Oaths to the Gods: All Too Human

Among the chapters in Old School, is one entitled “Keppan: Blood Vows in Japanese Martial Traditions.” I’m very happy with that chapter, for what it is worth, but I think it is fair to say that I leave the impression that kishōmon were always a solemn rite, one properly accompanied by massing clouds, and lightning flickering on the horizon.

It is certainly true that such an oath could be the assumption of a deep responsibility, but it was also true that they were simply the generic way that one made promises in the Japanese feudal period, similar to those in the West avowing such phrases as “So help me G-d,” “On my mother’s grave,” or “On my children’s lives.” Sometimes it had as little weight as a “pinkie swear.” I recently discovered a pledge by a cadre of young bushi, members of a faction of Araki-ryū that reveals a far more human side of things.

Shinmon: Oath Before the Gods

Having respectfully requested instruction in the Araki-ryū arts of torite, jūjutsu, sword-drawing, staff, rope, spear, glaive, and military usage, and being now earnestly set upon the chūdan and the innermost teachings, we respectfully request these as well. For this reason we once again, on this occasion, set our blood seals and present [this oath].

• We shall not sharply criticize the shortcomings of other schools. We have been told repeatedly that all of us alike must be restrained in this, and we acknowledge it. Further, when we are asked ⟨whether such and such is so⟩ by those of other schools, we shall answer in the manner proper to this school. Should there be unreasonable persons who press for a contest, we shall report the matter, consult among our fellow students, and only then proceed to a contest.
• We acknowledge that quarrels, disputes, heavy drinking, discourtesy and the like are not to be engaged in. Toward outsiders, needless to say, and toward our fellow students as well, we have been instructed to permit nothing unreasonable, and we shall be strictly careful of it. Should we in any way act against what we have been told, and our standing in the school be suspended, we shall harbor not the slightest resentment.

The articles above we shall strictly observe. Should we act contrary to them, may we incur the unseen punishment of the gods of war, of the great and lesser deities of the sixty-odd provinces of Japan. Accordingly we set our blood seals, as stated above.

                                                                         Kansei 8, the year hinoe-tatsu [1796], first month, on an auspicious day

This is followed by the signatures of six men.

Let us consider the implications of this. They surely offered an oath upon their entry into the school –  that was the custom. They already made promises under the auspices of the gods. Now, some years later, their instructor viewed it as necessary that they made another oath – the fear of the deities was not sufficient, and evidently, their punishment had not yet descended upon them.

The text reads:  “We have been told repeatedly . . .” “We acknowledge . . .”  Obviously, there have been  . . .  problems, not unexpected among young men who are studying how to fight. In short, we have a cadre of young men, probably in their late teens or early twenties, who were obviously brawling with members from other schools at the slightest pretext: provoking conflicts by talking down to them, or responding to a question in a manner like this: “What???!!!! How do we do kesagiri? I’ll show you exactly how, you [******].” One can imagine such men standing in the entry way of another school, laughing, poorly imitating their practice, bumping shoulders on the street, spilling a drink on someone’s kimono sleeve as they passed them in a tavern. It’s a fair assumption they were probably abusing the local shopowners (particularly in taverns), getting drunk and fighting amongst themselves. Their instructor (and seniors) were receiving reports of all of this and apologizing for them

So their instructor sits them down and has them write out a new blood oath, in essence, saying, “We promise, under penalty of destruction from the most august of deities, to stop acting like knuckleheads.”

There is a poignant note concerning one of the young men, Mitsui Kakuemon, written in another hand, surely some time later, which indicates that the lesson surely was taken to heart. “This man received the school’s licence during a time when he held no official post. While he was seconded to the vanguard corps (sakitegumi 先手組 – originally an advance-guard bow and gun unit, then in the Edo period, a kind of police/guard unit, armed with bō, swords, jutte, and when necessary, spears), he died of illness while serving as instructor.”

We can imagine his instructor , late one evening, perhaps after receiving a letter, or being otherwise notified, pulling out this vow, and writing this note, thinking of  a young, hot-blooded youth who grew up to be a fine man, then lost too soon.

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