity of the eye. The character for observation or contemplation (kan; 観) on the other hand is used by Zen priests in the term kanshin (観心), meaning “meditating on the mind,” and kannen (観念), meaning “meditation” or “deep contemplation.” Musashi writes:

  In using the eyes, do so in a large and encompassing way. There is observation and there is seeing. The eye of observation is strong. The eye of seeing is weak. To see the faraway as nearby, and the nearby as faraway is essential to the martial arts. To know your opponent’s sword, yet not to see it at all is very important in the martial arts.

  Compare this to Takuan in “The Mysterious Record of Immovable Wisdom”:

  When facing a single tree, if you look at a single one of its red leaves, you will not see all the others. When the eye is not set on any one leaf, and you face the tree with nothing at all in mind, any number of leaves are visible to the eye without limit. But if a single leaf holds the eye, it will be as if the remaining leaves were not there.

  One who has understood this is no different from the Kannon with a thousand arms and a thousand eyes.

  Here Takuan neatly ties in his main theme (which is also Musashi’s) regarding fluidity of the mind, discussed above, with the function of sight and the mind itself. One must not let the mind be arrested by the act of seeing. If his mind is arrested, he will not only miss the big picture, but give himself away altogether.

  Similarly, Musashi notes that the study of many stances only confuses the student, whose understanding of these stances can easily become just so much baggage. With the Stance/No-Stance, the swordsman is left completely free, unarrested by any distracting awareness of how to place his feet, or where to aim his sword. Concerning this, Takuan writes:

  As the beginner knows nothing about either body posture or the positioning of his sword, neither does his mind stop anywhere within him. If a man strikes at him with a sword, he simply meets the attack without anything in mind.

  As he studies various things and is taught the diverse ways of how to make a stance, the manner of grasping the sword and where to put his mind, his mind stops in many places. Now if he wants to strike an opponent, he is extraordinarily discomforted.

  For the man who has transcended this problem, however:

  While hands, feet and body may move, the mind does not stop any place at all, and one does not know where it is.

  Another interesting connection appears in Musashi’s section of the Water chapter titled “The Flint and Spark Hit,” and in a section of Takuan’s work titled “The Function of Flint and Spark.” Musashi explains his point in rather short terms:

  The Flint and Stone Hit is executed by striking with great certainty and strength, without raising your sword at all, when your sword is joined with your opponent’s. You should put strength into your feet, body and hands, and strike quickly with these three.

  Takuan’s explanation is almost like a footnote to Musashi’s words, expanding them to his own familiar Zen Buddhist theme:

  There is such a thing as the action of flint and spark. No sooner have you struck the stone than the light appears. Since the light appears just as you strike the stone, there is neither interval nor interstice. This also signifies the absence of the interval that would stop the mind.

  It would be a mistake to think of this simply as celerity. Rather, it underscores the point that the mind does not stop. When the mind stops it will be grasped by the opponent. On the other hand, if the mind contemplates being fast and goes into quick action, it will be captured by its own contemplation.

  Again, Musashi, this time from the Wind chapter:

  Speed in the martial arts is not the True Way. Concerning speed, we say that something is fast or slow depending on whether it misses the rhythm of things.

  Finally, there is the correlation between Musashi’s emphasis on the discipline of daily training—forging oneself in the morning, tempering oneself at night—and his insistence that the mind of the martial arts must be the everyday mind, and the everyday mind must be the mind of the martial arts. But if the martial art is no different from the everyday mind, what makes it special? And if the everyday mind is no different from the martial art, why train at all? Musashi replies in his Fire chapter:

  Whoever would get to the heart of it, let him do so with conviction, practicing in the morning and training in the evening. After he has polished his techniques and gained independent freedom of movement, he will naturally gain miraculous powers, and his free and easy strength will be wonderful. This is the spirit wherein; as a warrior, he will put these practices into action.

  And in the Water chapter:

  Practice what is in this book line by line, engage your opponents and gradually you will grasp the principle of the Way. Keep this unceasingly in mind, but do not be hurried; try your hand from time to time, and learn the heart of each step. The journey of a thousand ri proceeds step by step, so think without rushing.

  Takuan, in his “Annals of the Sword of Taia,” again gives a similar answer:

  Do you want to obtain this? Walking, stopping, sitting or lying down, in speaking and remaining quiet, during tea and during rice, you must never neglect exertion, you must quickly set your mind on the goal, and investigate thoroughly, both coming and going. Thus should you look straight into things. As months pile up and years pass by, it should appear like a light appearing on its own in the dark. You will receive wisdom without a teacher and will generate mysterious ability without trying to do so. At just such a time, this does not depart from the ordinary, yet it transcends it.

  Musashi declared that he had had no teacher in the martial arts or any of the other arts he practiced; he further advocated investigating every concept in his martial art thoroughly and never departing from the ordinary. The parallels between his views and those of Takuan, however, would seem extraordinary, indeed. Musashi was a mature man by 1631 and would have had the deepest understanding of his art by this time. Takuan was steeped in Zen from many years of study and meditation. Zen and the sword. The sword and Zen. Their conversation must have gone on throughout the night.

  YAGYU MUNENORI

  In 1632, a little more than ten years before Musashi finished writing The Book of Five Rings, but less than a year after Takuan wrote “The Mysterious Record of Immovable Wisdom,” Yagyu Munenori, the sword instructor to the Tokugawa shoguns in Edo, wrote a book entitled The Life-Giving Sword. About the same length as Musashi’s work, it is sprinkled with quotations from Zen and Confucian masters, and, in a number of places, it paraphrases his friend and correspondent, Takuan. Widely read and well-educated, Munenori, too, had no doubt read the Sun Tzu many times, and its influence is just below the surface in a number of sections of his work.

  Munenori, one of the most respected swordsmen of his time, also wrote for his students, which as noted, included some of the most powerful men in the country. His father was the legendary Yagyu Sekishusai. His nephew, Yagyu Hyogonosuke Toshiyoshi, was teacher to the Tokugawa shogunate family in Owari (centered in the modern city of Nagoya) at this time. In keeping with his family’s long reputation for education, status, and martial pedigree, it was almost Munenori’s responsibility to show both a wide range of reading and honored precedent for his style.

  There is no evidence that Musashi had read Munenori’s book before writing his own, but he would certainly have heard of it, and perhaps heard quotes from one section or another. It should also be kept in mind that Lord Hosokawa Tadatoshi had been an accomplished d
isciple of the Yagyu school, and then invited Musashi to have a bout with his Yagyu-appointed sparring partner. When the sparring partner was defeated, Tadatoshi himself tried a bout with Musashi, only to get nowhere, and from that time on became a disciple of the Niten Ichi-ryu.

  Musashi may well have been loaned a copy of Munenori’s book by his admiring disciple Tadatoshi. The Life-Giving Sword and other works come readily to mind with lines from The Book of Five Rings such as this one from the Earth chapter:

  Now, even in writing this book, I am neither borrowing the ancient words of Buddhism or Confucianism, nor using old examples from the military chronicles or practices.

  What Musashi read or didn’t read will never be known with certainty—but the similarities and parallels, as well as the differences, give us some hint of the way of the thinking of these accomplished men and give us notice as to how they wished to be remembered.

  In explaining how their books should be approached, Musashi and Munenori expressed similar ideas in very different styles. At the beginning of his Water chapter, Musashi writes:

  You will not reach the essence of the martial arts by merely looking at this book. Think that what is written down here was done just for you, and do not consider simply looking at it, familiarizing yourself with it, or trying to imitate it. Rather, you should consider these principles as though they were discovered from your own mind, and continually make great efforts to make them a physical part of yourself.

  Here Musashi makes no references to anyone other than himself and the student. The principles contained in the book must be absorbed and assimilated as the student’s own. The book is a part of the medium for doing so.

  Munenori deemphasizes his book to a greater degree, but does so with reference to yet another book, the ancient Chinese Confucian classic, The Great Learning (大学).

  The Great Learning is the gate for the beginning scholar. For the most part, when arriving at a house, you first enter through the gate. The gate is the sign that you have approached the house. Passing through this gate, you enter the house and meet the master. Just so, Learning is the gate that approaches the Way. Passing through the gate, you arrive at the Way. But Learning is the gate, not the house. Do not look at the gate and think, “This is the house.” The house is within, after passing through the gate. Do not read written works and think, “This is the Way.” Written works are like the gate to approach the Way.

  It has already been noted how Musashi approached the matter of vision with his division of “seeing” and “observation.” The following is Munenori’s—again, somewhat similar to Musashi’s principle, yet expressed in a slightly more oblique and literary way:

  When your opponent is holding back, you should execute various duplicitous strategies and, while watching what he does, appear as though you are watching him while you’re not, and watch while you appear as though you are not. You should not be negligent even for a moment. Rather than looking at one place, watch him while keeping your eyes constantly on the move.

  A certain Chinese poem says, “With a stealthy glance, the dragonfly avoids the shrike.” “A stealthy glance” means looking furtively. To watch what your opponent does both steadily and furtively, you must move without negligence.

  Musashi gives careful attention to rhythm throughout The Book of Five Rings, but writes about it extensively in the Earth chapter. He notes especially that all things have their own rhythm, and that the martial artist will ignore them to his peril, for there are rhythms to handling weapons, rhythms of serving one’s lord, and even rhythms of success and failure. He writes specifically and clearly, noting toward the end of this section,

  These rhythms are essential to the martial arts. If you are unable to discern the rhythm of resistance to your opponent’s rhythm, your martial art will not be correct. In a battle of martial arts, victory is in knowing the rhythms of your various opponents, in using a rhythm your opponent will be unable to grasp, and in developing a rhythm of emptiness (ku; 空), rather than one of wisdom.

  Munenori begins his section on rhythm specifically, but then seems to get distracted in metaphor:

  When your opponent has grasped his sword and set up a broad rhythm, you should use a short rhythm. If your opponent has a short rhythm, you should use a broad one. You should use an understanding that your opponent and the rhythm should not be in harmony.

  A skillful birdcatcher will show a bird his pole, will maneuver the pole from his end in a swaying motion, and then slip up and take the bird. The bird is arrested by the shaking rhythm of the pole; it may flutter its wings again and again, but will be unable to take flight and so will be taken. This is the way in which your opponent and the rhythm should be out of kilter. If the rhythm is off, he will be unable to jump over a ditch, but rather will step right into it.

  Musashi makes clear in a number of places that learning too many stances, trying strange and fancy footwork, or concentrating on holding the sword in advantageous ways are all distractions. To prefer one weapon over another, or one stance over another only freezes up the mind and keeps the combatant closed to the true circumstances and possibilities of the situation. His vocabulary is that the mind should be kept “straight,” but the meaning, as demonstrated in sections like the one on Stance/No-Stance of the final chapter, is that the mind should abide in Emptiness so that it and the body can go anywhere and do anything. Munenori makes a similar point, but his approach follows that of Takuan:

  To think single-mindedly of winning is sickness. To think single-mindedly of using the martial arts is sickness. To think single-mindedly of demonstrating one’s high level of practice is sickness. To think single-mindedly of attacking is sickness, and to think only of waiting is sickness. To think single-mindedly in a calcified way of expelling sickness is also sickness. No matter what it is, in stopping single-mindedly in the mind, it is sickness. All of these different sicknesses are there in your mind, so you should put your mind in order and put them out.

  What then follows is a long series of sections on how to “use thought to be free of thought,” but the preceding paragraph will give the reader an idea of Munenori’s style. Where The Book of Five Rings is direct and laconic, The Life-Giving Sword seems to wander into philosophical musings, mostly Buddhist in nature. Again, this may indicate a slight difference in motivations behind the books—one to directly instruct the student in the clearest of possible terms; the other to instruct, but also to impress the (Tokugawa) student with literary and religious references, and even a little obfuscation. Or the difference may be simply a matter of style. At any rate, Munenori continues, entering a theme Musashi also touched on with this line from his Water chapter: “Do not let your frame of mind be any different from your everyday mind.”

  A monk once asked a virtuous priest of long ago, “What is the Way?” The old priest responded by saying, “The everyday mind, that is the Way.”

  This story has a principle that runs through all Ways. When it is asked, “What sort of thing is the Way,” the answer can be “the ordinary mind.” This is truly a profound matter. Leaving behind all sickness of the mind and becoming the ordinary mind, one reaches the ground where he can mix with sickness and yet not be sick.

  Finally, Munenori seems to have been just as concerned as Musashi that his students might have preferences and prejudices, and might not unfetter their minds to the extent that they would be able to respond to the circumstances of their situations. Both men advised the potential swordsman to keep his eyes wide open to absolutely everything, from the weapons to be used to where his opponent’s next strike might be coming from. In questions of strategy, however, Musashi tended to speak from the intuitive point of view, which formed the undercurrent of his martial art, while Munenori took a more didactic Zen Buddhist line of thought. Munenori writes:

  The priest Chung Fen said, “Equip yourself with the mind that is the released mind.” These words have two levels of meaning. If you release the mind and it stays at its destination, you then
bring it back step by step so as not to let it stay where it is. This is the discipline of the first level. This teaches you to strike with the sword and then steadily bring your mind back from the place where your sword has struck.

  The deeper level means that in releasing your mind, you let it go where it wants to. “Releasing the mind” means letting it go and having it not stop at all.

  And:

  One of Manorhata’s [an Indian prince who became the twenty-second patriarch of Buddhism] gathas went as follows: “The mind follows the ten thousand circumstances and changes accordingly. It is the changing that is truly difficult to perceive.”

  In the martial arts, the “ten thousand circumstances” means the numerous activities of one’s opponent. The mind changes with each action. For example, if the opponent lifts his sword, the mind changes with that sword. If it swings to the right, the mind changes to the right; if it swings to the left, the mind changes to the left. Thus it is said, “It follows the ten thousand circumstances and changes accordingly.”

  “This changing is truly difficult to perceive” is the very eye of the martial arts. This should be understood as the mind that leaves no trace, or, as is said, leaving no trace “like the white waves [in Japanese, shiranami, which also means ‘unknown’] of the moving boat, changing on ahead and never stopping.”

  “Difficult to perceive” means “vague” and “unseen.” This means that the mind does not stop. If your mind stops in one place, you will be defeated in the martial arts.

  It is obvious that Munenori borrowed heavily from his friend and mentor Takuan, and that the two of them held a commonality of interests and outlooks with Musashi. That this should be so for three such talented and cultured men should not be surprising, and neither should be their differing and unique styles.

  THE HSINHSINMING

  It is quite clear that Musashi made a remarkable career of armed conflict, and that the detritus in his wake must have been devastating. We can assume by what records that exist that most of his opponents were either killed or maimed, and that the lucky ones got off with merely sound humiliation. But it is also clear that he was not a cold-blooded murderer, but a man in pursuit of an art, as many others were during his time, and that the martial arts during this period involved risks that we are little likely to take in modern times.