(no subject)
Swordmanship
THE SWORD is the soul of the samurai": therefore, when the samurai is the subject, the sword inevitably comes with him. The samurai who wishes to be faithful to his vocation will have first of all to ask himself the question: How shall I transcend birth and death so that I can be ready at any moment to give up my life if necessary for my Lord ? This means exposing himself before the enemy's sword stroke or directing his own sword toward himself. The sword thus becomes most intimately connected with the life of the samurai, and it has become the symbol of loyalty and self-sacrifice. The reverence universally paid to it in various ways proves this.
The sword has thus a double office to perform: to destroy anything that opposes the will of its owner and to sacrifice all the impulses that arise from the instinct of self-preservation. The one relates itself to the spirit of patriotism or sometimes militarism, while the other has a religious connotation of loyalty and self-sacrifice. In the case of the former, very frequently the sword may mean destruction pure and simple, and then it is the symbol of force, sometimes devilish force. It must, therefore, be controlled and consecrated by the second function. Its conscientious owner is always mindful of this truth. For then destruction is turned against the evil spirit.. The sword comes to be identified with the annihilation of things that lie in the way of peace, justice, progress, and humanity. It stands for all that is desirable for the spiritual welfare of the world at large. It is now the embodiment of life and not of death.
Zen speaks of the sword of life and the sword of death, and it is the work of a great Zen master to know when and how to wield either of them. Manjusri carries a sword in his right hand and a sutra in his left. This may remind us of the prophet Mohammed, but the sacred sword of Manjusri is not to kill any sentient beings, but our own greed, anger, and folly. It is directed toward ourselves, for when this is done the outside world, which is the reflection of what is within us, becomes also free from greed, anger, and folly. Acala (Fudo Myoo) also carries a sword, and he will destroy all the enemies who oppose the practice of the Buddhist virtues. Manjusri is positive, Acala is negative. Acala's anger burns like a fire and will not be put down until it burns up the last camp of the enemy: he will then assume his original features as the Vairocana Buddha, whose servant and manifestation he is. The Vairocana holds no sword, he is the sword itself, sitting alone with all the worlds within himself. In the following mondo, "the one sword" signifies this sword:
Kusunoki Masashige ( 1294-1336} came to a Zen monastery at Hyogo when he was about to meet the overwhelming army of Ashikaga Takauji ( 1305-1358} at the Minatogawa, and asked the master, "When a man is at the parting of the ways between life and death, how should he behave ?" Answered the master , "Cut off your dualism, and let the one sword stand serenely by itself against the sky!" This absolute "one sword" is neither the sword of life nor the sword of death, it is the sword from which this world of dualities issues and in which they all have their being, it is the Vairocana Buddha himself. You take hold of him, and you know how to behave where ways part.
The sword here represents the force of intuitive or instinctual directness, which unlike the intellect does not divide itself, blocking its own passageway. It marches onward without looking backward or sideways. It is like Chuang-tzu's dissecting knife that cuts along the joints as if they were waiting to be separated. Chuang-tzu would say then: The joints separate by themselves, and then the knife, even after many years of use, is as sharp as when it first came from the hands of the grinder. The One Sword of Reality never wears out after cutting up ever so many victims of selfishness.
The sword is also connected with Shinto. But I do not think that it has attained in this connection so highly developed a spiritual significance as in Buddhism. It still betrays its naturalistic origin. It is not a symbol but an object endowed with some mysterious power. In the feudal days of Japan, the samurai class cherished this kind of idea toward the sword, although it is difficult to define exactly what was going 'on in their minds. At least they paid the utmost respect to it: at the samurai's death it was placed beside his bed, and when a child was born it found its place in the room. The idea was probably to prevent any evil spirits from entering the room that might interfere with the safety and happiness of the departed or the coming 'spirit. Here lingers an animistic way of thinking. The idea of a sacred sword, too, may be interpreted in this way.
It is noteworthy that, when making swords, the sword smith invokes the aid of the guardian god. To invite him to the workshop, the smith surrounds it with consecrated ropes, thus excluding evil spirits, while he goes through the ceremony of ablution and dons the ceremonial dress in which he works. While striking the iron bar and giving it baths of fire and water, the smith and his helper are in the most intensified state of mind. Confident the god's help will be given to their work, they exert themselves to the limit of their powers, mental, physical, and spiritual. The sword thus produced is a true work of art. The Japanese sword must reflect something deeply appealing to the soul of the people. They look at it, indeed, not as a weapon of destruction but as an object of inspiration. Hence the legend of Okazaki Masamune the sword smith and his products.
Masamune flourished in the latter part of the Kamakura era, and his works are uniformly prized by all the sword connoisseurs for their excellent qualities. As fari8s the edge of the blade is concerned, Masamune may not exceed Muramasa, one of his ablest disciples, but Masamune is said to have some- thing morally inspiring that comes from his personality. The legend goes thus: When someone was trying to test the sharp"' ness of a Muramasa, he placed it in a current of water and watched how it acted against the dead leaves flowing down- stream. He saw that every leaf that met the blade was cut in twain. He then placed a Masamune, and he was surprised to find that the leaves avoided the blade. The Masamune was not bent on killing, it was more than a cutting implement, whereas the Muramasa could not go beyond cutting, there was nothing divinely inspiring in it. The Muramasa is terrible, the Masamune is humane. One is despotic and imperialistic, the other is super- human, if we may use this form of expression. Masamune almost never engraved his name on the hilt, although this was customary with sword smiths.
The ‘No play Kokaj’i gives us some idea about the moral and religious significance of the sword among the Japanese. The 'play was) probably composed in the Ashikaga era. The Emperor Ichijo (reigned 986-1011) once ordered a sword to be made by Kokaji Munechika, who was one of the great sword- smiths of the day. Munechika felt greatly honored, but he could not fill the order unless he had an able assistant equal in skill to himself. He prayed to the god of Inari, who was his guardian god, to send him someone fully competent for the work. In the meantime he prepared his sacred platform in due accordance with the traditional rites. When all the process of purification was completed, he offered this prayer: "The work I am going to undertake is not just for my selfish glorification; it is to obey the august order of the Emperor who reigns over the entire world. I pray to all the gods numbering as many as the sands of Gailga to come here and give their help to this humble Munechika, who is now going to do his utmost to produce a sword worthy of the virtue of the august patron." Looking upward to the sky and prostrating himself on the ground, he offers to the gods the nusa 2 symbolic of his most earnest desire to accomplish the work successfully. Would that the gods might have pity on his sincerity! A voice is now heard from somewhere: "Pray, pray, O Munechika, in all humbleness and in all earnestness. The time is come to strike the iron. Trust the gods and the work will be done." A mysterious figure appeared before him and helped him in hammering the heated iron, which came out of the forge in due time with every desirable mark of perfection and auspiciousness. The Emperor was pleased with the sword, which was worthy to be treasured as sacred and merit-producing.
As something of divinity enters into the making of the sword, its owner and user ought also to respond to the inspiration. He ought to be a spiritual man, not an agent of brutality. His mind ought to be at one with the soul which animates the cold steel. The great swordsmen have never been tired of instilling this feeling into the minds of their pupils. When the Japanese say that the sword is the soul of the samurai, we must remember all that goes with it, as I have tried to set forth above: loyalty, self-sacrifice, reverence, benevolence, and the cultivation of other higher feelings. Here is the true samurai.
THE SWORD is the soul of the samurai": therefore, when the samurai is the subject, the sword inevitably comes with him. The samurai who wishes to be faithful to his vocation will have first of all to ask himself the question: How shall I transcend birth and death so that I can be ready at any moment to give up my life if necessary for my Lord ? This means exposing himself before the enemy's sword stroke or directing his own sword toward himself. The sword thus becomes most intimately connected with the life of the samurai, and it has become the symbol of loyalty and self-sacrifice. The reverence universally paid to it in various ways proves this.
The sword has thus a double office to perform: to destroy anything that opposes the will of its owner and to sacrifice all the impulses that arise from the instinct of self-preservation. The one relates itself to the spirit of patriotism or sometimes militarism, while the other has a religious connotation of loyalty and self-sacrifice. In the case of the former, very frequently the sword may mean destruction pure and simple, and then it is the symbol of force, sometimes devilish force. It must, therefore, be controlled and consecrated by the second function. Its conscientious owner is always mindful of this truth. For then destruction is turned against the evil spirit.. The sword comes to be identified with the annihilation of things that lie in the way of peace, justice, progress, and humanity. It stands for all that is desirable for the spiritual welfare of the world at large. It is now the embodiment of life and not of death.
Zen speaks of the sword of life and the sword of death, and it is the work of a great Zen master to know when and how to wield either of them. Manjusri carries a sword in his right hand and a sutra in his left. This may remind us of the prophet Mohammed, but the sacred sword of Manjusri is not to kill any sentient beings, but our own greed, anger, and folly. It is directed toward ourselves, for when this is done the outside world, which is the reflection of what is within us, becomes also free from greed, anger, and folly. Acala (Fudo Myoo) also carries a sword, and he will destroy all the enemies who oppose the practice of the Buddhist virtues. Manjusri is positive, Acala is negative. Acala's anger burns like a fire and will not be put down until it burns up the last camp of the enemy: he will then assume his original features as the Vairocana Buddha, whose servant and manifestation he is. The Vairocana holds no sword, he is the sword itself, sitting alone with all the worlds within himself. In the following mondo, "the one sword" signifies this sword:
Kusunoki Masashige ( 1294-1336} came to a Zen monastery at Hyogo when he was about to meet the overwhelming army of Ashikaga Takauji ( 1305-1358} at the Minatogawa, and asked the master, "When a man is at the parting of the ways between life and death, how should he behave ?" Answered the master , "Cut off your dualism, and let the one sword stand serenely by itself against the sky!" This absolute "one sword" is neither the sword of life nor the sword of death, it is the sword from which this world of dualities issues and in which they all have their being, it is the Vairocana Buddha himself. You take hold of him, and you know how to behave where ways part.
The sword here represents the force of intuitive or instinctual directness, which unlike the intellect does not divide itself, blocking its own passageway. It marches onward without looking backward or sideways. It is like Chuang-tzu's dissecting knife that cuts along the joints as if they were waiting to be separated. Chuang-tzu would say then: The joints separate by themselves, and then the knife, even after many years of use, is as sharp as when it first came from the hands of the grinder. The One Sword of Reality never wears out after cutting up ever so many victims of selfishness.
The sword is also connected with Shinto. But I do not think that it has attained in this connection so highly developed a spiritual significance as in Buddhism. It still betrays its naturalistic origin. It is not a symbol but an object endowed with some mysterious power. In the feudal days of Japan, the samurai class cherished this kind of idea toward the sword, although it is difficult to define exactly what was going 'on in their minds. At least they paid the utmost respect to it: at the samurai's death it was placed beside his bed, and when a child was born it found its place in the room. The idea was probably to prevent any evil spirits from entering the room that might interfere with the safety and happiness of the departed or the coming 'spirit. Here lingers an animistic way of thinking. The idea of a sacred sword, too, may be interpreted in this way.
It is noteworthy that, when making swords, the sword smith invokes the aid of the guardian god. To invite him to the workshop, the smith surrounds it with consecrated ropes, thus excluding evil spirits, while he goes through the ceremony of ablution and dons the ceremonial dress in which he works. While striking the iron bar and giving it baths of fire and water, the smith and his helper are in the most intensified state of mind. Confident the god's help will be given to their work, they exert themselves to the limit of their powers, mental, physical, and spiritual. The sword thus produced is a true work of art. The Japanese sword must reflect something deeply appealing to the soul of the people. They look at it, indeed, not as a weapon of destruction but as an object of inspiration. Hence the legend of Okazaki Masamune the sword smith and his products.
Masamune flourished in the latter part of the Kamakura era, and his works are uniformly prized by all the sword connoisseurs for their excellent qualities. As fari8s the edge of the blade is concerned, Masamune may not exceed Muramasa, one of his ablest disciples, but Masamune is said to have some- thing morally inspiring that comes from his personality. The legend goes thus: When someone was trying to test the sharp"' ness of a Muramasa, he placed it in a current of water and watched how it acted against the dead leaves flowing down- stream. He saw that every leaf that met the blade was cut in twain. He then placed a Masamune, and he was surprised to find that the leaves avoided the blade. The Masamune was not bent on killing, it was more than a cutting implement, whereas the Muramasa could not go beyond cutting, there was nothing divinely inspiring in it. The Muramasa is terrible, the Masamune is humane. One is despotic and imperialistic, the other is super- human, if we may use this form of expression. Masamune almost never engraved his name on the hilt, although this was customary with sword smiths.
The ‘No play Kokaj’i gives us some idea about the moral and religious significance of the sword among the Japanese. The 'play was) probably composed in the Ashikaga era. The Emperor Ichijo (reigned 986-1011) once ordered a sword to be made by Kokaji Munechika, who was one of the great sword- smiths of the day. Munechika felt greatly honored, but he could not fill the order unless he had an able assistant equal in skill to himself. He prayed to the god of Inari, who was his guardian god, to send him someone fully competent for the work. In the meantime he prepared his sacred platform in due accordance with the traditional rites. When all the process of purification was completed, he offered this prayer: "The work I am going to undertake is not just for my selfish glorification; it is to obey the august order of the Emperor who reigns over the entire world. I pray to all the gods numbering as many as the sands of Gailga to come here and give their help to this humble Munechika, who is now going to do his utmost to produce a sword worthy of the virtue of the august patron." Looking upward to the sky and prostrating himself on the ground, he offers to the gods the nusa 2 symbolic of his most earnest desire to accomplish the work successfully. Would that the gods might have pity on his sincerity! A voice is now heard from somewhere: "Pray, pray, O Munechika, in all humbleness and in all earnestness. The time is come to strike the iron. Trust the gods and the work will be done." A mysterious figure appeared before him and helped him in hammering the heated iron, which came out of the forge in due time with every desirable mark of perfection and auspiciousness. The Emperor was pleased with the sword, which was worthy to be treasured as sacred and merit-producing.
As something of divinity enters into the making of the sword, its owner and user ought also to respond to the inspiration. He ought to be a spiritual man, not an agent of brutality. His mind ought to be at one with the soul which animates the cold steel. The great swordsmen have never been tired of instilling this feeling into the minds of their pupils. When the Japanese say that the sword is the soul of the samurai, we must remember all that goes with it, as I have tried to set forth above: loyalty, self-sacrifice, reverence, benevolence, and the cultivation of other higher feelings. Here is the true samurai.