Josh Gold
The Warring States period (sengoku jidai) of Japanese history was a time of immense social upheaval and frequent military conflict. It lasted from just after the middle of the 15th century until the beginning of the 17th century (1467 to 1600). During this period the Samurai perfected many aspects of bujitsu ranging from armed and unarmed combat on a personal level to strategies involving armies of tens of thousands of men.
It was also a period in which warriors came to understand the psychology involved in success and the futility in only aspiring to win in competition as a philosophy of how to live. It is from this period of creativity and conflict that the seeds of Aikido were created.
It was the successful daimyo Takeda Shingen who adopted the phrase Fū-Rin-Ka-Zan (風林火山) as his war slogan. The phrase is fully rendered as follows:
Kaya ki koto kaze no gotoku.
Shizu kanaru koto hayashi no gotoku.
Shin ryakusuru koto hi no gotoku.
Ugokazaru koto yama no gotuku.
Fast like the wind.
Silent like the forest
Intrusive like fire
Immobile like a mountain
The phrase is originally from the Chinese work by Sun Tsu ‘The Art of War’. It occurs in the 13th verse of the seventh chapter dealing with manoeuvre. In the translation by Samual B. Griffith the complete verse is translated as follows:
When campaigning, be swift as the wind;
in leisurely march, majestic as the forest;
in raiding and plundering, like fire;
in standing, firm as the mountains.
As unfathomable as the clouds,
move like a thunderbolt.
Sun Tsu The Art of War translated by Samual B. Griffith ,Duncan Baird Publishers, London, 2005
Takeda Shingen was formally known as Takeda Harunobu. He adopted the name Shingen in 1551, after two decades of successful conflict against other clans of central Honshu. Takeda Shingen was a well educated man who displayed interest in a wide range of subjects. His damming of the Fuji River was one of the most significant engineering developments of the 16th century and his innovations in provincial administration were the foundation of the model used by the Tokugawa Shogunate.
The name Shingen is composed of two Chinese parts; ‘shin’ meaning believe and ‘gen’ meaning black: the colour associated by Buddhists with truth and intelligence. At the same time as he adopted his name Shingen adopted the robes of a monk. Interestingly, shingen also means mind’s eye and Yagu shingen ryu was one of the systems O-Sensei studied in the early 20th century.
The aim of this essay is to show my understanding of how Fū-Rin-Ka-Zan relates to my practice of Aikido as it is taught in our school. A paradox in applying Fū-Rin-Ka-Zan is that while there is great worth in using the verse as a guide to one’s own practice, a practitioner must also understand how these principles will be applied against him by a well trained warrior. Each line of the verse is discussed in turn and a concluding summary will detail my appreciation of the verses meaning as a whole.
Fast like the wind.
As a human I rarely move as fast as the wind. Wind can move at speeds ranging from several kilometres an hour up to hundreds of kilometres an hour, but there is more to the how fast the wind moves than it’s speed.
Wind is air moving as a fluid. It flows efficiently. It moves from an area of high pressure to another of low pressure in a way that is the shortest time path. Rather than passing through a mountain it flows around it. Winds can be chaotic in their flow creating eddies, turbulence and zones of low pressure behind that which the wind flows over. But most often wind is a smooth laminar flow. Good Aikido has all these characteristics.
Fluidity is a key aspect of Aikido. In Japanese flow is called nagashi. While one hears the term nagashi waza (flowing from one technique to another) in more advanced practice nagashi is always present in well executed kihon waza (basic techniques). In irimi nage I imagine uke’s arm being moved in flowing arc like that followed by a wave breaking on the shore and a well executed gokyo also has the strong sense of flow both over and along the arm of uke.
A flowing wind is also seen in the paths of arc and spirals executed by both nage and uke. In such arcs and spirals we see the path of wind as it weaves between obstacles. So it is in aikido. Kaiten-nage clearly exhibits both horizontal and vertical arcs in it’s execution. The intricate spiral of uke’s wrist in shiho-nage, and of nage’s motion around uke are more complex arc and truly something to wonder at.
Understanding taisabaki (body motion) depends on both renshu (committed work on the basics) and conceptualising the arcs of motion like the path of a bokken or katana. The smooth power of kenjutsu’s cutting was translated by O-Sensei into the efficient aiki of aikido. Looking to achieve this flow necessitates understand the kaiten-juki (the axis of rotation) around which the arc of movement occurs. I have found in learning, or stealing a technique, to understand how things move around the kaiten-juki, an indeed, how the kaiten-juki may move. Legs, arms and bodies all move in a variety of ways but the paths and arcs followed by the centres and intentions of uke and nage are are the heart of a techniques.
Avoiding direct blocking and leading ki are also evoked by the image of the wind. Unlike some forms of karate, aikido blocks redirect or prevent a build-up of power rather than attempting to stop dead a strike or grab. I believe the term hito-e-mi (blending with motion of attack) is as true of a block as it is of moving one’s centre. I understand too that such blocks are atemi which can render an opponent more unbalanced and susceptible to techniques. It cannot be a coincidence that so many atemi seen in early photographs and films of aikido bear close correlations to acupuncture points. In these things I see aspects of the Tenjin Shinyo-ryu which O-Sensei studied. In such strikes, and in the leading of uke’s intention, once contact is made nage’s behaviour can be hard to perceive by uke – nage’s very presence can at times become as elusive as the wind.
When I seek shelter from the wind I look for an area where the wind does not flow. So it is in aikido practice. Irimi and tai-no-henko both place nage into the position of safety, outside the flow of uke’s intention. The things that allow this to happen successfully are mae-no-sen (taking the initiative), itare enten-jizui (moving and turning freely) and happo-baraki (to be totally aware of ones surroundings). No hesitation so that one flows smoothly into that place of safety evokes the image of the wind. Done well, it is also fast.
I have one last point to make about aikido and it’s relationship to the wind. Besides rendering one safe and entraining the flow of uke’s energy the fluidity of aikido makes practice for me a mokuso (meditation). Wind, regardless of it’s speed, causes change. For me, being part of the flow of practice also causes change. It is a paradox that I can come to class after a day of dealing with stressful situations and people and find peace in being attacked physically. It’s like being becalmed in a sailing boat and having the wind rise. Practice allows one to forget the issues we worry on while becalmed and engage with the here and now; to be present in the moment.
Silent like the forest
Silent or majestic, a forest should inspire awe in us. It is a most complex entity in a state of equilibrium. Forests are rarely silent. I think that the silence of the forest refers to the lack of intention that the living forest has. It is not working towards an end; it just is. It reacts and adapts to the changes in it’s environment.
For me, the silence of a forest speaks of the state of mind one should aspire to in practice. It is the concept of mushin, no mind. Kenji Tomiki sensei wrote of mushin mugamae (an empty or open mind) which is both a mental attitude and a stance. One should be open to one’s attacker and adapt to redirect and neutralise the energy of the attacker. One should accept the energy of uke’s attack without any preconceptions as to how one will deal with the attack, or for that matter what the attack will be. Moving toward the energy of uke should be like the growth of the forest’s plants. They grow towards the light so they can use it, but do so without a conscious intention.
Renshu provides a practitioner with the body memory to act appropriately, often faster than the conscious mind can think. It is the essential component of a warrior’s arsenal because no matter how tired, or incapacitated one is, correct body memory provides a chance of survival. I was once taught in ju jitsu that in completing the strangling of an opponent one should not move away without first delivering a debilitating atemi to a kyusho of the the barely conscious uke. My teacher explained that, particularly when armed, being barely conscious did not preclude a well trained practitioner delivering a lethal strike to an unwary opponent.
The image of a forest also evokes for me the smell of the forest on a warm day and reminds me of the importance of breathing in my practice. Inbuki, In-inbuki, yo-inbuki, ikki-ni, kokyu ho, kokyu nage, fukushiki-kokyu: aikido terminology contains many terms relating to the breath. Mirroring the breath of uke, breathing as one takes ukemi and modulating one’s breathing to change the rhythm of combat are all essential parts of a bujin’s repertoire.
The forest image also reminds me that in executing a technique I should aim to move uke’s mind before his, or her, body. A forest affects us for many reasons,: it’s beauty, it’s age, it’s apparent unchanging nature, it’s diversity. The Japanese speak of kokoro-gamae (mental attitude) as being an essential aspect of budo. While I seek to have a calm and clear mind I should also project a sense of presence and awareness to my opponent. Only a foolish, or disturbed person attacks someone who appears to have no openings. Being attacked, however, I must lead uke’s intention with mine, not through strength but by touch and anticipation.
The concept of zanshin is part of leading the opponents mind. Literally zanshin means ‘remaining spirit’ or ‘abiding spirit’. It is the state of calm and forceful awareness one assumes at the end of a technique. In kendo, one adopts a state of zanshin before finishing a waza as a matter of course, and so it should be in aikido practice. While zanshin acts to focus nage’s attention on the environment and establish ma ai, it also serves notice to any other attackers that they confront an engaged and prepared opponent.
Intrusive like fire
Fire working along a piece of fuel does not let go. It intrudes into every crevice like an inquisitive thing and it consumes that which it plays on. Where the flames move appears unpredictable; at one moment flickering here and then somewhere else. To me being intrusive like fire speaks of four important principles you have taught: maintaining contact with uke, the concept of timing, the understanding of continuous attack (kashaki-uchi) and, most importantly, the concept of intention, or ki. All these things together speak of positive engagement: of irimi.
Maintaining contact is essential to effecting good techniques. Disengagement, or hesitation breaks the connection nage has with uke’s energy or intention. In blending with the motion of an attack (hito-e-mi) I must stay in contact with uke in order to lead their intention. If contact is broken I have to create reengagement through atemi or taking ma-ai and waiting on uke’s response. Atemi here is a method of changing uke’s concentration. While atemi can be used to cause damage or pain I understand that a peaceful warrior acting compassionately will use it as an attention getter rather than as a method of doing damage.
Timing is a key aspect of engagement. Indeed, it is in the Fire book that Musashi Miyamoto speaks of ken no sen, sen no sen, or sensen no sen (early attack) , tai no sen (attaching at the same time) and go no sen (late attack) as the three ways of engaging an enemy in The Book of Five Rings. The founder’s view on this aspect of engagement I found important in my understanding of aikido. O-Sensei spoke of engagement as a harmonious interaction in these words:
“It is not a question of either ‘sensen no sen’ or ‘sen no sen.’ If I were to try to verbalize it I would say that you control your opponent without trying to control him. That is, the state of continuous victory. There isn’t any question of winning over or losing to an opponent. In this sense, there is no opponent in aikido. Even if you have an opponent, he becomes a part of you, a partner you control only.”
O-Sensi quoted by Stanly Pranin Exploring the Founder’s Aikido Aikido Journal Article No 600
So, while understanding and practicing these means of engagement enhances practice, I understand that the key to better practice is to see the nature of engagement as one which is spontaneous in accord with the intention of uke. What is appropriate in terms of my timing is determined by uke’s actions, not by mine. It is determined by ma ai, stance and the manner of attack.
In a similar way, the kaeshi-waza we have been practicing using the four relationships between techniques (the 1024 kata) are best understood in terms of harmonious interaction. So long as I follow the intention of nage in a state of balance I maintain the opportunity to become nage. I am also coming to understand as uke the importance of turning toward nage in a technique as part of that harmonious interaction. It helps me maintain my centre and creates the nexus from which I can move from receiving a technique to applying one.
The concept of fire is also a strong reminder of kashaki-uchi. While harmonising with uke I must be mindful that real attacks never involve a single strike but are most often jiju waza: a series of techniques. As uke I need to move as if to set up another technique for to do so is an honest practice. Out of courtesy I do not stall nage’s practice, if I can, but the reality is that a technique which is well executed works better with a dynamic and engaged uke. Someone who allows a technique to be applied to them ‘mindlessly’ neither learns nor helps nage to learn.
Ki, or intention is a fundamental part of Aikido and the image of fire really exemplifies this aspect of practice. It is a concept I find hard to fathom in the writings of some aikido practioners. I understand your teaching of ki as intention and the importance of projection through my arms in techniques such as sumi otoshi and tenshi nage. My current view on ki development is that I should aspire to a state of kihaku which I see in your vigorous way approaching aikido and in the way writers have described O-Sensei’s practice. Kihaku means the overall energy level one displays in one’s practice. The alertness and sensitivity one sees in film of O-Sensei speaks of the energy and engagement with his surroundings that O-sensei attained.
Immobile like a mountain
Mountains abide. The image of the mountain reminds me of the importance of being centred and the role of the tanden in the way one moves. It also reminds me of what a peaceful warrior is.
How can one be immobile in a dynamic practice like aikido? I think there are two ways: in the state of a quiet mind and in not having one’s centre, rise or fall: being always centred. I have already spoken of the psychology of no-mind as being still like a forest so I will not repeat it here. Of the centre, and being centred more can be said.
When I first started training in Aikido it was not long after I had been watching sparring at a karate dojo. I was struck by “how down-to earth” aikido was where practitioners kept both feet firmly attached to the planet. I now understand why. The energy we have and the balance we maintain comes from our centres. Like a swordsman I must maintain a flexible but centred state of balance. Just as avoiding the kissaki or ha of a sword by moving is sometimes measured in millimetres so is the movement of my centre when I properly engage the intention of uke in taijutsu.
Correct posture is intimately linked to good balance and the ability to relax in practice. While correct posture is important in any martial art I believe that the use of the bokken, tanto, arnis and jo all contribute to a better posture and more natural way of moving. You have frequently referred to Da Vinci’s Vetruvian Man and the concept of opposite arm and leg acting together through the centre. This provides power without loss of balance.
The concept of being centred is so important I wish I could write more on it. At present it is something I strive to improve but I cannot articulate it’s essence other than to say without it nothing else works as aiki.
For me the concept of a mountain abiding exemplifies the concept of the peaceful warrior. One of the things I admire most about the Japanese samurai was their readiness to fight and die for a principle. For many people the concept of a warrior being peaceful is a contradiction in terms. But I understand that peace, true peace, only arises when the bullies and the bad people of the world understand that those they would prey on contain some who will oppose injustice with skill and ferocity, should they need to.
I think the Shindo Yoshin-ryu master Yukiyoshi Takamura summed up the relationship between non-violence and budo particularly well when he said:
“Some aikido teachers talk a lot about non-violence, but fail to understand this truth. A pacifist is not really a pacifist if he is unable to make a choice between violence and non-violence. A true pacifist is able to kill or maim in the blink of an eye, but at the moment of impending destruction of the enemy he chooses non-violence. He chooses peace. He must be able to make a choice. He must have the genuine ability to destroy his enemy and then choose not to.”
Interview with Yukiyoshi Takamura by Stanley Pranin
Aikido Journal #117 (1999)
A mountain is formidable. At a distance it is majestic and still but, as many mountaineers have learnt a mountain can kill those who transgress upon it.
A final thought on aikido and the abiding mountain is that the mountain can be thought of as the corpus of aikido knowledge. While a forest grows and adapts, a mountain abides. Like the mountain, the core concepts of aikido do not change. They are the core on which we build our understanding. Irimi nage, for example, is the “twenty year technique” because to truly understand it takes a great deal of practice. It is as if the technique abides like the mountain waiting for us to explore it’s geography until we ultimately know it.
Conclusion
Fū-Rin-Ka-Zan is a powerful image with which to contemplate and recall important lessons of our aikido school. The Takeda mon with it’s four diamonds might well symbolise the wind, forest, fire and mountain. At the same time it possibly represents four flexible formations which together create something which can be as flexible as a fluid at times and yet as hard as a diamond at other times.
Like many things Japanese, or Chinese, it is possible to see dichotomies in the four parts of Fū-Rin-Ka-Zan. The yin, or tranquil part, is the forest and the mountain. The yang, or active part, is the fire and the wind. The wind and fire cause change while the forest and mountain appear unchanging.
In terms of our practice the dichotomy that pleases me most is the association with the way we enter. Wind and fire are like irimi from ai-hanmi and the forest and mountain are like tenkan from gyaku hanmi. The relationship of the wind and fire to entering seems straight forward but why are forests and mountains like tenkan? Unknown forests and mountains are best negotiated safely by travelling around them rather than risking becoming lost in or on them. As you travel around a mountain you see it apparently rotate around you. It is all a matter of perspective.
The whole is much more than the sum of it’s parts. Just as the successful execution of a technique draws together intention, timing, and all the other things which make for successful practice , so Fū-Rin-Ka-Zan can be seen as a single attitude. It is an approach to the world. It is an approach not only for conflict but for learning and generally being part of the world.
Like Takeda Shingen’s forces who were successful in a world of strife because they understood strategy we similarly should strive to understand Shingen’s strategy. It is not enough to learn aikido as simply a set of techniques, as a moku roku. We must understand the underlying themes and psychology of the techniques that make aikido such a wonderful learning tool. Just as Shingen used SunTsu’s understanding, we can apply the same precepts to our practice.
On his deathbed Shingen, rather than write a death poem, chose an epitaph derived from Zen literature. The phrase he chose is about reality personified as a woman. It is largely left to her own natural bodily perfection, and she has no special need to resort to artificial colouring and powdering to look beautiful.
The meaning of these lines is that the true nature of things is best grasped intuitively and directly. In our school we attain our understanding through direct practice. “Less talking and more practicing!” sensei frequently says.
Shingen’s epitaph is another way of looking at Fū-Rin-Ka-Zan. By engaging with the world like the wind, forest, fire and mountain we become direct and intuitive about the reality we experience. Such a direct and honest engagement benefits both us and those who we engage with.
Shingen’s epitaph also reminds us that deep philosophising does not add to a true understanding of either reality or aikido and that such philosophising may merely be a distraction. While recognising this danger, there is merit in an essay such as this. Such an essay allows one to articulate what one has learnt and be reminded of how one’s understanding has changed. Importantly an essay such as this reminds one of the debt one owes to one’s teachers. For these reasons I have enjoyed the opportunity to write this essay.
September, 2008
