Respecting Live Swords
I’ve been thinking a lot about live swords today…that is, sharp Japanese katana…razor sharp.
In the past, I've seen heard a number of arguments on training with live swords, also known as shinken. Generally, a small number of folks think live blades are important for training, while the majority of practitioners think that such a position is irresponsible and insane.
We use live swords in our school.
Generally, we use them for solo practice, especially iai (sword drawing) forms. We almost always use bokken (wooden swords) for drills with a partner. Although, on very rare occasions, we do use real swords for such drills among the more experienced students--in which case we all move very, very carefully.
And that is the key to the argument in favor of live blades: it forces you to be aware and to treat the weapon with respect. If you are training to fight with a sword, you need to practice with a sword, and know how it behaves and what it can do.
Put crudely--arrogantly--'if you play with toys you will learn to use them as toys.'
It has been said that where kendo is about improving yourself, kenjutsu is about killing. We students of kenjtsu are learning first to avoid death and second to kill. No matter how anachronistic the art, or how graceful we try to make it, in the end we need to be honest with ourselves. This is an art of life and death. In every moment of our practice, we must be serious and mindful.
We practice with live swords so that we will not be harmed by them--yet another paradox of the traditional martial arts.
From the other point of view, the argument against live swords is simple. It's dangerous. Stupidly dangerous. It is irresponsible to place students at risk, and there is enormous liability if they get hurt. Most Japanese sword arts do not let students anywhere near a live blade for many years, if at all.
Of course, kendo is almost defined by its safety equipment (bamboo swords and armor), so one would not expect them to use live blades. Indeed, they take the opposite approach of developing life-and-death mindfulness by being safe enough that kendoka can spar at full speed with full intention.
Most iaido practitioners use an unsharpened iaito instead of a live sword for safety reasons. Although, I often wonder (with pure speculation) if the switch in many styles away from shinken had less to do with safety than with post-WWII restrictions on swords and martial arts. Advanced practitioners will often use shinken, but only after years of practice.
Now, I’m not trying to claim that practicing with a dangerous weapon is superior to other types of training. It is easy to let juvenile machismo lead one down that path. Not everybody practices swords arts for the same reason, not everybody is the same kind of student.
I, for one, am a lifelong klutz.
One can mull all these arguments, but in the end, I practice with a real sword because my teacher tells me that is how I should practice and because that is how he learned. Sometimes it feels terrifying--the first time I swung a live naginata, fear and awareness coursed through me. Sometimes it feels like stupidity. Sometimes it just feels like everyday life. And that, perhaps, is the worst reaction.
In fact, on this particular day I'm not feeling very good about the way I train and the mindfulness behind it. I have stopped fearing my sword. I have become too comfortable in my practice. I have stopped respecting the fact that my sword is a tool of mortal peril.
Thus, yesterday, while practicing a quick-draw I had not tried in months, I stabbed myself in the hand.
The cut was deep--deep enough that I'm lucky no tendons were severed.
I was trying to remember the subtleties of the draw while not paying attention to performing them. I was supposed to stab the imaginary opponent behind me, but I didn't keep my left hand down, so it met the sword's tip at full speed.
In the end, it has all turned out okay. I've got a bunch of stitches and need to keep my hand on light duty for a week or two. All that will remain is an angry scar and embarrassing questions about how I got it.
But for today, I'm thinking hard about swords--what they mean to me and why I practice.
I'm know that next time I pick up my sword it will be with a sense of fear: not respect, but fear of the dog that bit me. Once the fear fades, I hope that a mature respect will return in its place. I hope that for the future I will stay focused and mindful. I hope that every time I pick up my sword, I will stare at the scar on my hand and remember--remember that martial arts is the struggle of life and death--and I'm my own enemy.
In the past, I've seen heard a number of arguments on training with live swords, also known as shinken. Generally, a small number of folks think live blades are important for training, while the majority of practitioners think that such a position is irresponsible and insane.
We use live swords in our school.
Generally, we use them for solo practice, especially iai (sword drawing) forms. We almost always use bokken (wooden swords) for drills with a partner. Although, on very rare occasions, we do use real swords for such drills among the more experienced students--in which case we all move very, very carefully.
And that is the key to the argument in favor of live blades: it forces you to be aware and to treat the weapon with respect. If you are training to fight with a sword, you need to practice with a sword, and know how it behaves and what it can do.
Put crudely--arrogantly--'if you play with toys you will learn to use them as toys.'
It has been said that where kendo is about improving yourself, kenjutsu is about killing. We students of kenjtsu are learning first to avoid death and second to kill. No matter how anachronistic the art, or how graceful we try to make it, in the end we need to be honest with ourselves. This is an art of life and death. In every moment of our practice, we must be serious and mindful.
We practice with live swords so that we will not be harmed by them--yet another paradox of the traditional martial arts.
From the other point of view, the argument against live swords is simple. It's dangerous. Stupidly dangerous. It is irresponsible to place students at risk, and there is enormous liability if they get hurt. Most Japanese sword arts do not let students anywhere near a live blade for many years, if at all.
Of course, kendo is almost defined by its safety equipment (bamboo swords and armor), so one would not expect them to use live blades. Indeed, they take the opposite approach of developing life-and-death mindfulness by being safe enough that kendoka can spar at full speed with full intention.
Most iaido practitioners use an unsharpened iaito instead of a live sword for safety reasons. Although, I often wonder (with pure speculation) if the switch in many styles away from shinken had less to do with safety than with post-WWII restrictions on swords and martial arts. Advanced practitioners will often use shinken, but only after years of practice.
Now, I’m not trying to claim that practicing with a dangerous weapon is superior to other types of training. It is easy to let juvenile machismo lead one down that path. Not everybody practices swords arts for the same reason, not everybody is the same kind of student.
I, for one, am a lifelong klutz.
One can mull all these arguments, but in the end, I practice with a real sword because my teacher tells me that is how I should practice and because that is how he learned. Sometimes it feels terrifying--the first time I swung a live naginata, fear and awareness coursed through me. Sometimes it feels like stupidity. Sometimes it just feels like everyday life. And that, perhaps, is the worst reaction.
In fact, on this particular day I'm not feeling very good about the way I train and the mindfulness behind it. I have stopped fearing my sword. I have become too comfortable in my practice. I have stopped respecting the fact that my sword is a tool of mortal peril.
Thus, yesterday, while practicing a quick-draw I had not tried in months, I stabbed myself in the hand.
The cut was deep--deep enough that I'm lucky no tendons were severed.
I was trying to remember the subtleties of the draw while not paying attention to performing them. I was supposed to stab the imaginary opponent behind me, but I didn't keep my left hand down, so it met the sword's tip at full speed.
In the end, it has all turned out okay. I've got a bunch of stitches and need to keep my hand on light duty for a week or two. All that will remain is an angry scar and embarrassing questions about how I got it.
But for today, I'm thinking hard about swords--what they mean to me and why I practice.
I'm know that next time I pick up my sword it will be with a sense of fear: not respect, but fear of the dog that bit me. Once the fear fades, I hope that a mature respect will return in its place. I hope that for the future I will stay focused and mindful. I hope that every time I pick up my sword, I will stare at the scar on my hand and remember--remember that martial arts is the struggle of life and death--and I'm my own enemy.
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