About Kendo
History Equipment Terminology Etiquette Mokuso Kata
Kendo: The Way of the Sword
By John J. Donohue, Ph.D.
Definition
Principles & Concepts
Techniques & Training Methods
Etiquette & Customs
Practice Clothing/Uniforms
Ranking
Training Facilities
Styles
History
Bibliography & Citations
Terminology
Kendo, the "way of the sword," is the most respected form of modern budo in Japan, and has perhaps the closest links to many aspects of the classical martial tradition. Although it may be broadly categorized as the ritualized, sportive version of Japanese fencing, kendo is neither a viable combat art nor is it a pure sport. The modern heir to the social, cultural, and philosophical heritage of the Japanese martial tradition, kendo is perceived by most experienced practitioners to be an essentially spiritual discipline (Draeger 1974:77).
Despite modern kendo's quasi-sport nature, it still retains a traditional Japanese outlook which links physical effort and spiritual development. For the Japanese, the discipline, consistency, and total commitment displayed in budo are keys to spiritual and moral development. All these qualities must be developed if one is to successfully tread the way of the sword.
What sets kendo and its practitioners apart from
other arts, such as judo, aikido and karate-do is a
certain cold determination, an almost religious sense of
discipline, that conveyes the message that kendo is more
a matter of mental and spiritual development than it is
a system of physical technique.
All modern budo forms emphasize, to a greater or lesser
extent, the development of a fighting spirit, the
refinement of quasi-combat skills, and the cultivation
of moral and spiritual maturity. In the kendo dojo,
however, the trainee is placed in a true forge of the
spirit, where mind and body are literally hammered into
shape, where relentless training and endless effort are
channelled into the re-creation of the individual along
philosophical and cultural lines whose roots extend deep
into Japan's past.
As a budo strongly shaped by the insights of the most profound of Japan's swordsmen, kendo today struggles to retain its moral and philosophical dimensions, all too aware of the erosion of these values among some judo practitioners. Since kendo is an art whose appeal lies mainly with martial artists in Japan or those of Japanese descent, it has been able to retain its classical orientation. The essence of kendo is still the improvement of character and the development of spiritual maturity through arduous training in its physical techniques. Like judo, kendo has an enthusiastic sport following. Unlike the gentle art, "kendo may be practiced, or one trains himself through kendo, but one must never just 'play' kendo" (Draeger 1974:105).
Passive, non-threatening stances and kneeling in such
a way as to be always ready to draw a sword indicate the
fact that, despite its ritualized nature, kendo is very
much concerned with matters of life and death. The dojo
is not just a training hall but a place where a certain
awareness of the possibility of serious combat must
constantly be maintained. This acute awareness of one's
surroundings and the potential for danger is known as
zanshin. Zanshin is the flip side of single-minded
devotion to technique. A student of kendo must learn not
to focus exclusively on his actions but rather to be
attentive and receptive to all activities surrounding
him.
This seems contradictory, but both the ideas of focusing
entirely on technique and of maintaining zanshin have to
do with the transcending of subject-object distinctions
through martial training. Unity with the Void, to use
Musashi's (the famous swordsman; See the History
section) idiom, results in the execution of technique
without any self-conscious awareness of doing so. By the
same token, proper zanshin is indicative of the fact
that the swordsman experiences no discontinuity between
his surroundings and himself.
The spiritual aspect of kendo was initially impressed
on me during my first visit to the dojo. The taiko (a
large drum) boomed, calling the class to order. Fifty
kendoka (kendo students) silently knelt in a long line
which stretched down the length of the dojo. Only the
dry rasp of calloused soles along the wood floor, the
swish of hakama (devided pants) could be heard.
Quietly, zarei (a bow from a kneeling position) was
performed. Muted commands rang out for suburi (practice
of basic sword strokes). The basic exercises were
performed efficiently, quietly. A type of reserve was
exhibited at all times.
This feeling of reserve, of distance, was heightened
when the class donned their armor. The uniform look of
the bogu (protective armor) served to remove any sense
of individual identity among the trainees. The men, or
headpiece, obscured the facial expressions of the
kendoka. Intent could not be easily read in the eyes.
The effect was one of timelessness. As they donned their
equipment, the kendoka also put on the tradition of
kendo; its form, its purpose. They surrendered
individuality and became one with the art of the sword.
The effect was an eerie one, but it in no way prepared
me for what was to come. In the silence of that hall,
the sensei signalled with the hollow tap of two blocks
of wood that free practice was to begin. Before that
sound had faded, each kendoka had joined in furious
combat with an opponent. What was so striking, however,
was not merely the fury with which these ostensibly mock
combats were engaged in but the noise which accompanied
these actions.
The clatter of shinai (practice sword made of bamboo
strips) striking armor, in itself overwhelming, was
overcome by the force of the cries emanating from the
combatants. These kiai, a type of cry common to many
martial art forms, had an incredible emotional impact. I
had always understood kiai to be a symbolic sound used
to express the martial artist's single-minded purpose,
the unity of spirit and technique.
To hear the kiai in a kendo training hall, however, was
to experience kiai as the unity of body and spirit. It
was not merely a symbolic expression of that condition,
it was a palpable expression of it. I was familiar with
the contention of some Zen masters that the shout of a
master could in some cases actually propel a student
into satori (enlightenment). I had even had occasion to
attend a lecture by a Zen monk where such a shout was
demonstrated. The kiai of the kendoka that day had an
equally striking impact on me which, as an analytical
observer of budo, I was somewhat at a loss to explain.
There is an old adage used (and perhaps over-used) in
the martial arts, to the effect that when you first see
a mountain, it is just a mountain. Later, after
training, you realize that the mountain is not just a
mountain; it is something more. Finally, when you reach
an enlightened state, you realize once more that the
mountain is just a mountain. This saying hints at the
fact that the Zen "beginner's mind" is often much closer
to the proper perception of reality than is the mind of
one who is actively seeking enlightenment. It also warns
that an over-concern with the search itself often
hinders perception.
I like to think that what I observed and felt that first
day in the kendo dojo was, in some ways, an accurate
insight into the nature of kendo. Through actual
training, I would later experience part of the process
of spiritual forging that could create such powerful
kiai.
That initial experience with kendo, combined with and
enriched by subsequent participation and observation,
led me to a fuller understanding of the role of kendo in
the lives of its adherents. The practice of kendo is an
invitation to join in the experience of generations of
Japanese swordsmen; to partake in a rich cultural
heritage; to become part of a mental and physical
discipline, a world outlook, a personal code of
behavior.
The enduring image I have of kendo is not the flash of
technique or the sweat of effort. Instead, I hear the
boom of the drum; see the silent row of swordsmen bow;
and with the dull summons of wood blocks, join together
in a mysterious struggle whose real goal is the forging
of the spirit.
Kendo Techniques & Training Methods
For the beginning student of kendo, early training
emphasizes the development of fundamentals. Unlike the
judo dojo, where theory and form are often subsumed in
the interest of efficacy, the development of a
rigorously proper technique is stressed by kendo sensei
(teacher). After being shown the characteristic kendo
stance, the right foot forward, left foot with heel
slightly raised; the method of movement, the shuffle
step which propels the trainee forward without altering
the stance and the proper two-handed grip and method of
swinging the shinai (practice sword made of flexible
bamboo strips), I was expected to participate fully in
the rapid and exhausting pace of training.
Basic kendo training consists of the extremely fatiguing
repetition of basic strokes with the mock sword while
stationary and while advancing and retreating. This is
known as suburi. As soon as one of the junior
instructors showed me the basic form, I was given the
command to perform one hundred and fifty suburi.
Although the shinai is much lighter than a katana
(sword), during kendo practice a student executes
strikes literally thousands of times. The activity
places a certain amount of strain on the muscles of the
wrist, forearms and shoulders. By the time my first
two-hour practice session was over, the physical and
mental exertion of swinging the shinai properly left me
exhausted.
The sliding action of the feet along the wooden floor
can also raise blisters on the soles, and the
leather-covered handle of the shinai often raises
companion blisters on your red and sweaty hands. A noted
kenshi's statement says that if you are enjoying kendo
practice you are not doing it correctly.
In a broadly descriptive way, and cognizant of
qualifications made in the following historical
discussion, kendo may be characterized as the modern,
ritualized version of Japanese swordsmanship.
Reflecting its highly ritualized nature, contest (jiyu-renshu,
or free fighting) is of a limited type. There are
consequently only eight striking targets in modern
kendo: the center, right-, or left-hand side of the head
(men, migi-men, or hidari-men respectively); the wrist
of either hand (kote or hidari-kote), (Note 1) the left
or right side of the torso protector (hidari-do or migi-do),
and a thrust to the throat (tsuki). As the kendoka
strikes one of these targets, he characteristically
calls out its name. This kiai, or shout, is intended to
symbolize and encourage the unification of intent,
technique, and spirit into a potentially devastating
strike (Sasamori and Warner 1964:77).
Practice in kendo (Note 2) consists of two types: basic
and free practice. Basic practice consists of the
repetition of basic patterns of footwork and of striking
with the shinai. Kirikaeshi, or the repetition of
strokes, is considered a fundamentally important aspect
of kendo training, and reflects the enduring influence
of swordsmen like Ittosai and Tesshu (See the History
section).
For the beginning kendoka, kirikaeshi is one of the
major physical and mental hurdles to be surmounted on
the path to proficiency in the art. The monotonous
practice of suburi and kirikaeshi were the dominant
themes of early apprenticeship in the way of the sword.
Although very tiring, such activity is also very boring
and it is sometimes extremely difficult to stay focused
on the task at hand.
In retrospect, what initially appeared to be a mindless,
unpleasant chore is a fundamental lesson in the nature
of kendo. As Tesshu maintained, kendo is more a thing of
the mind than it is a thing of the sword. Instructors,
who seem to passively observe a student's progress, are
actually setting the student's feet along a path of
self-discipline. It is not really difficult to swing a
shinai. What is difficult is to concentrate fully on
that subject, time after time, until external
considerations fade from the mind. Kendo sensei
understand that it is futile to attempt to show a
student further physical kendo techniques until he or
she can exhibit a mind and spirit totally focused on the
task at hand.
What underscores the importance of kendo is the investment of time. Many kendoka at both my former dojos were mature adults. They had been training for a number of years and were not considering stopping in the near future. It was widely recognized that to even begin to attain any level of competence in the art, regular and dedicated training would have to be pursued for some three or four years. At the end of this time, the trainee has some grasp of merely the physical techniques of kendo. As such, the techniques themselves are of an abstract type. They have no practical utility in terms of self-defense. The implications of such a level of devotion to a budo which has no immediate, practical utility certainly points to an appreciation of the fuller, spiritual implications of the way of the sword.
As an individual struggling to learn something about
the essence of the kendo, I remained oblivious to its
deeper spiritual meaning for some time. For me, kendo
was an essentially physical art and the extreme depth of
kendo, and the level of commitment required to even
begin to appreciate this art, was only brought home to
me when I was finally permitted to engage in mock combat
wearing full armor. At more advanced levels practice of
this type, often designated "free practice," is
theoretically identical to randori in judo. In Kataoka
Sensei's dojo (The New York Kendo Club), I obtained some
experience in such practice, in which the fundamentals
of kendo are put to use in extremely fast-paced action.
The emphasis in modern kendo on free practice and
contest has led to the popularization of sport kendo in
Japan, in which matches are decided when either one of
two competitors scores two points by cleanly striking
any of the eight legal targets. (Note 3)
The competition between two kendoka is tempered by the
ability to combine and utilize basic skills such as the
striking of all eight target areas, singly or in
combination. In addition, footwork and balance must be
mastered to enable the kendoka to enter and escape from
striking range. Thus, the development of an awareness of
what is known as ma-ai (combatative engagement
distance), that point at which the opponent is close
enough to be struck (or strike you) with the point of
the shinai, is the mark of an able kendoka.
At first blush, free practice struck me as basically
simple in theory. The kendoka merely united stance,
movement, and technique in such a way as to successfully
strike the opponent. Initially, the beginner beats only
the air with his shinai, refining his form and gaining
confidence. After an appropriate interval of training,
however, the pupil is encouraged to strike a knocking
dummy and then live opponents. My first attempt at
controlled sparring with an opponent showed me how wrong
my initial understanding of free practice was. After
striking only the air, hitting a solid target is a new
revelation. My first attempts at a men (head/face
protector) strike revealed a fundamental error in my
grip and execution which had not been made apparent
before the introduction of a living target. Instead of a
solid, concentrated strike, the kissaki, or point of my
shinai, bounced off my partner's men. This underlined
the lack of focus in my kendo technique.
Once an opponent begins to move and then to dodge your blows, the problems of stance and ma-ai (movement, distance) assume major proportions. It becomes an increasingly difficult proposition to execute correct technique. With an accomplished opponent, the practice of feints, deflections with the shinai (oji-waza), beating your shinai aside (uchi-otoshi waza), closing with you and immobilizing your shinai at the hand guard (tsuba-zerai) and a host of other techniques, reveals the infinite complexity of kendo. Kataoka Sensei at the New York Kendo Club was fond of demonstrating the limitless complexity of kendo to his students. After he had observed practice for some time, commenting on and correcting an individual student's technique, he would don his bogu (armor) and spar with students, bringing home in a dynamic, forceful (and often terrifying) manner gaps in the student's defenses. As my training progressed, I became more and more aware of the level of physical difficulty inherent in kendo training. In doing so, I fell prey to one of the fundamental errors of beginning kendoka: an inordinate concentration on the techniques themselves. I was thus studying kendo at the jutsu (technique) level. In many ways, the art remained a series of techniques to be learned and mastered. This perception of the way of the sword, I eventually came to understand, is an error.
The experience of training and reflection on my
experience in the dojo eventually made it clear that
kendo has absolutely nothing to do with the sword and
the physical skills necessary to wield it properly. All
physical technique is merely a means to an end, a
prelude to a higher purpose. This purpose is seishin
tanren, spiritual forging.
The ofttimes punishing physical ordeal of kendo training
is designed not to focus the attention on the body but
to help the trainee learn to transcend bodily cares and
the duality of perception that inhibits performance.
Kataoka Sensei would often chide me that I thought too
much about the techniques I was to execute. My technique
"stopped" at various points--an expression used by the
famous swordmasters Takuan and Yagyu Munenori (see the
History section) to describe the absence of mind-body
integration in a swordsman. For proper execution of
kendo techniques, the student must not concentrate
either on physical mechanics or theory as isolated
elements. They must be united, blended together by the
spirit in the heat of training into a living whole.
The hundreds of thousands of repetitions of techniques
are used to numb the mind, and, in a sense, to free it
from self-absorption. Despite its heavy competitive
emphasis, even thoughts of winning and losing are
ultimately unimportant in kendo. An All-Japan champion
who visited the dojo was asked by one of the senior
students to explain what training techniques were
responsible for his success. He stated that he never
thought about winning or losing; he only concentrated on
making his kendo beautiful. Since the conversation was
being conducted half in English and half through an
interpreter, the questioner thought an error had been
made and pressed the champion further. The master
kendoka was adamant in his reply: only by concentrating
on its beauty can the student of kendo achieve
greatness. This is a significant point, especially since
it was expressed by an individual whose competitive
involvement in kendo is great.
Notes:
1. The hidari-kote can only be struck when the opponent
raises his shinai above the shoulder level. The right
kote can be struck at will.
2. Keiko, or practice, originally had the meaning of
meditating and studying the exceptional things of old (Sasamori
and Warner 1964:133). Its frequent use in kendo
underscores the fact that one trains, never plays,
kendo.
3. For a discussion of general rules and organization of
sport kendo, see Arlott (1975:568-574).
Another basic tenet of proper kendo practice is the careful attention paid to etiquette within the confines of the dojo. Actions such as standing, walking, kneeling, and holding the shinai (even while not engaged in practice) are regulated by a host of rules.
When I was a new student and somewhat familiar with
the basic factors of proper behavior within a dojo, I
managed to enter the training hall and bow to the kamiza
(a place of honor, often the front wall of a dojo were
there is a Shinto alter, scroll or picture of a teacher
or founder) without too much trouble. I was immediately
informed by one of sensei's assistants, however, that I
was to hold my shinai by the shaft and not the handle,
with the tip pointing forward and down to the floor.
This was, I subsequently learned, a passive,
non-threatening posture suitable for entering the dojo.
Since the shinai, symbolically representing a real
sword, is normally held in the left hand at the hip (in
the same position as a katana would be if worn in the
sash), holding the shinai by the shaft in the right hand
is indicative of non-hostile intentions.
In the same way, I quickly discovered that my method of
kneeling and rising again was incorrect. A lifetime's
training in the Catholic Church had taught me that you
genuflected on your right knee; the logical extension of
that practice was that, when kneeling, you first sunk to
the right knee, and then the left. Without thinking, I
reverted to this technique as the entire kendo class
sank down to perform zarei, the seated bow, at the
beginning of practice. As I began to stand up after
bowing, one of sensei's assistants hissed that I should
rise off my right knee first.
I was somewhat puzzled as to what significance this
could possibly have in kendo training. Some reflection
soon helped me to understand that, when you rise from
the seiza position, if you leave your right knee on the
floor and come off your left knee first, it is extremely
awkward to draw your sword, which is held at your left
side. By sinking into seiza left knee first, and by
rising by lifting your right knee first, you are always
in a position to quickly draw your sword.
Kendo Practice Clothing/Uniforms
Hearkening back to its origins with the feudal
warriors of Japan, kendoka today wear the most
ritualistic and symbolic of practice uniforms, eschewing
the modern jacket and pants of the judogi, instead
wearing the hakama (a pleated, divided skirt) and a
traditional top known as the keikogi. The color of the
practice uniform for kendo is usually dark blue or
black, although high-ranking kendoka may also choose to
wear an all white outfit (Sasamori and Warner 1964:71).
Junior kendoka traditionally wear a dark hakama and a
white top with black stitching. At both kendo dojo I
studied in, most students wore dark blue or black
uniforms.
As an art whose primary aim is training, not combat, the
mock sword known as the shinai is the primary training
implement in kendo. Essentially a tube composed of
bamboo strips bound with leather ties and covered with a
leather handle, the shinai enables kendoka to strike
their opponents without fear of causing serious injury.
To further guarantee safety and to encourage
practitioners to strike fully, forcefully, and without
reservation, a type of body armor, developed during the
same period as the shinai, is worn. Adopted from the
lightweight armor worn by bushi in the field, kendo
armor is similar in concept but much less elaborate.
Today, the kendoka is protected by protective equipment known as bogu. The men is an iron facemask, similar in appearance and concept to a baseball catcher's mask. The kote are mitts made of leather which are used to protect the hands and wrists. The do, a chest protector, is made of strips of bamboo covered with lacquered leather, and the tare is a hip protector made of thick cotton material.
Modern kendo utilizes the kyu/dan ranking system
initiated by Kano Jigoro. Kendoka advance from the 6th
through the 1st kyu, then up through ascending dan
levels, to 10th dan. As in judo, it is generally
believed that extreme competitive and physical skill is
enough to advance a kendoka up through the 5th dan.
After that point, however, spiritual development,
contribution to the art, as well as some form of
advanced research on the subject are all required for
further advancement (Sasamori and Warner 1964:60).
Special titles are also given advanced kendoka to
distinguish them from lower dan grades. Thus, fourth
through sixth dan are called renshi (trainers), seventh
and eighth dan are called kyoshi (instructors), and
those few rare individuals holding dan grades above this
are termed hanshi, or masters (Ratti and Westbrook
1973:287).
The boom of the taiko, the great drum of the dojo, often calls you to practice in the kendo training hall. It is an austere place, a hard place. Its high ceiling isolates the aspiring kendoka; the clean, cold, simple lines of a traditional Japanese dojo offer no clutter, no distraction--no place to hide. The polished wood floor mirrors movement and effort. No matter how crowded the practice floor, you remain alone with the art of the sword.
In my experience as a participant-observer in the various martial ways, no other dojo felt as strange, as foreign in the literal sense, as the training halls of kendo. The atmosphere of strangeness was more a function of attitude and spirit than it was one of organization or action. Structurally and symbolically the surroundings and activities, the environment and form of kendo were familiar ones, since kendo is perhaps the most orthodox of shin budo.
I received fundamental training in kendo at the Ken Zen Dojo. Despite the stress placed on this early training and the development of basics, the import of such valuable lessons was never verbalized in the training hall. The trainee was left to reflect on his training and the guidance of his seniors, and come to some conclusion concerning how these physical and implied conceptual messages fit in with the way of the sword. In the kendo dojo of Kan Sensei, more than any other budo dojo I studied in, the form of traditional Japanese training was strictly adhered to.
Everything about this dojo proclaimed its very
classical roots. When I stepped through the sliding door
to the dojo floor, I could as well have stepped into a
dojo in Japan. A spacious rectangular room some thirty
by one hundred feet, the training hall itself was
modeled after an existing hall in Japan and followed the
clean lines of classical Japanese architecture. The
floors were of highly polished, natural wood. The walls
were wood-panelled for half their height. The windows
and doors were shoji--composed of rice-paper and wood
laths that let a subdued light in from the street. The
ceiling was a high one, to allow for the swinging of the
three-and-a-half foot shinai overhead.
At the head of the dojo hung a large scroll of
calligraphy. To one side stood the taiko, the drum of
the dojo, which was beaten to signal the beginning and
end of training sessions. To the other side of the
kamiza (seat of honor, or deity seat, often a wall space
with a Shinto shrine, calligraphy and photo of a teacher
or founder) was a weapons rack, which held staffs,
bokken, and naginata (a type of halberd). The entire
effect of the room was of a cavernous, remote hall which
overwhelmed you by the mere absence of inconsequential
adornment. It was, you sensed, a place devoted to very
serious training.
The bearing of Kan Sensei, the head instructor at the
Ken Zen Dojo, reflected this severe fixity of purpose. A
reflective, undemonstrative elderly man, Kan Sensei
supervised training from the head of the dojo, giving
few verbal instructions, content to let the experience
of training serve to forge the kendoka under his
tutelage. Indeed, even commands to line up and begin
various types of practice were given not by Kan Sensei,
but by one of his junior instructors. The drum called
and dismissed us. During free fighting, Sensei began and
ended contest periods by clapping two blocks of wood
together.
The very Japanese atmosphere was reinforced by the
make-up of the student body here. Unlike other dojo,
many students were either Japanese or
Japanese-Americans. This was especially true among the
children who studied with Kan Sensei.
For the young kendoka, training was not so much
something which was done because of their own interest
or enthusiasm but was rather due to the encouragement of
their parents. The Ken-Zen Dojo was a cultural center
that sponsored kendo and iaido training, judo and karate
as well as calligraphy and Japanese dance lessons. The
young trainees, like their adult counterparts, were
there to experience Japanese culture. Indeed, some of
these children told me that, in addition to kendo
training, they were also required to study the Japanese
language. For these young Japanese-Americans, Saturdays
were devoted to a crash course in traditional Japanese
skills, the content of which was dictated by their
parents. Saturday afternoon training sessions at the
kendo hall took on some of the flavor of a family
gathering, with a large audience of parents and
grandparents closely monitoring their offspring's
performance from the visitor's section of the dojo.
The New York Kendo Club was a training hall with a
slightly different emphasis and personality. Kataoka
Sensei was a younger man in his thirties, who had a
successful competitive career in kendo while still in
his twenties and who had raced through the dan grades to
his current rank of sixth dan in record time. His dojo,
while it did not lack the same serious attitude, placed
considerably more emphasis on kendo as a competitive
sport. The teaching methods of Kataoka Sensei included
much more verbal explanation, which was combined with
the traditional pattern of learning by imitation of the
instructors.
Kataoka Sensei's dojo was not as elaborate as that of
Kan Sensei. It was perhaps symbolic of the dual physical
and spiritual nature of kendo, however, that it was
located in the fifth floor gymnasium of a Manhattan
church. The polished wooden floor was the same as in Kan
Sensei's dojo. Finely brushed calligraphy hung on the
wall and served to demarcate the kamiza. The equipment
of kendo filled the nooks and crannies: men, do tare,
kote, shinai in various stages of disrepair, bokken.
Notices of upcoming tournaments were taped to the walls.
In some ways, it was a shabbier dojo but one which was
transformed with the onset of practice into a fierce
arena where body and spirit were tested.
The ethnic mix at the New York Kendo Club was a bit more
varied, although Japanese members still constituted a
large segment of the student body. This was especially
true among the junior kendo students, who were
overwhelming Japanese. Once again, they seemed to be
there at the insistence of their parents, many of whom
came to observe training.
The adult kendoka at both dojo were, of course, there of
their own volition. For them, kendo was a voluntary and
emotionally rewarding experience. Although not as
forthcoming verbally as the young students, the behavior
and attitude of the adults indicated the important place
kendo seemed to play in their lives.
The motivation of adult students was much more personal
and intense. Many of these adult students were beyond
the age where they would be attending school. They were,
therefore, working full time and then attending kendo
class in the evenings and on weekends, many of them four
or more times weekly. They also paid a monthly fee for
the privilege of training under the tutelage of
respected kendo sensei and purchased the relatively
expensive equipment necessary to do so. The expenses
involved are not in themselves prohibitive. They do
indicate, however, the more than casual interest of
kendoka in pursuing this avocation. The level of
financial commitment is much greater in an art like
kendo than it is in judo.
At base,, kendo is a syncretic art: sensei from
various traditions came together to create a homogenized
system. We see this most clearly in the Kendo no kata,
which were selected and adapted from various kenjutsu
ryu. There are stylistic variations from dojo to dojo
today, but they are pretty much kept to a minimum due to
the competition aspect of kendo, where a system of
uniform rules and
expectations create conformity. It's analogous to the
situation in Kodokan Judo. But there is some variation.
There are some players who practice using two shinai, so
they use the Nito style usually associated with Musashi
(see the History section), but this designation as used
by most kendoists today doesn't mean that the stylist
has studied a unified system called Nito, just that they
have adopted some of the techniques of using two shinai.
If a sensei has studied some of the more traditional
sword arts (Yagyu or Itto Ryu, for instance, this could
bleed into the way they approach kendo.
Since kendo is based on the use of the Japanese
sword, it could not have begun to develop until the Nara
Period (710-794). The earliest swords in Japan were of
the Chinese variety, and the Japanese words for
sword--ken and to--have their semantic roots in the
Chinese terms ch'ien and tao (Ratti and Westbrook
1973:258). The oldest swords in Japan date from the
second century B.C., but it was not until the eighth
century A.D. that the distinctive prototype of the
single-edged, curved Japanese sword known as the katana
emerged (Draeger and Smith 1989:99).
Even with the emergence of the Japanese sword, no
organized, defined style or form of swordsmanship
developed immediately (Sasamori and Warner 1964:26).
Techniques for the use of the sword developed along an
ad hoc basis for some 600 years, and only began to be
systematized during the Muromachi Period (1392-1573). Up
to this point, the art of the sword was developed
primarily only in its technical aspects in terms of the
forging of sword blades. Great strides in the
swordsmith's art were especially notable during the
Kamakura Period (1185-1333), when swordsmiths benefited
from the patronage of the Imperial House.
The period following the Onin War (1467-1477) witnessed
both technical systemization and ideological elaboration
concerning the arts of the sword. By the Tokugawa Period
hundreds of martial arts styles had developed, although
in a sense they can all be seen as developing from a few
main traditions.
The watershed in Japanese history for the art of the
sword is marked by the life of Izasa Choisai Ienao
(1387-1488), the founder of the Tenshin Shoden Katori
Shinto Ryu of swordsmanship. A gifted swordsman and an
organizational genius, Choisai founded his ryu after a
period of fasting, meditation and training that lasted
one thousand days (Reid and Croucher 1983:120). His
style of kenjutsu was a precise, rigorous system which
regulated all phases of swordplay, from physical
preparation and technique to mental attitude (Ratti and
Westbrook 1973:272). The oldest ryu of which we have
historical documentation, Choisai's system set the style
for subsequent schools of swordsmanship. Considering the
turbulent nature of Japan's history during this time,
which continued until the close of the sixteenth century
and was marked by widespread war and civil unrest, there
was ample opportunity and motivation for the evolution
of other ryu of swordsmanship (Warner and Draeger
1984:34).
The structure of these schools or styles of
swordsmanship was, of course, affected by the social and
political organization of the time. Ryu, the Japanese
term perhaps best glossed as martial traditions, were
corporate entities perpetuated by ties of real or
fictive kinship. Masters of ryu assumed their position
based on lineal or collateral descent and were called
shosei, although gifted students could rise to headship
even though not related by kin ties, and were termed
shodai (Draeger 1973b:21).
Since outsiders could be admitted to a ryu, various
customs arose that served to bind students to their
school. Initiates were required to take a blood oath of
loyalty, or keppan, and swear not to divulge the secret
techniques of the ryu to non-members. Initiates were
also required to undergo a probationary period, known as
te hodoki--"untying of hands"--during which they were
required to perform menial tasks for the master and
could not participate in actual training. This period
gave the head of the ryu time to scrutinize and judge
the initiate's character and test his devotion (Warner
and Draeger 1984:43).
The establishment of ryu was frequently attributed to
divine guidance, a flash of inspiration, bestowed on the
founder. Due to this element of supernatural
intervention, ryu were often associated with Shinto
shrines and were considered to be protected by the power
inherent in these locations (Draeger 1973b:21). The
belief that these ryu were inspired in the theological
sense led to the tradition of the transmission of the
ryu's secrets from master to disciple, both directly and
through the medium of makimono, or hand scrolls, which
cryptically recorded the strategy, techniques, and
insights of the ryu and were generally understandable
only by initiates (Note 1) (Warner and Draeger 1984:43).
The Japanese refinement and propagation of sword arts
would be no more noteworthy than that of European
fencing masters were it not for the concomitant
development of a philosophical and spiritual system that
was considered to be an integral part of the swordsman's
art. The growth of a philosophical rationalization for
kenjutsu is most notable beginning in the sixteenth and
early seventeenth centuries, when a number of skilled
and profound kenshi (swordsmen) developed concepts that
were to decisively affect the evolution of modern kendo.
Kagehisa Ittosai Ito, a shadowy figure from an
historical viewpoint, since even his place and year of
birth is unknown, nonetheless dominates the development
of modern swordsmanship. A swordsman unique in history,
he was not only an impeccable technician but also a
deeply philosophical thinker. Heavily influenced by
Buddhism and its interpretation of the physical world,
Ittosai perceived an essential unity in sword techniques
that was a reflection of the cosmic order. As all
creatures are deductible to one origin, he believed, so
all sword techniques come from one single technique,
that of kiriotoshi. For Ittosai, this meant that the
swordsman had but to train in the basics of kenjutsu
while pondering the true nature of reality. His
conviction in the validity of his philosophy--one Mind,
one Sword, one technique--was reflected in his adoption
of the name Ittosai, literally "One Sword Man." His
stress on both basic techniques and philosophical
introspection was perpetuated in the Itto Ryu he founded
in the sixteenth century and was to have a significant
impact on modern kendo (Sasamori and Warner 1964:45).
Kamiizumi Nobutsuna (b.1508) was trained in the
tradition of the Kage (Shadow) Ryu, but made a number of
changes which prompted him to change his system's name
to Shin-Kage (New Shadow). His emphasis on the mind and
mental control in the practice of swordsmanship, his
approach to swordsmanship deeply affected one of his
pupils, Yagyu Mitsuyoshi. Mitsuyoshi's son, Yagyu
Munenori (1571-1646) was one in a line of capable
swordsmen in this family who had a strong impact on the
development of the theory and practice of kenjutsu.
While stylistically guided by the precepts of Shin-Kage,
Munenori was strongly influenced by the views of the Zen
priest Takuan (1573-1645). It was to this Yagyu
swordsman that Takuan wrote his famous philosophical
treatise, the Fudo Shinmyo Roku (Lowry 1985:126).
Under Takuan's guidance, Munenori came to believe that
righteousness is an essential part of the martial arts.
Without this moral dimension, swordsmanship is merely
the act of killing and avoiding being killed.
Demonstrating the impact of Zen on his outlook, Munenori
believed that swordsmen must aspire to a plane beyond
life and death, must cast off petty distractions if they
are to achieve real mastery.
Reflecting the fact that the Yagyu were official fencing
instructors for the Tokugawa shogunate and so intimately
involved in the social and political order of the day,
Munenori also was convinced that kenjutsu could and
should make a positive contribution to society. This
concept had of course been implicit in kenjutsu, since
it was the bushi as a class who developed the art.
Munenori was convinced, however, that the proper study
of swordsmanship led to a spiritual insight and moral
maturity that could not fail to have a beneficial impact
on society.
Munenori became increasingly convinced that his style of
kenjutsu had nothing at all to do with swordsmanship,
and everything to do with the spirit. He even remarked
that if his style of swordplay had not already been
titled the Yagyu Shinkage Ryu by his father, he would
call it the Muto, or No-Sword, Ryu, to underscore this
fact. Thus, "servants who attended to Munenori in his
old age frequently caught sight of him in his garden,
absolutely motionless, sword in hand, occupied not with
the physical mechanics of posture and movement but with
the abstruse precepts of Takuan's Zen that elevated the
bujutsu from technique to a method of spiritual
contemplation" (Lowry 1985:150). (Note 2)
Munenori wrote the Heiho Kadensho, or Chronicles of
Strategy, to record his insights for future swordsmen.
Like all makimono of the various ryu, this work is
difficult to understand, and filled with obscure
references which (it is to be assumed) are
comprehensible only to initiates of the Yagyu Shinkage
Ryu. Munenori's most enduring contribution to the
practice of the Japanese sword arts is his stress on Zen
concepts as a route to mastery and his insistence that
true swordsmanship is a moral art. "Katsujinken
Satsujinken" is a phrase which was written down and hung
on the dojo of the Yagyu Shinkage Ryu and is also found
on teaching licenses given to adepts. Literally "the
sword that gives life, the sword that takes life," this
motto of the Yagyu Ryu is an enduring reminder of the
nature of Munenori's quest for perfection in the way of
the sword.
The idea of swordsmanship as possessing a moral
dimension was developed among other contemporaries of
Yagyu Munenori. Odagiri Sekiei, founder of the Muji-Shin-Jen
Ryu of swordsmanship, also perceived kenjutsu not as an
art of killing but of disciplining the self as a moral
being (Draeger and Smith 1989:101). His "Sword of
No-Abiding Mind" style exhibited the strong influence of
Zen as well as the distinctive colorings of Confucian
and Shinto thought. For Odagiri, the student of the
sword must act in accord with Heavenly Reason and
closely observe the Law of Nature. Acting in accord with
these principles would facilitate a mastery of the sword
so complete that it would be unnecessary for the
swordsman to slay his opponent (Suzuki 1959:173). (Note
3)
Miyamoto Musashi (1584-1645) is perhaps the most
renowned swordsman of this time period, and is familiar
today as the author of the Go Rin No Sho, or Book of
Five Rings. Originally penned as a treatise on
swordsmanship, it has become popular in the United
States because it was erroneously considered to be as a
primer on Japanese business strategy (see Hurst 1982).
Musashi, the founder of the Niten Ichi Ryu, was a
swordsman more interested in the impact mental training
had on technique than he was in spiritual development.
In this sense, he was a less well rounded kenshi than
Munenori or Ittosai. (Note 4) He was, nonetheless,
influenced by the Zen concept of no-mind. Musashi
expressed this concept with the term Void and identified
true attainment of the way of swordsmanship with the
attainment of Void. In this state, the swordsman becomes
a stable, focused, imperturbable entity; in Musashi's
words, he attains the "body of a rock" (V. Harris
1974:82) in which he is able to go beyond merely seeing
the opponent and can perceive his strengths and
weaknesses and even anticipate his actions. The concept
of the distinction between perception and sight in
swordplay is one that has endured to this day.
One of the most interesting and influential of Japan's
swordsmen was Yamaoka Tesshu (1836-1888), whose life and
career spanned the interval during which Japan entered
the modern world and also the period in which
swordsmanship ceased to be a primarily functional
military art and evolved into a true do form.
Tesshu was an accomplished calligrapher, a serious
student of Zen, and an active public servant who served
in both the Tokugawa bakufu and the government of the
Emperor Meiji. Tesshu's study of the martial arts began
early in his life. In addition to swordsmanship, he also
studied sojutsu (the art of the spear) but was renowned
primarily for his skill with the sword. He stood over
six feet tall and was immensely strong. Tesshu's
swordplay was so enthusiastic that he was nicknamed
"Demon Tetsu," (Note 5) and several dojo in which he
trained prohibited him from striking the wrists of
opponents (a traditional target) for fear of broken arms
(Stevens 1984b:15).
Tesshu studied in the Shinkage Ryu, Ono-ha Itto Ryu and
Nakanishi-ha Itto Ryu, becoming one of the foremost
swordsmen of the era. What marked Tesshu as a great
swordsman, however, was not his physical training, but
the emphasis he placed on the disciplining of the mind
and spirit. When he was twenty eight years old, Tesshu
was decisively defeated by Asari Gimei, master swordsman
of the Nakanishi-ha Itto Ryu, a man half Tesshu's size
and some twelve years his senior. So powerful a kenshi
was Asari that Tesshu found all mental composure fleeing
the moment he crossed swords with the master.
The solution to Tesshu's personal dilemma in
swordsmanship turned out to be not merely more training
under Asari's tutelage but also the rigorous pursuit of
enlightenment through the study of Zen. After seventeen
years in both Asari's and a Zen dojo, at age forty five,
Tesshu experienced enlightenment: "For years I forged my
spirit through the study of swordsmanship, confronting
every challenge steadfastly. The walls surrounding me
suddenly crumbled; like pure dew reflecting the world in
crystal clarity, total Awakening has now come" (Stevens
1984b:18). With Tesshu's spiritual awakening, Asari
designated him headmaster of his ryu. It is said Asari
never picked up a sword again.
Tesshu was convinced, by reason of his very personal
experience, that training in the way of the sword was an
intensely spiritual thing. In his dojo, known as the
Shumpukan, Tesshu initiated an onerous course of study
calculated to exhaust the swordsman physically, and to
develop an extremely clear, focused mind. So strongly
did Tesshu believe that true swordsmanship was a thing
of the mind and not of the sword, that he established
his own ryu, the Itto Shoden Muto Ryu, "The No-Sword
System of the Correct Transmission of Ito Ittosai."
At his dojo, there was little or no emphasis on
explanation or analysis of technique. Novice swordsmen
devoted their time to uchikomi (attack training) for at
least three years, a fatiguing and extremely boring
apprenticeship. Tesshu thought that such training served
to both strengthen the body and focus the mind,
imprinting the fundamental techniques on the minds of
beginners. Critics of Tesshu's system saw little merit
in what they termed "wood chopping" (Stevens 1984b:22).
Perhaps the most dramatic training technique Tesshu
instituted was that of seigan (or vow) training. The
first type of seigan was one in which the student
completed one thousand days of successive training,
followed by contests in which the trainee was required
to stand and continuously face two hundred opponents. If
this seigan was successfully completed, the student was
eligible, after further training, to undergo a three
day, six hundred match seigan. The next and highest
level was that of the seven day, fourteen hundred match
seigan (Stevens 1984b:24-25). (Note 6)
The motivation behind such a brutal training method was
to truly consume all of a trainee's physical stamina, of
wearing down his body and exhausting his technique,
until the only thing that compels him to raise his
training sword for yet another in a seemingly endless
series of matches is the power of the spirit. In
Tesshu's words, swordsmanship, and particularly seigan,
"should lead to the heart of things, where one can
directly confront life and death" (Stevens 1984b:25).
Today, there are perhaps only fifteen active swordsmen
of the Muto Ryu. The present headmaster, Dr. Murakami
Yasumasa, thinks its methods are too severe, its
principle too deeply philosophical for widespread
popularity (Stevens 1984b:41). While we may agree that
Tesshu's way is one which demands high levels of
devotion and discipline, and so has declined in
popularity, we must also note that many elements
traditionally found in the Muto Ryu have served to
influence the practice of modern kendo. Tesshu's
emphasis on basics, a devotion to almost monotonous
training (Tesshu would say this was mindless training in
its best sense), and an all-pervasive idea that
swordsmanship is above all the training of the spirit,
are the modern kendoka's inheritance from the master
swordsman Yamaoka Tesshu.
Until the seventeenth century, the way of the sword
could, at least theoretically, be described as one
concerned with the development of viable combat skills
with the live blade of the katana. As the military
utility of the swordsman waned, (Note 7) however,
practice in the art of swordsmanship, as already
discussed, began to develop spiritual aspects. The need
to reduce the chance of training injuries, which had
earlier given rise to the use of the bokken (wooden
sword), eventually resulted in the creation of the
shinai (bamboo fencing foil) during the eighteenth
century. With this development, the way of the sword
began to bifurcate along two separate lines: kendo,
which concentrated on training with the shinai in an
active, competitive environment; and iaido, which
focused on practicing with the live blade in the series
of formal solo exercises known as kata.(Note 8) Although
formally distinct in terms of technique, it is widely
held by kendoka that no true understanding of the way of
the sword is possible without some proficiency in iaido
as well. Kan Sensei, at whose dojo I studied, made it a
point to teach both kendo and iaido, which he considered
"two wheels on the same cart."
The Abe Ryu was the first to formally designate its
system as "kendo" during the eighteenth century (Draeger
and Smith 1989:101). It was during this period also that
fencing gloves and armor were introduced into practice,
along with the widespread use of the shinai (Sasamori
and Warner 1964:51-52). The increased margin of safety
in practice encouraged training in kendo even by those
who were not professional fighting men, and by the
mid-nineteenth century, a substantial number of
Japanese, samurai and commoners, were engaged in shinai-geiko,
or the type of training in which students used the
shinai and protective armor.
It was during this period, of course, that Japan
entered the modern world with the collapse of the
Tokugawa Shogunate and the restoration of the Emperor
Meiji. At the same time that the government felt driven
to modernize Japan's economy and government, however,
there was also a concomitant feeling that much that was
good in Japanese culture and society needed to be
preserved. The particular qualities of courage, loyalty,
and discipline that were believed to be encouraged by
training in arts like kendo were considered vitally
important by officials of the Meiji government. As a
result, beginning in 1871, traditionalists urged the
Japanese Ministry of Education to make kendo compulsory
in all public and private schools in Japan (Sasamori and
Warner 1964:55). Despite such encouragement, interest in
budo began to wane in the late nineteenth century, and
public kendo exhibitions became common during this
period in the hopes of reviving interest.(Note 9) In
1895, the government established the Dai Nippon
Butokukai (Greater Japan Martial Virtue Association) in
Kyoto, which stressed the role of kendo and judo in the
education of Japanese citizens (Draeger 1974:35).
Government sponsorship of these arts eventually served
to revive interest. In 1905, Tokyo University became the
first college in the nation to sponsor a kendo team, and
other colleges soon followed. In 1928, the All Japan
Kendo Federation was established as a governing body to
regulate and standardize the art throughout Japan.
The close involvement of the government with the martial
arts caused the Allied Powers to ban their practice
after Japan's defeat in World War II. The aggressive,
jingoistic flavor of militarism made an unsavory
addition to the ideology of budo, and the attitude of
the Allied Powers is understandable. The fundamentally
positive aspect of Japanese budo soon impressed itself
upon officials, however, and they came to understand
that the excesses of Japanese expansionism could in no
way be attributed to budo itself.
In 1950, the Butokukai was reopened, and judo and kendo
were selected as the primary arts for the training of
the newly organized Japanese police force. The
rehabilitated image of budo gave rise to increased
public participation in these arts. The early 50's saw
the first extensive export of budo to the United States.
In Japan, the increasing popularity of kendo and judo
was encouraged by a heightened emphasis on sport
competitions during the 1960's. The Nippon Budokan, a
massive sports arena, was built in 1964 in Tokyo, and is
used to host major tournaments in kendo and judo. In
1971, reflecting the spread of kendo throughout the
world, the International Kendo Federation was
established (Lewis 1985:114). Today, kendo has some
eight million adherents throughout the world.
An excellent summary of the goals of kendo is provided
by the All Japan Kendo Federation:
The concept of Kendo is to discipline the human
character
through the application of the principles of the katana.
The purpose of practicing Kendo is:
To mold the mind and body,
To cultivate a vigorous spirit,
And through correct and rigid training,
To strive for improvement in the art of Kendo;
To hold in esteem human courtesy and honor,
To associate with others with sincerity,
And to forever pursue the cultivation of oneself.
Thus will one be able to love his country and society,
to
contribute to the development of culture, and to promote
peace and prosperity among all peoples. (Note 10)
Despite a continuing emphasis on physical training as a
road to spiritual mastery, the post-war sportive
emphasis on budo places kendo in danger of assuming a
character much like that of modern judo. The war-era
perception of kendo and other budo forms as part and
parcel of Japanese aggression has, of course, served to
encourage a more "American", sportive interpretation of
budo as part of the price paid for budo's rehabilitation
in the post-war era. While there is still a certain
dangerous possibility that kendo will assume some of the
negative aspects of international judo, its classical
interpretation is still relatively intact.
The limited appeal kendo holds for non-Japanese, as well
as the strong emotional and cultural affinity the art
holds for many Japanese and foreign nationals of
Japanese descent, places kendo firmly within the
Japanese martial tradition. As such, kendo is clearly a
type of secondary social group concerned with the
perpetuation of ethnic identity through the cultivation
of Japanese attitudes and skills.
Notes:
1. Even those annotated translations of makimono available today are often obscure (see V. Harris 1974; H. Sato 1986).
2. Lowry's portrait of Munenori is perhaps too benign. Although not the one-dimensional political schemer often portrayed in Japanese literature, we must note that Munenori served as the head of the shogun's secret police. His interest in swordsmanship was certainly as practical as it was profound.
3. The application of such concepts came to fruition in the modern budo form of aikido developed by Ueshiba Morihei in the twentieth century.
4. This is perhaps a less than kind assessment of Musashi. A ronin (masterless samurai) for most of his career, he was a ruthless opponent in a duel simply because attaining renown as a swordsman was the only viable option he possessed for eventually securing a position as a vassal of some local lord. A less refined man than Munenori, he also lived a much harder life. Ultimately, he obtained a position as a minor vassal of a Kyushu daimyo. Musashi's quest for excellence in the way of the sword drove him, however, to live his last four years in a cave, pondering the philosophy of swordsmanship. It was here he penned the Go Rin No Sho.
5. Born Ono Tetsutaro, Tesshu was a yoshi, or one who married into a family with no male heirs to carry on the family name. Tesshu therefore adopted his wife's family name of Yamaoka as his own. Tesshu, literally "Iron Boat" was his pen name. As renowned a calligrapher as he was a martial artist, Ono Tetsutaro is thus known to history as Yamaoka Tesshu.
6. Tesshu's institution of the thousand day period of successive training is highly reminiscent of the similar period of training and mediation undertaken by Choisai before establishing the Tenshin Katori Shinto Ryu.
7. Munenori himself noted that nothing could beat the bow and the gun for fighting. Despite popular misconceptions fueled by works of historical fiction, the Japanese were willing and eager to adopt firearms into their military strategy, and began to do so before the end of the sixteenth century (H. Sato 1986:13).
8. Although long a subject of study within the classical ryu of swordsmanship, iaido was not formally established as an art until the 1920's. Currently, the All Japan Iaido Federation operates under the umbrella of its parent organization, the All Japan Kendo Federation.
9. These exhibitions were somewhat sensational in nature, since before the Meiji era commoners were forbidden to study or even watch training in the way of the sword, although it was not uncommon during the later years of the Tokugawa shogunate for commoners to study in urban dojo.
10. Courtesy of Mr. Gene Eto of the American Kendo Federation.
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