The meaning of iai practice

Recently, someone posted on a forum I belong to a comment about how watching iai (Japanese swordsmanship) was as much fun to watch as paint drying. He suggested that it might be more fun (tongue firmly in cheek) if someone were to toss a cherry bomb into an iai demonstration and video the stunned reactions of the practitioners, unable to cope with a sudden, unexpected event. Ha ha. The reactions varied from along the lines of "If you think iai is boring, try watching kyudo (archery)" to a minor discussion of what iai practice was actually for. In that writer's opinion, iai practice was to train people to fight with swords, and learning solo kata alone would not be practical enough to accomplish that aim. That's why, he continued, one needed free-sparring with bokuto (kendo having too many rules and being too sportified, I guess, to be much use).

Interestingly, I have been thinking about this issue myself lately. In fact, last night, at my "summer school" class (see the identically-named post) the other instructor and I had a brief chat on what iai kata training was for. He made a nice analogy. "Kata is like learning the alphabet. Learning the alphabet is good, but the point of learning the alphabet is not to stop there. You learn it so you can write poetry." Or, as he continued, to at least be able to write some rudimentary sentences, if that is the best you can do.

The poster noted in the first paragraph was trying to be provocative, and he succeeded somewhat, but I thought the comments he provoked were similarly off the mark. Initially, iai kata was a safe way to control and use a sword - that is definitely true. But even as long ago as 1585, teachers were considering a deeper meaning to practice. That is why Japanese swordsmanship of this type, wherein kata begins and ends with the sword in the scabbard, is called "iai" (whether "-jutsu" or "-do" - take your pick) and was differentiated from kenjutsu - swordsmanship wherein the sword is already drawn. The kanji for "iai" roughly (very roughly) translate as "being in harmony." As a result, while Japanese people can readily understand "kenjutsu" or "kendo", the word "iai" will leave them baffled. (Contrary to a lot of popular belief outside Japan, Japanese people are not walking encyclopedias of traditional culture; if they are not aware of iai, or even jodo for that matter, they will have no idea what it is).

I wondered for a long time about the word "iai." Why name an artform like this, which involves formalized training in deadly technique (not even potentially deadly, pretty much actually deadly) given such an obscure, and seemingly misleading, name? I used to tell Japanese acquaintances "Kenjutsu wa chotto onaji desu. Chotto." ("It's a little like drawn sword technique. A little bit.") There was no adequate way for me to describe it otherwise. Certainly the techniques, once the sword is drawn, are very similar. But there's that damn obscure name thing again.

As much as I am fond of blaming some recent historical events (like the Allied Occupation) for some of the modern, stated reasons for budo practice (my favorite one is "self-improvement"), I cannot do that for the word "iai" because the use of the word predates the war (though I don't know if anyone knows for sure by how many years. If you have a documentable idea, feel free to comment). So, as the name would indicate, iai practice has a meaning beyond the practical one.

One thing iai is not for is to be an end in itself. This, according to a number of people who teach koryu budo and spend time writing and commenting, is one of the fallacies of modern iai practice. And they have a point. Many instructors (including myself) continually harangue students on how to do correct kata. Step like this, cut like that. We use targets occasionally to check the veracity of techniques. We discuss the technical issues - what artery is being cut, what body part being dismembered. I even occasionally have described partner kata like that in demos, and watched some members of the audience wince at the anatomical correctness of the techniques being shown. I don't blame them. It was a ghastly business, swordsmanship. It had ghastly results. And I think people who forget that, considering iai to be simply some sort of meditative art form, are also missing the point.

Two things - the word iai, and that the kata begins and ends with the sword in the scabbard, in addition to whatever philosophical overlay you want to include, are the essence of this style of swordsmanship. Being in harmony suggests being attuned to the world around you - not just plants and animals (which is sometimes what people think of - being in harmony with nature, as it were) but in a world with other people in it. The sword is in the scabbard. The practitioner decides when, for whatever reason, it should be drawn, and when it should be resheathed. That involves moral judgment and courage, and not just timing or other tactical considerations. There are lots of hoary quotes people come up with on this score. Sayings such as "katsujin to" ("life-giving sword") and "the best techniques are done with the sword in the scabbard," though they seem like cliches, have had deep meaning for practitioners. My teacher was one of them.

As for the cherry-bomb at the demo thing, no one, not even in the commentary, suggested doing such a thing if a long-time master swordsman were performing a demo. That's because it would be unlikely to disturb him/her. If it were thrown in such a way as to potentially cause bodily injury, there would certainly be a reaction; but if the object was just to make noise, I doubt it would make much difference. Concentration is not tuning out what is going on around you. On the contrary, it is taking it all in, and adjusting accordingly. My teacher was once performing a demo in a small, chotchke-filled dojo in New Jersey. The host had decorated the space with every imaginable Japanese souvenir. Suddenly, in mid-cut, Sensei let go of his sword, which went clattering to the ground (it made a nice cut in the wooden floor, which we found when we looked around later). The reason for this seemingly-embarrassing moment was that he had miscalculated the placement of a low-level shelf full of breakable objects against the wall. Feeling the blade come in contact with something, he dropped the sword in order not to damage the wall, the shelf, or its contents. He then calmly picked up his sword and continued what he was doing as though it had never happened. The host was baffled that "someone at his level would make such a mistake." But it wasn't a mistake. Sensei never explained it; and only those who were genuinely paying attention knew what had actually happened. It would have been a mistake if he had continued the cut, unmindful of the damage it would cause.

Unfortunately, many students leave practice before they understand any of this deeper meaning of iai. They get through the shoden set, maybe get to shodan level, and, figuring they have an understanding of what they were doing, stop practicing. They know how to use a sword! And it makes them feel badass! I remember the late, great Bill Mears, an iai teacher and one of the most sincere guys I had ever met in my life, regretting the loss of senior students. In his mind, they were so close to actually understanding what practice was all about, but they decided they already knew. He knew - iai is not about kata, or even fighting. It's about poetry.