Appearances
Americans, I assume (and have often observed), do not find this an adequate reason. We seem to demand something more immediate and practical as reasons for what we do. Obviously students of iai are not so stuck with this as some others; we have already determined to study a fighting art of no practical, martial use. But why study calligraphy as well? The fact that our teachers did so for generations, perhaps for practical reasons in their own times and contexts, speaks little to our time and context. Well, the same can be said for the study of the sword alone, can't it? What is the point of that in the first place?
The point, for most of us in iai, comes eventually to be that we want to know about the classical samurai from the inside, to develop within ourselves a feeling for their subjectivity, to become like them in some way. As we learn more about them, we want to learn even more about them. And as we learn, we come to realize that we can never learn enough "from the outside" ever to gain that feeling for their subjectivity we have come to desire. We can only do so by doing what they did, albeit in a context extremely different from the one in which they did it.
So, iai was one of the things they did. It may have been the one most important to some of them, and may be to some of us. But it was not the only thing they did. Musashi was a great calligrapher and sumi-e painter, as was Tesshu. My own teacher was a fine calligrapher. Every great swordsman, every ordinary samurai, at least tried to write well. So then must we, if we are to approach their subjectivity from the inside.
There is more to it yet. If we pursue the art of calligraphy in earnest along with the sword, we learn far more about the Japanese cultural context as a whole, for calligraphy is but the flower atop the plant, whose leaves point everywhere, whose roots sink deep into a mysterious cultural matrix. We find, striving to master this flowering, that we must in some way trace also the leaves and stems and roots, else our flowers are sad, foreign-looking mutants. So we are driven to study root and stem and leaf, both from the outside and the inside, until the writing, the flower, has the appearance it should. This makes us better swordsmen. This is, essentially, the meaning of "Bun bu ryo do."
The skill of the swordsman is revealed in his writing as well as in his swordsmanship. In his calligraphy, even he himself can see how it is with himself, as a man and a swordsman. A swordsman's calligraphy is, to the discerning eye, better than that of one who studies calligraphy alone. A calligrapher's swordsmanship is, to the discerning eye, better than that of one who studies swordsmanship alone. We want our iai to be better. That is another reason we study sword and brush together. Ningen keisei
This is a common Japanese saying. It translates roughly "Becoming a complete human being." The character Musashi says it in the biographical novel by Yoshikawa. Nippon Shuji Kyoiku Zaidan (the Japan Calligraphy Education Foundation) uses the phrase as one of its basic tenets. It is, in the end, one of the most fundamental, universal reasons for doing anything, even for continuing to live, when the question of whether or not to do so arises. The word "complete" implies balance. A swordsman who does not write is inherently out of balance, as is a calligrapher who does not study the sword. Transfer this into whatever modern, western context you like, the principle remains the same. Bun bu ryo do is the classical samurai ideal of balance. Without it, you cannot attain ningen keisei.
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[AVAILABLE ONLY IN PDF FORMAT] Sword and Psyche is a journey into one man's experiences in Japan, the practice of Iaido (the ancient practice of Japanese Swordsmanship), the influences of Zen, and a book of philosophy. This book is difficult to "pigeon hole," but Michael Sullivan's pedigree is impeccable. He was granted "Special Honorary Citizenship" of Takamatsu, Kagawa Prefecture, Japan, in 1979, and was the nidan swordsmanship champion of Kagawa Prefecture, in 1982. In 1989 he won the prestigious Nippon Shuji Prize. In general, the traditional Japanese arts are to be taught by example. It necessarily follows that they are to be learned by following the example of one's teachers. I practice swordsmanship and calligraphy together because my teacher did so; he did so because his teacher did so; and his teacher did so because his teacher and the teacher of his teacher all did so, back some three hundred years or more. Our line goes back at least to Yagyu Munenori. Yamaoka Tesshu, the great swordsman and calligrapher of the early Meiji Period, was the teacher of my teacher's teacher's teacher. This is one reason we practice sword and brush together.
