古現武道

 From the book Dueling with O-sensei: Grappling with the Myth of the Warrior-Sage

Musubi is a talismanic word in some aikidō circles. Its mundane definition is to tie things together. In aikidō, it is often linked with another term, awase (to link or blend together). For those with a romantic view of aikidō, this is imagined as a martial pas de deux in which, at the moment of contact, peace is established and two spirits blend together in harmony.

This was not the viewpoint of Ueshiba Morihei, however. To establish aiki was to impose order on chaos. Ueshiba’s oft-quoted formulation of man establishing harmony between heaven and earth made humanity, potentially, a cosmic force, reconciling disorder in any realm, be it that between people in conflict to the universe itself. Musubi and awase, therefore, imply blending and twining with another’s essence to move them in the direction that they should go.

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Half a century ago, my parents took me a talk by Rabbi Abraham J. Twersky. Twersky was a descendent of the Chernobyl dynasty of Hasidic Rabbis. Over the decades I have seen the name Twersky elsewhere: always on attorney or doctor’s offices or on academic papers – beyond religion, they have been a dynasty of intellect. Rabbi Twersky, a psychiatrist, merged Mussar (Jewish ethics) with elements of the Twelve Step Program, becoming a profoundly important figure in the field of the treatment of substance abuse. Despite his incandescent intellect, he was a down-to-earth man, who worked with those suffering from addiction disorders from any walk of life, and who wrote books whose profundity was encased in simple accessible prose and images.

I do not remember the overall theme of his talk that evening, but part of it concerned his upbringing, which he told in the third person, in a charmingly lyrical Yiddish accent. “Twersky was a brilliant boy, a chess prodigy. He was crazy for chess, and would seize any moment to go and have a game. It became a kind of addiction. And one day, there was a chess tournament, and Twersky, only ten years old, had to go. Twersky had to go! He would be playing against much older boys, even adults, because chess is a game of intelligence, and winning and losing is based on the merits of the mind and the will. But it was the Sabbath, the most Holy day of the week, when G-d descends to earth to unite on that one day with the Sabbath bride, the Shekinah, the divine feminine presence of G-d. Think of that! G-d loved humanity so much that He exiled a portion of Himself so that creation could occur. It is on the Sabbath that G-d’s sacrifice is redeemed, that G-d in His Fullness is reunited. Our celebration of the Sabbath is in gratitude for G-d’s sacrifice for us. It’s that important!

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Preface

There are only a few extant koryū bujutsu that date back to the Sengoku (‘warring states’) era. Despite claims to the contrary, none of them are pristine. Many claim founding dates that are historically inaccurate, often by many hundreds of years. Some claim founders who actually had nothing to do with the school in question. Still others have founders who may have initiated the ryūha, but they surely never imagined the current state of what they created—it has been altered over the centuries almost beyond recognition.

This is not fraud. The term 流 (ryū ‘flow’) means something quite different from ‘organization.’ Whoever truly created a school often gave credit to those who flowed into its creation, going back centuries, if not millennia. This could include one’s family lineage (the core of one’s identity), one’s inspiration (this could include deities, ancestors, even someone in a war tale or legend), as well as antecedent schools that were directly or indirectly related. For example, a large number of schools  list famous warriors or tutelary deities associated with Shintō-ryū (schools associated with a nexus of activity in the general area of the Kashima and Katori shrines), as these are generally considered to be the primordial martial traditions of Northeastern Japan. However, the technical parameters of a particular school may have very little to do with Shintō-ryū itself.

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Very early on, Donn Draeger told me that these old traditions were and are vibrant ‘living entities.’  Not only are they worth preserving, saving, but they have significant vital lessons applicable to the fighting man of today’s world.  – Hunter Armstrong  (1)

Koryu is not only the actual martial techniques, but also the principles that underpin them, and, surprisingly many of these principles are absolutely relevant to modern times. – Ellis Amdur (2)

Therefore, teaching bujutsu in police academy is very effective way to influence the society.  I would say, you know, police need to posses their weapons, also they need to possess bujutsu as well. – Kurota Ichitarō  (3)

Two decades ago, I read an article in the Journal of Asian Martial Arts entitled “Striving for Realism: Concerns Common to Martial Arts and Law Enforcement Training.” The article discussed problems common to martial arts training and police defensive tactics in terms of ‘realism.’ It offered perspectives on key concepts in the classical martial tradition that converged with the training needs of law enforcement, and made the observation that “Inadequate training, unmindful of zanshin, will result in the reactive under- or over-estimation of circumstances and/or the perpetrator. Poor decision making based on exaggerated skills or impairment of technique due to self doubt confronts both the martial arts student and the LEO.” (4)  Twenty years later, we are all aware that little has changed.

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When naginatajutsu was first taught as a specialty amongst Japanese weaponry is unknown. To start with, the claimed founding dates of almost all martial ryūha are dubious.  Many claim a founding date hundreds of years previous to their actual inception. This is not dishonesty; in earlier periods of Japanese history, lineage was as much a spiritual sense as it was historical data. Therefore, lineage records often mixed generations of non-practicing family members, teachers of other ryūha who influenced the development of one’s own, and famous warriors of the past whom the founder regarded as inspirations.

It is likely that the genuine founding dates of naginata-specialty ryūha was in the mid-Edo period. Yazawa Isaō, a 16th generation instructor of Toda-ha Bukō-ryū (now properly known as Tenshin Bukō-ryū) then at Nihon Joshi Daigaku, wrote in 1916 “It is not clear when naginatajutsu began to be taught as a single discipline. I have gone around to the few remaining martial arts instructors of the former domains of Japan, and examined the various military manuals they own. Upon reviewing these I discovered the oldest school of naginata is the Shizuka-ryū.” [1]

Most of the schools she enumerated in her article are long extinct, but even a superficial consideration of remaining naginatajutsu schools will show something curious—many of them include the kusarigama (‘weighted chain and sickle) within their curricula; for example, this is true for Shizuka-ryū, Bukō-ryū, Tendō–ryū, and Jikishinkage-ryū. [2] Given that the naginata-specialty schools became associated with women within a few generations of their creation (certainly by the late Edo-period), I have wondered at the association of these two weapons.

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This essay is a composite of a number of mini-essays that I uploaded to a Facebook discussion forum: “Aikido —The Martial Side.” It also includes some of my answers to questions raised by members of the group.

Because aikido is a principle-based martial art, systematized around certain philosophical ideals and very specific physical parameters, many critics over the years have questioned its effectiveness. Aikido is particularly vulnerable to criticism because, for the most part, its practitioners do not do ‘live training,’ (pressure testing against unpredictable attacks, or freestyle competitive training).  Such critics come both from inside the art and without. Even though I share the perspective of many of the critics, at least in regards to much of the aikido I have experienced or seen, something bothers me about such discussions—I wonder if the critics do justice to the art. It is similar to criticizing expressionist art, using a popularizer like Leroy Nieman as an example. Whether one likes expressionism or not, it should be evaluated by its greatest proponents, such as Franz Marc or Maqbool Fida Hussain. Expressionist art may not be a style you enjoy, but criticism should be based on exemplars of the art, not the common mean.

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It is conventional to think of Japanese martial traditions through the lens of the bugei, systems maintained by the warrior class. This is incorrect on a number of grounds. First of all, some venerable systems were founded and maintained by goshi (yeoman), a class of armed farmers who were (with few exceptions) at the very bottom of the warrior class. Rather than serve as retainers to a feudal lord, they were directly situated in the countryside, to some degree independent of domain politics, but more directly influencing (and influenced by) the lives of the peasants. Yes, they were nominally within the warrior class – but they were really apart from the mainstream of bushi culture. Beyond that, by the mid-Edo period, ever increasing numbers of non-bushi entered the majority of ryūha. In fact, in many ryūha, the majority of members were non-bushi, and others were led, even founded by those of the peasant or merchant class. (That they later might receive a bump up in rank by their feudal lord to become bushi does not change the fact that they were originally peasants or merchants).

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There is enormous hype in American media right now concerning vespa mandarina, known in Japan as susume-bachi, AKA ‘sparrow wasps.’ American media has made up a new name for them ‘Murder Hornets.’ I frequently saw them in parks and mountains in Japan–saw one once take down an enormous swallow-tail butterfly on the wing –  and I was one-degree of separation from a couple of marvelous events concerning them.

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