Here at the frontier, the leaves fall like rain. Although my neighbors are all barbarians, and you, you are a thousand miles away, there are still two cups at my table.


Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter. If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.

~ Wu-men ~


Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts

Saturday, September 12, 2026

Koryu Budo


Over at Peter Boylan's excellent The Budo Bum substack, there was recently an article on his thoughts on training in Koryu Budo, old Budo; before the advent of Judo, Karatedo, Aikido, etc. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

I practice Shinto Muso Ryu Jodo and Shinto Hatakage Ryu Iai Heiho. I also practice Kodokan Judo. Kodokan Judo was founded as Japan made the leap from a rural, agrarian, preindustrial society to an urban, mechanized, industrial powerhouse. The differences between practicing the old arts and the new(er) ones are remarkable.

Kodokan Judo was founded during an era of incredible transformation in Japan. The Tokugawa Shogunate had just been overthrown after some 266 years of peaceful rule and replaced with a constitutional monarchy. The founder of Kodokan Judo, Kano Jigoro Shihan, replaced the classical menkyo teaching licensing system with a series of dan (steps). Adapting European teaching pedagogies, he designed a system of teaching that could be used in public schools for mass education. Under his Kodokan Judo, you could go anywhere in the country and train without having to learn a local set of techniques and customs. Your rank was recognized all over the country.

Koryu budo, on the other hand, are not taught as competitive sports, or even as cultural practices for the general public. They are taught in the same way that traditional crafts are taught in Japan: slowly, carefully, from one teacher to one student. I can train judo under one teacher, and still freely go to train in many different dojos. That’s not the case in koryu. Even if there are many other dojos doing the same koryu in your area (highly unlikely), you are learning your teacher’s art; not a generalized, public set of skills, but a highly individualized art. If you go around to other dojo, you’re going to get lots of input that is different from your teacher’s, which could slow down, not speed up, the process of internalizing the lessons your teacher is giving you.

Koryu budo, like traditional crafts in Japan, are learned through imitation of the teacher, including rigorous thought by the student about why the teacher does particular things in a particular way. A good teacher will give students time to figure things out, and will emphasize particular lessons through their actions rather than their words. The teacher will lay things out where the student can see them. It’s up to the student to develop the observational skills to pick up the lessons when the teacher makes them visible.

Those observational skills aren’t easy if you don’t come from a culture where they are expected from birth. My learning growing up initially revolved around the teacher laying things out and showing us how to ask questions about the things we didn’t understand. Learning to ask questions was a big part of the education process. Observational skills were not a noticeable part of the process.

Koryu budo, on the other hand, are not taught as competitive sports, or even as cultural practices for the general public. They are taught in the same way that traditional crafts are taught in Japan: slowly, carefully, from one teacher to one student. I can train judo under one teacher, and still freely go to train in many different dojos. That’s not the case in koryu. Even if there are many other dojos doing the same koryu in your area (highly unlikely), you are learning your teacher’s art; not a generalized, public set of skills, but a highly individualized art. If you go around to other dojo, you’re going to get lots of input that is different from your teacher’s, which could slow down, not speed up, the process of internalizing the lessons your teacher is giving you.

Koryu budo, like traditional crafts in Japan, are learned through imitation of the teacher, including rigorous thought by the student about why the teacher does particular things in a particular way. A good teacher will give students time to figure things out, and will emphasize particular lessons through their actions rather than their words. The teacher will lay things out where the student can see them. It’s up to the student to develop the observational skills to pick up the lessons when the teacher makes them visible.

Those observational skills aren’t easy if you don’t come from a culture where they are expected from birth. My learning growing up initially revolved around the teacher laying things out and showing us how to ask questions about the things we didn’t understand. Learning to ask questions was a big part of the education process. Observational skills were not a noticeable part of the process.

Saturday, August 22, 2026

Classical Martial Arts and Police Work During the Shogunate


At Ellis Amdur's excellent Kogen Budo blog, there was a guest post describing how classical martial arts was employed during the Shogunate by the constabulary. Fascinating stuff. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

“If a person is cut down with a sword in front of the compound, chase the assailant down. If he will not hand over his sword you may kill him. Should he surrender his sword, however, hand him over to the magistrates office.”

-1620s Shogunal notice to Tosa domain on duties during incidents in front of their Edo compound.1

The classical martial traditions of Japan, or koryū bugei (古流武藝) – “military arts flowing from the past” – have undergone something of a minor renaissance in the West in recent decades. Seen as distinct from modern martial arts, the koryū bugei are said to preserve the battlefield skills of the Japanese warrior class down to the present day. Specialist scholarship has long demonstrated this is largely an “invented tradition,” and that the reality is more nuanced.2 Certainly warriors of the Sengoku Jidai, or “Era of the Country at War,” practiced fighting techniques, and in the first few decades after the turn of the 17th century, at beginning of the Tokugawa era (1603 – 1868), a culture of musha shugyo (“warrior pilgrimage”) flourished, that entailed engaging in challenge matches, including fatal duels. This largely ended by the mid 17th century when authorities put an end to it. From then on, bushi of status pursued bugei primarily as a means of cultivating warrior identity and character development. There was “increasingly an emphasis on formal gymnastics and disciplined choreography,” where combative etiolation was perhaps inevitable, and roundly criticized in the explosion of commercial print on all manner of subjects at the time. (Dore 1965 p. 151 et al) 3   The persistent discourse on the martial arts as “arts of war” in the parlance of practitioners, and on their well-documented peacetime deterioration on the part of professors, may have obscured a pragmatic approach that still existed: law enforcement.

Formal law codes had, for centuries, addressed various kinds of offenses, both civil and criminal: the Joei Code (1232), among various administrative regulations for matters regarding shrines, temples, lands and civil lawsuits also included processes for handling “crimes of killing, maiming, and wounding . . . serious crimes, such as treason, murder, banditry (sanzoku), piracy (kaizoku), night attacks, robbery, and the like” as well as more conventional beatings, forgery, and “abusive language,” that had a tendency to cause quarrels. (Conlan 2022: 47) This calls to mind what we might today call “disorderly conduct” or “provoking assault.”

The Joei Code and its principles were used as common law in the domains of regional lords (daimyo), or included in their house precepts.4  In 1459, the Ouchi domain published law on the walls surrounding the lord’s mansion, where they could be read by all. They prohibited, among other offenses, “wandering along major roads at night” “sumo wrestling at crossroads,” “taking women on the roadside,” (a reference to prostitution/sex trafficking rather than rape or kidnapping), and “wearing strange clothes, claiming that it is the style of the capital.” (Conlan 2022: 194) These were updated over time and in 1487 expanded, prohibiting carrying “[L]ong weapons (nagagusoku – ‘ referring to glaives (naginata), longswords (odachi), or pikes (yari)’  ), bows, and quivers,” although certain individuals were exempt. Apparently one could not walk with “flutes, shakuhachi, or other instruments” unless close to one’s residence, and there was a problem with “loitering” involving “people leering into the Ouchi mansions.”  “Night watchmen” were expected to know the law and enjoined to enforce it, for example, for the crime of killing soft-shelled turtles to use as hawk-bait, “the common rabble (honge no tomogara) if they are seen, or rumored to be, killing turtles, they shall be arrested or cut down at the place where it happened, according to the situation.” (Ibid: 194 -197)

In 1506, in the then-capital (Kyoto), law forbade theft, arson, armed assault, “quarrels,” sumo wrestling (again!), and the troublesome dancing (in the streets). (Berry 1994: 245 ) The Jinkaishu, a 1536 legal code of the Date house of Mutsu Province in northern Japan, codified practices for handling offenses including “violent contests;” or “when crazed drunkards kill people [and] claim inebriation as an excuse;” “cases where people impulsively quarreled, or were crazed at a banquet, and unpremeditatedly killed someone.” And, perhaps particularly interesting, instances where people “claimed that through skill they killed ambushers when in fact they ambushed their rival in a surprise attack.” Behavioral expectations are laid out for lords and retainers involved in violent altercations, assassinations, and other killings, including not abetting or harboring killers, tracking them down, searching locations for them, and capturing or killing them. There were punishments for when offenders were killed inadvertently, when captured suspects did not confess, or when personally performing arrests or cutting people down when there was not proper evidence demonstrating guilt. (Ibid: 206-215 ) 5  After the early years of the 17th century, Tokugawa shoguns began promulgating the Buke Shohatto, Laws for Warrior Houses, codes of conduct, laws, and expectations for the warrior class intended to establish the absolute authority of the shogun’s government – called the Bakufu –  over other domains. This was institutionalized in 1635, and from then daimyo were required to follow Bakufu law in enforcement and sentencing procedures, and were periodically checked on to ensure compliance. (Botsman: 15)

Maintaining order was an overriding concern, for “below the peace that was taking place at the national level with no wars there was still a fair amount of violence in Tokugawa society.” (Vaporis 2022: 235)  We learn from the Omurochuki (Diary of a Parrot in a Cage), the journal of the low-ranking samurai Asahi Shigeaki (1674 -1718), that some young, unemployed samurai killed for sport and material gain, in what was known as “‘street murders’ (tsuji kiri), passersby were killed with swords and robbed.” (Vaporis 2022: 234-235, 351)  6  At the same time. there was a conscious effort by the warrior government to ameliorate the general image of warriors as fiendish butchers carried over from the Warring States period, and to turn warrior-lords away from ideas of military conquest toward keeping civil order. “‘[T]he way of the warrior’ (budō) should be understood as an ‘instrument for killing evil.” The government “was to use it to ‘purify the realm.’” Warriors were now to be seen as benevolent, serving and protecting the public, as “the Tokugawa judicial system came to place considerable emphasis on what would today be called “victim’s rights.” It was realized that too harsh a system of punishment would interfere with the shogun being seen as a benevolent ruler. “[W]arrior officials in the Tokugawa period combined relatively lax enforcement and a tendency to turn a blind eye to minor infractions with the use of “flamboyant” displays of their own power – to pardon as well as punish. This made it possible to bolster warrior authority with the threat of terrifying punishment on the one hand, while also cultivating the goodwill of the general population on the other, with evidence of official flexibility, restraint, and mercy.” (Botsman: 41-42. 49) 7

As we see in newsfeeds today, turning a blind eye toward petty crimes was not without its downstream effects or its critics. By the 1720s, Ogyu Sorai complained that “houses are broken into everywhere; criminals murder, steal and commit arson; and in the middle of the night they lie in waiting in deserted places to rob people,” and remembered “the days when officials routinely cut criminals down on the spot” while lamenting a “dramatic decline in the warrior’s martial spirit.”  (Botsman: 86-87) No social strata was above reproach. In 1747, a mentally unstable Shogun’s hatamoto  murdered a man in the toilet at Edo castle. 8 Even daimyo were suspected of terrible crimes, including the lord of Mito domain Tokugawa Mitsukuni, when he was young man. “The Tosa samurai Mori Masana, while traveling to Edo in 1829 reported stories that the retired lord of Wakayama would go out at night with four or five attendants, enter people’s homes, and kill them. He is reputed to have killed hundreds of people this way.” (Vaporis 2022: 351)

Enforcing laws and bringing violators to justice fell to local lords following Bakufu law. In rural areas, village headmen and low-status warriors acted as constabulary; maintaining order, capturing or killing violators, and rounding up vagrants and beggars – a persistent problem that only grew worse over time – and putting down public disturbances and uprisings throughout the Edo period. (Botsman) This included duties during sankin-kōtai, the system of “alternate attendance” at the capital city, Edo, in which lords were required to alternate between a year spent residing in their domains with one in the capital. (Nishiyama 1997) Retainers of individual daimyo were required to staff guard-houses in the samurai neighborhoods of Edo and perform basic policing functions in their jurisdiction. Written guides were produced for warriors staffing neighborhood guard stations (tsuji-bansho ) in “how to handle unusual situations.”  These situations included corpses (murders or suicides), violent behavior, altercations and fights in front of samurai mansions, violence and injuries within the samurai residences, and attacks using swords. The expectations and other job duties for the guards were strikingly similar to the kinds of things seen in law and policy for law enforcement today: deserted children (a child under three is “deserted” but an older child is “lost”), fugitives, drunks and vagrants, illegal disposals and dumping, lost objects, unruly or dead horses, rescuing people who had fallen into moats, suspicious characters, accidents on the streets, and jurisdictional matters (for instance if a body is found on the border between two tsuji-bansho, the location of the feet — for men it was the left foot, and for women, the right — determined which jurisdiction bore responsibility). 9

Lower-status warriors were required to train in the necessary skills to fill these roles. Passin noted that upper-class samurai learned swordsmanship, horse riding, and archery “as a form of spiritual training,” while lower-class warriors “were taught jūjutsu, lancemanship, group tactics, and rifle.” (1965 p. 21) Michael Wert, in his study of rural swordsmen also pointed out that “martial arts and swordsmanship were practiced differently by different samurai status groups, with an inverse relationship between cultural capital value and combat efficacy.” High ranking samurai were not compensated for their training and their official schools focussed on swordsmanship to strengthen their warrior identity. In the Kaga Han, low-status warriors were “ordered by the domain to learn staff fighting and grappling (jūjutsu).” These samurai foot soldiers (ashigaru), “who used the arts directly in their duties” received compensation for training and “studied arresting techniques or staff fighting (bōjutsu), skills used in their policing roles.”  (Wert, unpublished manuscript: 6-7)

The class expectations relative to “peace officer” duties, and how they changed, were illustrated by Confucian scholar, writer, and politician Arai Hakuseki (1657-1725) noting in his autobiography:  “when I was seventeen or eighteen, I accidentally dropped in my father’s presence, a torinawa, a finely wound green cord with a hook at the end used for tying people up, which I was carrying in my bosom.” His father noticed the item and said “Long ago, when I was in office, I used to keep this by me in my flint bag.  I thought that if I ordered men to seize  and bind some disorderly fellow, they might not have it in readiness. When I retired, I had no further use for it, and I kept it for tying up the cat. It is proper that a warrior should know every part of his duties. However, there are things which a man should or should not do, according to his station. This cord is not something you should keep about your person, and you are old enough to know better.” (Hakuseki, p. 48-49)

 

 

Sunday, August 16, 2026

Japanese Koryu Martial Arts Transmission


As a result of his excellent post, which I've posted an excerpt here; The Budo Bum recently published a guest post by Tobin Threadgill, who is a senior practitioner of Shindo Yoshin-Ryu. An excerpt from the guest post is below. The full post may be read here.

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I am honored to share this essay by Tobin Threadgill Sensei of Takamura Ha Shindo Yoshin Ryu, written in reaction to my essay Budo Isn’t Finished. I deeply appreciate him allowing me to share this here. P.B.

by Tobin Threadgill

Transmission of knowledge in a koryu budo can be challenging. No headmaster can transmit 100% of what they know. The headmaster must competently address this resulting vacuum of knowledge, or the compounding loss can cripple a koryu budo ryuha in only several generations.

The subject of evolution in koryu was a frequently discussed topic with my teacher, Takamura Yukiyoshi sensei. He believed a thorough understanding of this subject was necessary so that a koryu budo tradition would not degenerate into what he described as “empty or pretty dancing”. When I hear an uninitiated individual discuss the topic of koryu, I am often struck by their lack of context and/or familiarity with what they are observing. The most glaring misunderstanding is related to the purpose and function of kata. I assume that this misinterpretation is partially related to exposure to the solo kata (enrengata) performed in Okinawan Karate and its progeny. In Japanese, there are two different kanji characters both pronounced in kata. The differences are subtle, but the one used in Okinawan karate (型) implies something finished like a mold, pattern, or standard. The one used in most koryu budo, also pronounced gyo (形), implies something more subtle, like form, model, or configuration. In the context of koryu budo, kata (gyo) are repositories of knowledge in a different manner than that of Okinawan Karate. It must be understood that koryu budo kata do not necessarily represent actual fighting. They do not always have to be realistic because they are frequently vessels that contain, preserve, and give context to genri and riai (tactics, principles, and combat theory). Many observers outside koryu simply fixate on the particular movements they observe in the execution of a kata without any grasp of the purpose underlying the movements. It’s like an outside observer watching a boxer use a speed bag and then announcing that such training is pointless because such punching would never be practical. They simply don’t understand the what’s or why’s of what they are observing.


Sunday, July 05, 2026

Legacy Techniques in Koryu


At The Budo Bum, the author explored the question of whether the koryu (old classical) arts carried around with it the teaching of inefficient, ineffective techniques. My own inclination is to answer "no." The principles, strategies, etc; are all at work.

An excerpt is below. The original post may be read here.

The efficacy and use of some techniques in various koryu have been questioned since at least the Meiji Era. Koryu are by definition “old schools.” Two or three hundred years from the founding, how can you be sure the techniques are still effective? How can you be sure they are consistent with what was originally taught? Have things been lost or changed to the point that they are no longer consistent?

My experience is that in well-maintained koryu, the techniques will be consistent, effective, and efficient. If they aren’t all three, then either something is being taught incorrectly, or the student doesn’t understand it well enough yet. I do see koryu that teach things poorly, especially in koryu that have become essentially fossils. These are koryu where the skeleton of the technique and kata have been preserved, but the knowledge that animates them has been lost, so people simply repeat motions without understanding them. There are a few of these around, and if you watch carefully, you can spot some of them at big koryu enbu like the one at Meiji Jingu every year.

Even in well-preserved, well-cared for koryu, things can get lost. Ellis Amdur of Kogen Budo has written extensively about reconstituting bojutsu of Tenshin Buko Ryu. They still had documents, but the practice had been lost. Koryu are living arts, and things are lost and added and rediscovered all the time. Not every teacher is a good teacher, so sometimes the transmission is weak. These things happen. In living koryu, as opposed to fossilized koryu, this isn’t an overwhelming problem. Senior teachers and practitioners should always be testing their understanding, challenging themselves and the art to be sure both are at their best.

Gendai budo practitioners often make the mistake of thinking that because koryu don’t have competitive sparring, there is no pressure testing. They couldn’t be more wrong. Anytime you have a two-person koryu kata, you have the potential for pressure testing. Ideally, each kata represents the optimal way of doing something. If you do everything correctly, the kata works. If your training partners are being honest, they will follow the logic of the kata, and attack where the best opening is. If the best opening they see is one you’ve left that shouldn’t be there, that’s where they will attack. This can make for an unpleasant surprise anytime you don’t do things well. A whack on the kote or do or men when you aren’t expecting it is one of the best ways of learning to close those suki (openings). I’ve collected plenty of small bruises because I left suki that shouldn’t be there.

This is pressure testing. Your partner isn’t breaking the kata when they attack into a suki that you left. You broke the kata when you created the suki. Your partner is following the logic of the kata and attacking the best target. It’s always possible that someone sees an opening that’s not part of the kata. The proper response to this is to talk with your teacher, and arrange to try attacking the opening so it can be tested. I’ve seen many “openings” in kata that I was learning, and I’ve discovered the hard way each time that they aren’t really openings. I just didn’t know enough yet to understand why that attack was a bad idea. Teachers of living koryu aren’t afraid of exploring and experimenting. Before you try something though, it’s useful to remember that the arts you are experimenting with are hundreds of years old, and whatever you think you’re seeing has likely been thoroughly explored during the previous centuries.

 

 

Saturday, June 20, 2026

Monday, June 08, 2026

Two Different Ways of Teaching the Art


There was an interest post at Applied Methods regarding the teaching karate formally in a school, and also outside of a commercial school. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

When I first arrived in the United States, I was struck by the sheer scale of the martial arts landscape. Coming from the UK, my formative years of training and teaching were spent in the tradition of the rented hall instructor. We packed our gear into the boots of our cars and drove to drafty church halls, local sports centers, and sometimes schools. We set up, we trained, we packed up, and we went home. A permanent, dedicated facility was a rare luxury.

When I eventually became part of a storefront dojo here in the US, it felt like a significant milestone. In a culture that often values a commercial footprint as a visible marker of achievement, having a permanent mat and a sign on the window felt like validation that I had finally “arrived”.

A few years later, the disruption of the COVID-19 pandemic forced a total re-evaluation. Like many instructors, the financial realities of that period eventually led me to close our doors. Today, my teaching happens on a much smaller scale - with a number of dedicated students training in a home garden dojo.

It is easy to view a shift like that through a negative lens. When you look around and see thriving commercial schools on every other street corner, modern metrics can quietly trick us into measuring our worth as educators by square footage, student rosters, and profit margins.

But as the dust settled, I began to see the transition differently. Losing the storefront did not diminish the transmission of the art. If anything, it returned the training to something closer to its historical roots.

 

Friday, June 05, 2026

Sunday, May 17, 2026

Japanese Sword Documentary


Below is an excerpt from a post at The Budo Journeyman, which is a review of a 2024 documentary about Japanese swords and the West, entitled The Sun's Shadow. The full post may be read here.

This is certainly not like the usual documentaries about culture and heritage based in Japan, e.g. the ones that National Geographic produce. Neither is it a bite-sized piece in a travelogue episode by a celebrity who happens to be visiting Japan. This is what makes it so intriguing.

With ‘The Sun’s Shadow’, over three episodes, we are introduced to a range of enthusiasts who have pitched their all into their particular shared obsession – the Japanese sword.

What is surprising is that contemporary Japanese sword makers barely feature, these are all Americans. I know that Europeans will raise a quizzical eyebrow at anything the Americans throw themselves into with their body and soul…. I certainly did; but even half way through episode one, I was totally convinced they’d got it right.

Admittedly, this series ticked many of my boxes; not only traditional Japanese martial arts, but Japanese culture, history and the world of crafted bespoke artefacts. I found myself salivating at the lingering shots of antique and contemporary Nihonto, beautiful understated sword furniture and wrappings, yes, sword porn.

But the characters… including grizzled elderly craftsmen, working away in backwoods forges, enthusing about types of steel, temperatures, carbon content and quenching, totally captivating. They were pushing beyond the boundaries that historical Japanese swordsmiths were struggling to reach, even seeming to recreate techniques the Japanese thought had died out centuries ago.

However, this was not approached with Western arrogance, but more with reverence and full respect for what these earlier smiths had achieved.

Two other aspects came over strongly:

Cultural understanding.

The American swordsmiths were not just focussed on the sweat and grind of the forge; they were all clear in their own heads that Japanese culture has a depth that must be really worked at for Westerners to get a grasp of what the real background is.

Swords as practical objects.

Although we are no longer in the age where people swing swords at each other, either one-to-one or in massed armed conflict, a sword loses its identity and status if it is just considered as a decorative artefact, or a historical curiosity. (or even an investment antique). By including in the documentary those individuals who, for various reasons, feel they are custodians of an uninterrupted tradition that includes the art of swordsmanship, this adds real value to the enterprise. It tightly ties the craftsmen of the forge to the craftsmen of the Dojo, in a line that stretches back into history.

 

 

 

 

Monday, May 11, 2026

Warrior Monks of Japan


Zen's Sekai thought this  link would be of interest. It's at article that appeared at BudoJapan about the history of the storied warrior monks. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

Introduction

Esoteric Buddhism, known as “Mikkyo” in Japanese, had a profound influence on the development of Japanese martial arts. Infusing ritual and philosophy into warrior culture, Mikkyo created a fusion where spiritual practices and martial training became intertwined. This integration gave rise to a paradox: warrior monks caught between Buddhist precepts of nonviolence and the brutal realities of feudal Japan. In this article, we explore Mikkyo’s esoteric practices and how they shaped the evolution of sohei (warrior monks), samurai, kobudo (traditional martial arts), and ninjutsu.

Part 1: The Rise of Mikkyo and the Warrior Monks

The roots of Mikkyo trace back to the Shingon and Tendai sects of Buddhism. Shingon was brought to Japan by Kukai in 806 CE, following his studies in China under the esoteric master Huiguo. After receiving full transmission and authorization to teach, Kukai returned with sacred texts, mandalas, and ritual implements, eventually founding Japan’s first Shingon temple, Kongobu-ji, on Mt. Koya.

Around the same time, Saicho returned from China with the teachings of the Tendai school and established Enryaku-ji Temple on Mt. Hiei. Situated near Kyoto, the temple was favored by the Imperial Court, which helped it expand into a sprawling complex of nearly 3,000 buildings. Together, these mountaintop temples of Shingon and Tendai have remained influential monastic centers for over a thousand years.

However, the generous court donations that Enryaku-ji received came with strings attached. The Imperial Court felt this gave them the right to appoint the temple’s next leader. When Enryaku-ji’s monks refused a court-appointed zasu (abbot), samurai troops were sent in to enforce their decision. The temple yielded, but resentment simmered.

Tension over court appointments continued to rise until the year 970, when Ryogen—Enryaku-ji’s leader—made the decision to create a fighting force to protect its interests. This act contradicted a policy Ryogen had issued earlier that same year, forbidding monks from carrying weapons or engaging in violence. His reversal of policy is made clear in the Sanka Yoki Senryaku (Abridged Records of Mount Hiei), which quotes Ryogen as saying: “On Mount Hiei, in order to guard the true Dharma, to secure oil for lamps, and to defend the temple lands, warrior practitioners are needed. Therefore, monks who are foolish and have the least amount of talent should be assigned to that role.” So when the sohei system first began, it was the monks least suited to quiet monastic life who were chosen to become warrior monks.

The next time the Imperial Court attempted to appoint someone they didn’t like, Enryaku-ji’s warrior monks marched into Kyoto to protest. The Court called in samurai troops for support and a bloody battle began—but this time, it was the monks who were victorious. A document known as the “Taiheiki” captures their defiance: “When tyrants disturb the land, we borrow divine power to drive them back.”

Among these warrior monks, the most legendary was Benkei—a figure woven from both fact and folklore. He began his training at Enryaku-ji Temple but was eventually expelled for misconduct. After wandering the mountains, he took up residence in an old, abandoned shrine that lacked a temple bell. Known for his size and strength, Benkei is said to have stolen a massive bell from Miidera Temple—Enryaku-ji’s main rival. According to legend, he dragged the bell across the mountains to his new home. But when he rang the bell, it would only make a strange sound, as if moaning to return to Miidera.

During the Edo period (1603-1868), theater performances became popular and Benkei came to be portrayed as both fierce and funny. The idea eventually emerged that Benkei had a weak spot—his shin, a spot so tender that even Benkei would cry if struck there. This sensitive area was called “Benkei-no-nakidokoro” (Benkei’s crying spot) and the term is still used today whenever someone happens to hit their shin.

In contrast to Enryaku-ji, Mt. Koya’s Shingon temple was less politically active and never developed warrior monks. However, the Shingon sect’s Shingi branch developed its own militant force at Negoro-ji Temple. Around 1560, the Jesuit missionary Gaspor Vilela visited the temple and described what he saw in his travel diaries: “Their swords cut through armor like tender meat. Their training was intense and the death of one of their members during practice was met without emotion.”

 

 

 

 

Monday, February 09, 2026

Reminiscing


At Ellis Amdur's Kogen Budo Blog, there was a recent post where the author reminisces about his early days training in Japan ... in Chinese martial arts. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

In 1977, thanks to an introduction from Donn Draeger, I began training with Wang Shujin. Here is a video that spans from the  the early 1960’s (black-and-white) to a year before his death (color), when I met him.  We would meet at a temple near Shibuya, if I recall correctly, and in the bitter cold, try to imitate him as he went through his version of the Nanjing Synthesis taijiquan form. This form was created by Chen Pan Ling (here a portion performed by his son, Chen Yun Ching). Wang’s form was very different – he emphasized the elements of xingyiquan and baguazhang that Chen included in this form.

Wang had first started going to Japan to teach in the late 1950’s, I believe. There were several reasons for this: First of all, he was a practitioner of a syncretic religion called Yiguandao. Wang was a high-ranking member of this movement, and engaged in missionary activities, both in Taiwan and in Japan. Secondly, Wang was sponsored in his visits to Japan by Toyama Ryūsuke, one of the sons of Toyama Mitsuru, the founder of the Gen’yosha (‘Dark Ocean Society’). What people do not realize about the uyoku, the so-called Japanese right-wing is that they were intimately intertwined with religious movements, both within Japan and elsewhere. [Toyama was closely associated with the Oomoto-kyo of Deguchi Onisaburo and hence, Ueshiba Morihei of aikidō as well.] Many of men of the right were profound idealists (among the most dangerous of people) and others saw religion as a perfect avenue to move people in the direction that they wanted them to go. The early tairiku ronin (‘continental adventurers’ – agents provocateurs, spies, terrorists) were in large numbers Nichiren and Jodo Shinshu (the Nishi and Higashi Hongwanji) Buddhists, as were some of the most significant strategists who drove the invasion of Northern China.

Toyama Ryūsuke was also closely associated with Shindō Musō-ryū jo. Toyama Mitsuru sponsored various martial arts organizations, particularly from his home-town of Fukuoka, and his leading successor, Uchida Ryōhei was a practitioner of, among other things, this medium-length stick art. The Toyama family had sponsored the sponsors of Shimizu Takaji, the famous teacher of this art. Wang initially stayed at Toyama’s mansion, and through this connection, met and associated with many prominent Japanese martial artists. [NOTE: I have portrayed a lot of these men and this milieu in historical fictional form in Little Bird & The Tiger}.

There are lots of stories about Wang that, not being there, I will not waste time repeating (these often are merely, “He was the strongest man I never saw . . .”). I think, however, that it is probably hard to appreciate how formidable he was from looking at videos: he was really fat, and although he’s certainly agile in the earlier films, if one is not familiar with the purpose of his training, it all seems to be stilted, flowery or senseless. I will recount the only incident that I witnessed, for which I will give a little background.

One of Wang’s teachers was Wang Xiangzhai, the founder of dachengquan, also known as yiquan. This martial art was an attempt to distill the essence of the already pared-down pugilistic style of xingyiquan, focusing on solo training, particularly ‘post standing.’ Among Wang’s fellow students was Sawai Ken’ichi, who founded a Japanese version of this art, which he called Taikiken. Sawai was a very pugnacious man, and both he and Wang used to have training groups on the grounds of Meiji Shrine. Acquaintances of mine, some of whom studied with one or the other, told me that Sawai used to walk over to Wang’s area and berate him, saying he was wasting his time teaching baguazhang, xingyiquan and taijiquan: all he needed was dachengquan! Wang used to laugh and keep on moving. Sawai was a friend of the founder of Kyokushin Karate, Oyama Masutatsu. They had a close relationship and students of each would cross-train with the other. Thanks to this connection, some of Oyama’s students also trained with Wang Shujin. When I was practicing, one Kyokushin karate free-sparring students was among us; a very hard looking man, with a face scarred with numerous splits from kicks or punches to the face.

Wang was very ill at that time, perhaps a year before his death. He had a melanoma which had metastasized, and as one can see in the later portion of the linked video, his legs were stiff. He used to shuffle rather than walk. So, please understand, what I am about to describe was not a fight, or even a free sparring session. Wang asked the karateka to take a punch at him. He brushed it past his face – his forearm was about as big as my calf – and embraced him around the lower back, simultaneously smashing his belly into the man’s torso. It knocked all the wind out of him, and he collapsed to the ground, wheezing. [Wang thought this funny, and I recall his rumble, like an elephant digesting, that passed as his laugh]. So, what I saw was circumscribed – but lord, was it powerful.Wang was renowned for this. He would allow anyone to punch or kick him anywhere below the neck. Beyond that, he could absorb the punch and pulse it back out with such power that one risked a dislocation of the shoulder.

But I must confess – at the time, I didn’t get it. I saw how strong he still was, even while he was gravely ill. And I’d heard from others, Donn Draeger among them, what an absolute powerhouse he was when younger. But I could not see how standing around in the cold, trying to imitate him as he moved through a ninety-nine movement taijiquan form would do anything for me. [As I have written elsewhere, on a couple of occasions, I came early and saw him by himself, assiduously going over very simple movements as well as various post-standing exercises, something I was later informed was the key to his power. He practiced them four hours or more a day.]  At any rate, I didn’t get it, and after a couple of months, respectfully resigned the class, and moved on to Muay Thai.

One thing that always stuck in my mind, however, was his ability to take blows, particularly full-on kicks to the groin. And unlike some tricksters, he wasn’t cocking his pelvis forward at the moment of impact, or messing with timing so that he didn’t receive the full impact. By all the accounts I heard, he just stood there phlegmatically and took the kick, expressionless. And he did this with some of the most formidable karateka in Japan, in public demonstrations.

Wednesday, January 28, 2026

From Gendai Budo to Koryu


Over at his substack, Peter Boylan had an interesting article about the transition one must make from a modern budo (judo, karate, etc) to a traditional martial art (kenjutsu, etc). An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

The vast majority of people practicing budo today are training in gendai budo. These are loosely defined as schools that were founded after the end of the Tokugawa Shogunate in Japan in 1868. The first gendai budo, Kodokan Judo, was founded by Kano Jigoro based on his training in the Tenjin Shin’yo Ryu and Kito Ryu jujutsu schools, and then refined through a tradition of fighting open challenge matches against all comers.

Kano Shihan molded his Kodokan Judo to be suitable for teaching in Japan’s new public education system as a way of preserving and handing down the teachings of classical jujutsu to future generations. This required tremendous reworking of how the jujutsu was taught and transmitted. Kano was inspired by Western ideas about education, and, as a result, he transformed the old school jujutsu into a system that could be taught to large groups with a clear ranking system that is as objective as he could come up with. Kano’s system starts with techniques, then adds randori (sparring), a system of competition, and finally kata for learning the more subtle aspects of the art, as well as those many parts that aren’t suitable for use in a sporting environment.

Budo schools in Japan up to Kano Shihan’s time were generally small and focused on personal instruction. Their culture discouraged the open teaching of their skills and required loyalty to the school. Transmission in these schools is primarily kata based, and the skills are practiced with lethal intent rather than any thought of fair competition, where everyone goes home healthy and whole afterwards. Gendai budo generally take a sporting view of things - everyone is equal and equally armed.

Learning koryu isn’t like learning gendai budo. Instead of a sporting environment based on fair play and safety, koryu assume that everyone is heavily armed and that “fair” means a big gathering where people often drink too much and get in fights. This makes all the difference in the training atmosphere. There is nothing sporting going on. It’s serious learning, and making mistakes can hurt. Students coming to koryu budo from gendai budo have some mental adjustments to make. They have to get over the idea that a “fair fight” is in any way a good thing and start thinking in terms of maximizing every possible advantage.

The oldest koryu, arts like Takenouchi Ryu, come directly from battlefields. Others come from more peaceful times. But, even during the Edo period, Japanese cities were filled with people carrying weapons who were happy to use them. All koryu work hard to transmit hard-won understanding of what it takes to survive fights that are usually asymmetrical. There is no assumption that things will be fair and everyone will have the same weapons. In fact, outside of kenjutsu schools, the assumption is generally that things are not fair and that your training partner is not armed the same way you are.

Starting with the assumption that things aren’t equal changes the nature of training tremendously. It’s all two person kata, which sounds easy because you know the techniques ahead of time. It’s anything but that. In Shinto Muso Ryu, you start out with a 128 cm (roughly 4’) staff, facing a swordsman with a sword that is a little more than a meter (40”), and the person with the sword is a senior teacher who is cutting to hit you. They’re not cutting somewhere in your vicinity. They are cutting 7 cm (3”) into your head. If you don’t move, it’s going to hurt. All of the training is like this. The margin for safety is always tiny. If you don’t move enough, you’ll get cut. If you move too much, you’ll leave an opening that the teacher will exploit and cut you. 

 

 

 

 

Sunday, January 25, 2026

Northern Tai Mantis Kung Fu and Sifu Paul Eng


Over at Zen Sekai's blog, there was a recent post where the author described Tai Mantis kung fu and recalled his instruction under Sifu Paul Eng. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

Yesterday was the Anniversary of the the birthday and passing day of my Tai Chi Mantis Shifu. Paul Eng. He was my second Tai Chi Mantis Shifu, the First was Kam Yuen. They were related. He passed away Ed a couple of years ago go. Eng Shifu was about 10 years ago. I first started with Kam Shifu and received my teacher certificate from him. (Northern Shaolin Tai Chi Praying Mantis)

My training included Northern Shaolin, Lohan, Seven Star, Tai Chi Mantis, Ba Qua, Hsing Yi.

Later I trained with Eng Shifu received advanced training and admission into the inner circle of Tai Chi Mantis Society via him. This post is in Honor of him.


Historical Context of Tai Chi Praying Mantis

Praying Mantis boxing (螳螂拳) developed in northern China as a family of related systems rather than a single, uniform style. While popular narratives often trace all mantis boxing to a single founder, historical evidence suggests a gradual evolution, shaped by regional methods, battlefield experience, and individual refinement.

Within this family, Tai Chi Praying Mantis (太極螳螂拳) represents a principle-oriented expression rather than a purely technical divergence.

Relationship to Other Mantis Systems

Seven Star Praying Mantis (七星螳螂拳) is the most widely known branch and is often treated as representative of all mantis boxing. However, Tai Chi Praying Mantis differs in emphasis:

Seven Star favors: Direct aggression Strong percussive force Clear, decisive striking combinations Tai Chi Praying Mantis emphasizes: Listening and sensitivity Adhesion and redirection Lighter contact leading to control

Both are aggressive systems, but their methods of arriving at dominance differ.

The Meaning of “Tai Chi” in Tai Chi Praying Mantis

A common misunderstanding is that Tai Chi Praying Mantis incorporates techniques from Tai Chi Chuan. Historically and functionally, this is incorrect.

In Tai Chi Praying Mantis, “Tai Chi” refers to principle, not choreography.

Specifically:

Using the opponent’s force against them Neutralizing rather than colliding Alternating yin and yang in timing and pressure Maintaining balance while disrupting the opponent’s

These ideas long predate the modern separation of martial arts into named styles and were part of the broader internal logic of Chinese martial culture.

Tai Chi Praying Mantis applies these principles within a mantis framework — through seizing, trapping, elbow control, and rapid finishing — not through Tai Chi Chuan postures.

Northern Shaolin Influence

Northern Shaolin systems historically served as foundational training grounds, providing:

Structure Conditioning Large-frame movement Long-range striking

Tai Chi Praying Mantis emerged and was transmitted alongside this environment, benefiting from Shaolin’s physical discipline while refining it through economy of motion and tactical intelligence.

As practitioners aged or moved into teaching roles, emphasis often shifted away from large, forceful expressions toward principle-driven efficiency — a pattern seen repeatedly across Chinese martial traditions.

Transmission and Refinement

Rather than being a modern hybrid, Tai Chi Praying Mantis represents a refinement process within mantis boxing:

Reducing unnecessary collision Improving timing and sensitivity Prioritizing control over exchange

This refinement made the system especially suitable for:

Smaller practitioners Older practitioners Situations requiring decisive resolution rather than prolonged fighting

Teachers such as Master Chi Chuk Kai preserved this approach by emphasizing principle over appearance, ensuring the art remained functional rather than performative.

Tai Chi Praying Mantis as a Mature System

Historically, many Chinese martial arts evolved toward lighter, more internal expressions over time — not as a loss of effectiveness, but as a gain in clarity.

Tai Chi Praying Mantis reflects this maturity:

It listens before acting It controls before striking It finishes without excess

Seen in this light, Tai Chi Praying Mantis is not an offshoot or compromise, but a culmination — a system shaped by experience, realism, and the understanding that true skill conserves both effort and life.

Monday, December 22, 2025

The Evolution of the Samurai


At Let's Dive into Japanese History, there was an interesting post about the evolution of the samurai from their earliest roots, to becoming the elite warrior caste. 

 An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

 

What is a Samurai and what is a Bushi?

I wrote this a while back regarding Yasuke, but it applies to anyone—including the Japanese—who was not a samurai by birth but achieved the status through service to a lord. The meaning of “samurai” evolved significantly over the centuries; by the Meiji period, the term meant something very different than it did during the Heian period, 1,000 years earlier. By the Sengoku period, being a samurai was largely hereditary—you were born into the class. While there were exceptions, such as Toyotomi Hideyoshi, these instances were incredibly rare.

Due to the shifting nature of the words bushi and samurai, a “grey zone” has developed in our understanding, especially in recent years. Modern cultural shifts and pop culture heavily influence these perceptions. Yasuke’s appointment as a samurai (or hatamoto) fits perfectly into this grey zone of how we perceive the rank. Furthermore, people often fail to consider how historical events were received in their own time. They may not realize that a modern word or term has evolved into something slightly different from its original meaning. The Japanese language, in particular, has changed drastically, even over the last 100 years.

The Etymology of the Warrior

To understand this, we must look at the etymology of samurai and bushi. The character 武 (bu) in the word 武士 (bushi) refers to a person who fights with a weapon, while the character 士 (shi) means a man or gentleman. Together, bushi literally refers to a “warrior.”

On the other hand, the word 侍 (samurai)—which was also used to refer to men who made their living through military force—is derived from the word saburau, meaning “to wait upon” or “to serve” a person of high rank. It is thought to have originated from the prefix moru, meaning “to watch over” or “to guard.” As the etymology suggests, a samurai was a member of the warrior class who specifically served the nobility, such as the aristocracy or the Imperial Family.

In other words, samurai were a higher class of warrior than ronin, ashigaru, or general bushi who lacked a specific master. While ronin are often portrayed in myth as “poor, masterless samurai,” the term simply meant a samurai who was not currently in the service of a lord.

The Rise of the Bushi

The origins of the bushi can be traced back to the Nara period under Emperor Shomu. The Imperial Court sent administrators to local landholders to control taxes and consolidate imperial influence in regional areas. By the Heian period, these local landowners held significant power. However, conflicts frequently broke out as they competed for land, trade routes, and wealth.

To manage these conflicts, local lords began recruiting and arming farmers with bows and swords. After receiving basic training, these men were expected to protect their lord’s lands. The lord could call these farmers to battle at any time, and they were duty-bound to obey. This is the origin of the bushi, which is quite distinct from the origins of the samurai.

The Evolution of Service

As mentioned, the kanji for “samurai” means “to serve.” From the mid-Heian period onward, samurai served the Imperial Court and the nobility, providing personal protection or being dispatched to the provinces to quell rebellions.

However, the term samurai did not originally refer only to warriors. As seen in the word 侍女 (jijo—lady-in-waiting), the character for samurai simply meant “servant.” This included government officials who served closely with the nobility, acting as cooks, assistants, and caretakers.

Over time, this definition shifted. The most significant change occurred during the Sengoku period, when the “samurai” became a complex class system with multiple ranks. If a farmer showed exceptional courage in battle, he could be promoted to the lowest rank of samurai. Toyotomi Hideyoshi is the most famous example of this; he rose from a simple sandal-bearer for Oda Nobunaga to become the de facto ruler of Japan, though such a meteoric rise was exceptionally rare.

By the start of the Edo period, the term samurai was used broadly for warriors of hatamoto rank or higher—those who had direct access to the Shogun.

Why the Confusion Today?

Why is it that despite these crucial historical differences, the terms are used interchangeably today? The reason lies in the Edo period (1603–1868). During this long era of peace, most samurai transitioned from being battlefield warriors to serving as administrators and public servants for the Shogunate and various feudal lords. As a result, the boundary between bushi (the warrior) and samurai (the servant/official) became blurred, leading to the interchangeable usage we see in modern times.

 

Thursday, October 23, 2025

Vintage Kobudo Video


Okinawan Kobudo is the weapons art that often accompanies Karate. Below is a vintage video.

 

 

Sunday, September 28, 2025

The History of Japanese Boxing


At The Budo Journeyman, there was a post describing the history of western boxing in Japan, as well as a look at striking in general. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

I recently read an interview with Okinawan karate expert Patrick McCarthy, in which he said; (worth quoting in its fuller version, to give context):

“Rare as they may be, I witnessed several street/pub confrontations with salary men, over the many years I resided in Japan. I never paid much attention to the fact that not once did I ever see a Japanese kick or punch each other in such encounters. Rather, it was more aggressive shoving, slapping and wrestling than the kind of physical brutality we’ve become so used to in the West. In a conversation with my Fujisawa boxing coach, Mr. Yamagami, I was surprised to learn that Japanese did not have a history of using a kobushi (clenched fist) in street confrontations. In fact, according to him, such a thing did not become popular until the post-war years and even then, it was mostly amongst Yakuza-type Japanese. Later, when I was doing some research …, I discovered a 1921 article written by Sasaki Gogai, in which he talks about how excited the Japanese all were about (kobushi-based fighting) after watching the Jack Dempsy [sic] vs Georges Carpentier’s world title bout in New Jersey earlier that year. When I started asking a few questions here and there I was very surprised to learn that the said fight was the first time a nation (Japan) had ever seen boxing!”

Source: https://www.usadojo.com/one-on-one-with-hanshi-patrick-mccarthy/

I had never thought about this before, and so started to dig into it.

Early boxing in Japan.

It seems that boxing (in a small way) was experienced by the Japanese as early as Matthew Perry and the ‘Black Ships’.

In 1854 there was a kind of sporting bout between a western sailor and a Japanese sumo wrestler. I am pretty sure the wrestler would have tried to use the sumo-style slaps and then bounce the guy, but would have probably suffered against the boxing methodology of the sailor, (which, I wouldn’t have imagined was very sophisticated. In England at the time, the champion boxer was Tom Sayers, who would have been of the bare-knuckled fighting breed). It’s difficult to find any reliable details.

This wasn’t necessarily a full cultural exchange, or the springboard for the Japanese to embrace boxing. That was to come much later.

The establishment of Japanese boxing.

According to Wiki, ‘The first boxing gym Meriken Training Institute (メリケン練習所) was established in Ishikawachō, Yokohama, Kanagawa by James Hōjō (ジェームス 北條) and Toranosuke Saitō (齋藤 虎之助) in 1896. After the first tutorial book, Bōgeki Jizai Seiyō Kentōjutsu (防撃自在西洋拳闘術) was issued in 1900, followed shortly by International Jūken Club (国際柔拳倶楽部) was opened in Mikage, Kobe by Kenji Kanō in 1909’.

Boxing as a sport in Japan became a real thing in the 1920’s with the setting up of professional organisations. So really, boxing had at least forty years of development before the Dempsey fight.

I suspect Mr McCarthy is making a quiet case for the novelty of the Okinawan method of attacking with the fist in a ‘punching’ manner (as it might have appeared to 1920 city dwellers in Tokyo and Osaka). But we know that fighting with the fist had a very long tradition in China, which then leaked across to Okinawa.

Striking arts in Japanese martial arts.

It depends how pedantic you want to be about this. I mean, what do we mean by the fist? Is anything with a closed hand a fist?

The older forms of unarmed combat in Japan had hand strikes a plenty, but not really with the intent of repeatedly bludgeoning someone into submission or unconsciousness. The hand strikes in jujutsu had many nuanced uses; anything from a distraction to an incapacitating nerve strike (strikes to neck, the philtrum or the temple, or multiple other hits to the head, have always been there).

Just to be clear, the sumo slap (harite) is mainly a distractor, or a head turning strategy, not that it wouldn’t be a painless experience to be on the end of it.

 

 

 

Monday, July 28, 2025

Crossing the Threshold


At Budo Journeyman, there is an interesting post about the generations of Japanese martial artists who were active as the transition was being made from the traditional classical martial arts (koryu) into modern(ish) budo.

An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here. 

A theory that there was one snapshot in Japanese history that created a uniquely fertile environment for martial art growth. A historical ‘perfect storm’.

I am grateful to my friend Carl O’Malley for prompting this train of thought.

1890’s or early 1900’s Japan. Otsuka Hironori (then known as Otsuka Ko) was just a boy, but he remembered distinctly first-hand experiences of the remnants of the then defunct and disenfranchised samurai class.

In his book he mentions a certain Mr Suzuki Yoshio, who he described as a seventy-five year old samurai; an elderly warrior from a different age, who had been obviously dramatically and suddenly made obsolete and virtually unemployable as a result of the restructuring of Japanese society in the 1868 Meiji Restoration.

Otsuka Ko describes Mr Suzuki’s demeanour; his look of distrust; even a small boy could be seen as a potential threat. Reading between the lines, for me there seems to be more than a hint of toxic hyper-vigilance, as well as a man being out of his time.

Similarly, Otsuka’s mother’s uncle was another elderly relic. Whether he lived with the family or nearby, I don’t know, but Ebashi Chojiro was a retired/redundant martial arts teacher of the Tsuchiura clan, then based in Ibaraki and disestablished in 1871.

Ebashi’s presence in the youngster’s life was not insignificant. I mention this because these characters were on the tail-end of the historical social circumstances that swirled around the young Otsuka and his extended family.

As he was maturing and growing up, Otsuka’s cultural references, his markers of identity, of who he was, where he came from and where he might go to, gives us a picture of an individual pulled in two directions; the historical past and the modernising future.

A personal reflection.

Now, you might say that doesn’t make him unique… because, aren’t we all in the same boat?

If I look at my own situation.

I was born just thirteen years after the end of WW2; my grandparents were Victorians (granny was born in 1888, the year that Jack the Ripper was prowling the streets of Whitechapel) massive generational differences there.

To a lesser degree than Otsuka’s, like everyone from my generation, I think I can also map out my own life into two distinct epochs:

Internet age and Pre-Internet age.

There is nothing insignificant about those two eras and, in a way, I feel fortunate to have experienced both of them.

But, to return to the martial arts theme.

Otsuka and the other Japanese martial artists crossing the eras.

As mentioned, it was Carl O’Malley who proposed the idea that maybe the Japanese martial artists from that particular timeframe had something special that was not available to the later generations.

As a kendoka; he suggested that younger kendo practitioners had only ever known the modern iteration of kendo as a sport. Whereas for those who trained in kendo in the very early 20th century, it is possible that a large percentage of them had experienced the older forms of kenjutsu, with the blade and the bokken, (not the shinai), and everything that entailed. They would have had Koryu (‘Old School/Tradition’) roots. They were swordsmen first and sporting kendo practitioners second.

Time for some concrete evidence.

First example; Nakayama Hakudō (1872 – 1958).

Here we have a perfect model of a swordsman who bestrode both eras. Look at the years…

Nakayama is cited as started his sword training in a traditional Ryu (Shindō Munen-ryū) in 1891, (this was the school founded in the early 18th century by Fukui Hyōemon Yoshihira, a man who sharpened his skills through duelling in death matches). But, he was actually learning some aspects of swordsmanship from the age of eleven.

Nakayama’s training in the Old Schools would have been very traditional, but based on the deadly serious business found at the edge of the razor-sharp sword.

Nakayama’s dedication to the sword art inevitably involved the bold move of modernisation and significant revision of the older material through kendo and Iaido. My brief description does him no justice – for a fuller story, follow this link: https://www.budokanworld.com/theforgottenlineage