The Path to Wisdom - Reviewing Eiji Yoshikawa's "Musashi"; Book VI: Sun and Moon
“Two swords!”
In Eiji Yoshikawa’s novel, Miyamoto Musashi quietly exclaims these two words in a moment of revelation near the end of Book VI: Sun and Moon. Still living in the Edo area, he’s asked by Iori to take him to an important religious festival being hosted on the paths of a sacred mountain. Forgive me for failing to remember the exact name of the mountain or the festival, but it’s the context and result of this scenario which is most important here.
Iori, Musashi’s youngest student and ward, wishes to go to the festival to watch the ceremonial dances and listen to the music. These are things which he grew up with and as such, they remind him of his late family and are an easy and meaningful way for the boy to engage with the arts. Musashi doesn’t initially wish to go, but it’s not long before he agrees. It’s a good thing he did, too, for this one small decision ends up leading him to a revelation that will result in him finally creating the style of swordsmanship for which he was famed: the two sword style, Niten Ichi.
Welcome back, dear readers, to the penultimate sixth entry in my ongoing first impressions review of Musashi, Eiji Yoshikawa’s historical romance novel which dramatizes the life story of Japan’s Greatest Swordsman. In my previous review I examined Book V: Sky, which ended up being the most contentious part of the story for me thus far. This isn’t because any part of it was particularly bad, Yoshikawa’s writing has been consistently excellent across the course of his novel. Rather, it was due to my disagreeing with the way he handled certain long standing characters in that part of the book; namely Matahachi, Akemi, and Musashi’s first student, Jotaro.
More importantly, I admitted in that review that where the first four showcased a relationship between their titles and their themes which were very clear for me from the outset, the fifth book’s title of Sky came across as more esoteric and obscure. I posited in the review that the reason for this disconnect was likely the result of differences in culture, philosophy, and belief between myself as a Westerner and the Zen Buddhist philosophies that Yoshikawa draws on for his novel.
If you haven’t already, you can read the previous parts of my ongoing review here:
Book I: Earth | Book II: Water | Book III: Fire | Book IV: Wind | Book V: Sky
It turns out I was correct in this estimation. In Buddhism, Sky as a concept is synonymous with Heaven. This isn’t particularly surprising since most human faiths tend to view the sky as the heavens themselves, but since my knowledge of any form of Buddhism is minimal at best, the significance of the concept ended up going over my head. As such, I’d like to thank SOLARIS, one of the commenters on my review of Book V for clarifying the significance of the Buddhist concept of Sky/Heaven, as it helped me to fully complete the connections that I’d missed the last time around. His comment reads as follows:
“Heaven in the Buddhist conception has the same meaning as Void, which is basically Nirvana, and this connects with Musashi's path of the sword evolving into the path of life, goodness and virtue, as expressed in the agricultural arc.”
With this clarification in place, the thematic relationships between the fifth book’s titular concept and the events that take place therein were made considerably clearer. And with this understanding now in mind, it also became clear to me that I can no longer approach the remainder of these reviews as strictly first impressions. Cursory research into the general ideas of the Buddhist concepts being touched on in the titles of both this current book, Book VI: Sun and Moon; and the remaining book, Book VII: The Perfect Light; I now view as absolute requirements for me to gain the fullest initial understanding I can. So, with that in mind, let’s get started with the review proper.
I began this review by touching on Musashi’s revelation about his two-sword style for good reason. However, before I dig into my reasoning, let’s take a look at the events of that scene. As he’s watching the ceremony unfold, Musashi takes notice of a particular detail that leads him to this revelation. Yet, why now? This isn’t the first ceremony of this type that he’s attended before. Similar ones, albeit on a smaller scale, were held regularly back in his home province of Mimasaka. He’s also watched similar ceremonies while he was still traveling with Jotaro, before they got separated early in Book V. So what is it about this particular ceremony that stands out to him?
Historically speaking, there’s some debate over what it is that actually inspired Musashi to create the Niten Ichi style. Some believe that it was something he picked up on and developed through his duels, while others believed a festival like the one Yoshikawa references here was the core inspiration. In his book, Yoshikawa chooses to blend the debated sources, one of the many ways he takes creative liberty by dramatizing lesser known or factually less exciting aspects of Musashi’s life. So it is that by this time in his life - Musashi is 27 now - the revelation dawns on him not just based on what he sees in the performance, but what he experienced in previous duels, in particular his battle against the Yoshioka School.
Alongside the dancers performing in the festival, Musashi bears witness to a cadre of drummers providing rhythm to the dance. As he watches them play, he’s stricken with an idea: the drummers are employing two sticks as they play. Sometimes their strikes alternate against the drum, sometimes they come simultaneously, sometimes the rhythm is changed entirely. No matter what rhythm they use, though, those two sticks always result in the single sound of the drum. It’s in this moment that he makes the exclamation I opened this review on: “Two swords.” Two drum sticks, one sound. Two swords, one samurai. Through a combination of observation and personal experience, a 27 year old Miyamoto Musashi has finally realized the style he’ll develop, and through that style he’ll fundamentally change Japanese swordsmanship forever.
However, this moment isn’t only indicative of the legacy he’ll eventually leave behind. It also hints at the core theme of the book’s title, Sun and Moon. I took a few minutes this morning to read up on the general ideas these celestial bodies represent in Buddhism and came away with the following:
“The Sun and Moon symbolize natural radiance, enlightenment, and the duality of life. They represent clarity overshadowed by obstacles, the natural cycle, and the teachings of the Buddha, embodying wisdom and harmony within the cosmos.”
Upon reading this, I saw clearly not only how the specific moment of Musashi’s two swords revelation ties into these symbols, but how everything else that occurs in Book VI does. In fact, I would argue that more than any other book in the story thus far, Sun and Moon has the most complete ties between its central themes and the events taking place within. There isn’t a single chapter I can think of within Book VI that doesn’t in some way deal with the ideas of enlightenment, the seeking of wisdom and harmony, and the duality present in life.
Duality. That’s something we’ve seen carried throughout the entirety of the novel as a whole. In previous reviews, I touched on one of the favorite methods Yoshikawa utilized to showcase the ongoing growth or stagnancy of the novel’s cast: contrasts of character. Just about every character in this story is mirrored by another. Musashi is mirrored both by his childhood friend Matahachi, and by his fellow ronin, the once-foppish and still selfish and cruel Sasaki Kojiro. Musashi’s lover, the demure orphaned girl Otsu, who was originally engaged to Matahachi before he ran out on her and his family; is mirrored by the childish and flighty Akemi, who herself is the daughter of Oko, the woman Matahachi ran off with. Even young Jotaro, the spirited and rather immature boy that Musashi took on as his first student, now has his own mirror in the form of young Iori, who is far more mature than Jotaro despite being about four years younger.
Speaking of Matahachi, Akemi, and Jotaro, I’m happy to say we do get to see them again here in Book VI. In their time of separation from Musashi, which I believe is either a two or three year period from when he begins the previous book’s agricultural arc with Iori until we see them again in the latter half of Book VI, we’re given a chance to see the ways in which they’ve changed. Rather, we’re given a chance to see the way in which Jotaro changed. You see, as would be expected from his role as one of the reflected opposites of Musashi, Matahachi has continued to stagnate in much the same way he always has. While he speaks of aspirations, he still won’t put in the proper effort needed to attain his goals. He quits jobs frequently, giving up on them when they become too hard, and bemoans both his current station and the idea of taking up something more difficult that would pay better. So it is that when we see him again he’s working as a mere watermelon vendor, carting melons around the budding Edo neighborhoods for a pittance.
For her own part, Akemi is publicly playing at the role of his wife, but her distaste for Matahachi’s laziness has come to match her shiftless mother’s. She doesn’t present the same outward cruelty or unfaithfulness of Oko, but the moment she spies a chance to break away from him, she takes it. That opportunity ultimately comes in the form of a pawnbroker from the town of Narai, an older man named Daizo.
As it happens, Daizo of Narai is also a man we’re already familiar with, as we actually meet him back in Book V. He’s a pivotal character in Jotaro’s story there, as Musashi’s young student begins traveling with him after Matahachi’s kidnapping of Otsu leaves the trio separated following the events of Book IV. Unfortunately for Jotaro, Akemi, and Matahachi, it turns out that Daizo isn’t the man he says he is. Famed for always making very generous contributions to various temples between Narai and Edo, Darai paints himself as a kindly old man who wishes to use his wealth for the betterment of the Japanese people, and he does this via those donations. In reality, the supposed pawn broker is actually a money launderer and leading sympathizer with the enemies of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Yessir, we’re dipping our toes into political intrigue.
I didn’t talk about Daizo in my review of the previous book because, as it turns out, the events involving him, Jotaro, and Akemi ended up largely being setup for where we see them in Book VI. However, while I’m still not entirely satisfied with the way Yoshikawa handled Matahachi, Akemi, and Jotaro in Book V, I can still give some due credit. Through Jotaro’s part of the story, Daizo gives us a view of the inverse of the previous book’s central theme of growing beyond personal and material aims to live with a greater sense of oneness with the world.
Daizo wishes to overthrow the current government and install those whose views he sympathizes with in their place. He plans to do this by secretly funding an attempted assassination and moving stolen money around for the anti-Tokugawa sympathizers. Jotaro ends up forced into this same path when he catches sight of Daizo retrieving and burying chests full of gold coins outside of Edo one night. Not realizing that he was seen by Daizo in turn, the old man forces Jotaro under his wing by giving him the option of being adopted as his son, or being killed and unceremoniously buried in a ditch.
In Book V, this was the last we saw of Jotaro. When we finally see him again in the latter half of Book VI, he’s still with Daizo and, sadly, seems to have taken to his ways. Matahachi and Akemi, as it happens, have also fallen in with him, albeit for very different reasons. Constantly struggling financially thanks to Matahachi’s fecklessness, Daizo is approached for help by Akemi. The old man then seizes the opportunity to rope the both of them into his scheme, offering Matahachi a significant sum of money to begin working as a well digger in the Shogun’s castle, where he’ll then be properly placed to dig up a hidden musket and carry out the assassination of the Shogun himself.
Ultimately, none of this plays out the way Daizo wants, and that’s due to the actions of characters within the story that represent the harmonious side of life’s duality. In particular, it comes down to the actions of Iori and Musashi’s old friend, the itinerant priest who started him on his journey, Takuan Soho. Yes, my friends, Book VI is one that acts as a solid reminder of why Takuan started out as my favorite character in the story, before Musashi fully took over that position as the story progressed.
Takuan’s reappearance in the story comes after Musashi has an encounter with a mutual friend of theirs. This encounter also results in Musashi finally getting to meet one of the great masters he’s sought a bout with for so long: Munenori Yagyu, son of Shekishusai Yagyu and one of the tutors for the Tokugawa Shogunate. Their meeting is one in which Musashi is finally granted with the opportunity to put all that he’s learned over the years to proper work, as his clever avoidance of a surprise ambush that Munenori set up as a test for the younger ronin impresses him enough to make him certain that Musashi would be a fine choice to act as the newest of the Shogun’s tutors.
Ultimately, this doesn’t come to pass thanks to interference from Sasaki Kojiro and Matahachi’s mother, Osugi, who still seeks vengeance for the perceived crimes she believes Musashi committed against her. To the surprise of all, Musashi ends up being not just relieved at this result, but somewhat pleased at it, as he still wishes to wander Japan and broaden his understanding of life and how the fundamental teachings of the Way of the Sword can be applied not just to combat, but living a good and harmonious life. In the end, his ultimate quest isn’t for martial greatness, but to discover what it is to live and to be human.
Before his dismissal takes place, though, further chance encounters result in Takuan also reuniting with Jotaro, as well as meeting Iori for the first time. You see, while Jotaro is out and busy undertaking some of the illicit tasks which Daizo has set for him, Iori ends up overhearing what he’s doing. Then, much like Jotaro was with Daizo, Iori is caught by Jotaro and pursued. In spite of his fright, Iori relies on Musashi’s teachings to steel his nerves and stands up to Jotaro. They end up scuffling, and as they do, Iori reveals that he is the only student of Miyamoto Musashi, and that he won’t back down. Naturally, this is utterly shocking to Jotaro. Shaken by this, he begins trying to talk with Iori and explain that he was actually Musashi’s first student, though Iori doesn’t believe him at first. A fair assessment on the young boy’s part, considering the circumstances of their meeting.
Now I will admit that I don’t remember the precise details of how Takuan came into the picture with these two. I believe it’s because either Iori, Jotaro, or the both of them ended up injured, and so they sought out aid at a nearby temple which turned out to be the one Takuan was staying at while in Edo. I could be wrong in this, but it’s not a particularly important detail. What really matters is that Takuan entering the picture results in Daizo’s plan being exposed, and in so doing, the involvements of both Matahachi and Akemi are exposed as well.
I feel it prudent to say now that I do still have to read Book VII before I can strictly say that the stories of any of these characters are completed, but based on what I read here, I feel as though Book VI has brought us to the overall conclusion of Matahachi’s story. With the both of them exposed as being involved in a plot to assassinate the Shogun, Matahachi expects he’s going to be executed and begins trying to ready himself for that fact.
In the days leading up to it, Takuan spends time with Matahachi, offering spiritual guidance. However, because we’re well aware by now that Takuan is far more connected than his appearances or demeanor suggest, we’re also made aware that the Shogunate has placed the duty of deciding punishment in Takuan’s hands. In a gesture of good faith, the Shogunate pushes for Takuan to exercise a degree of mercy, recognizing that Matahachi and Akemi, as well as Jotaro though he’s not due to be punished, were largely unwilling participants who were manipulated or blackmailed by Daizo.
As such, both Matahachi and Akemi avoid the gallows, though they still receive lashes with reed switches until the switches fray. While it’s less clear exactly what Akemi plans to do from here, Matahachi’s future seems pretty clearly laid out. Taking the guidance Takuan gave him to heart, the story leaves us with strong indicators that Matahachi is going to travel with Takuan to begin his own journey toward enlightenment and understanding as an itinerant priest. And wouldn’t you know it? That’s precisely one of the suggestions Musashi gave to him to set his life on a steady path when they ran into each other after the duel with the Yoshioka School.
I have to say that while Book IV: Wind is easily the most exciting portion of Musashi so far, Book VI: Sun and Moon is the most thematically cohesive and fulfilling to read from a character growth perspective. The portions of Book VI that I focused on here are just a couple rather small segments of a much greater whole, all of which serve to showcase the ideas of Musashi’s growing maturity, the development of his life path, and his spiritual understanding. We see this paralleled by the rest of the cast, too, all of whom have settled into their own life journeys. For some of them, it leads to them beginning to find the same growth and fulfillment that Musashi’s been experiencing for some time now. Others make choices that lead them down distinctly material paths. They seek glory, vengeance, fame, wealth, or power first and foremost, and this often leads them toward strife and, in more than a few cases, destruction.
I’m more eager than ever to see how the story of Musashi resolves itself now, especially in the light of some fresh revelations we get in the final chapter of Book VI. For as much as we’ve experienced thus far, for as far as we’ve seen Musashi and the people around him come, many questions still wait to be answered.
What will Iori do in the absence of his master, who’s left on a spiritual journey that he expects will take two or three years to complete? Left behind with Muso Gonnosuke, a samurai whom Musashi became good friends with after their two duels in Book V, we at least know he’ll be left with someone to help guide him.
Will Jotaro return to the shade of Musashi’s wing and finally begin to grow past the boyish immaturities that remain in him even now at seventeen? We know it’s possible for him to change, as that’s the very same age which Takuan helped Musashi see the ways he needed to change, back when he still went by Takezo.
What will become of Matahachi and Akemi in the end? Has Matahachi at long last begun making the changes he needs to make to live a worthy and fulfilling life? Will Akemi be able to do the same for herself?
What of Osugi, Matahachi’s mother, who refuses to let go of her decade long grudge against Musashi? As she’s drawn on in years, remaining a thorn in Musashi’s side, she’s at least come to realize she’s been away from her family far longer than she ever intended. She does plan to return home to settle business at her estate. Will she remain at the Hon’iden house with her family, or will she resume her obsessive quest for vengeance once her business is settled?
Grand as all these questions are, there’s one which hangs above them all - what will become of Musashi and Kojiro when the day of their inevitable clash finally arrives?
I suppose all that’s left to do now is read on and find out.
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thanks for mentioning my comment, friend
Great analysis, I must confess I loved this part of the book and pumped my arms in the air as a youth when I first discovered it. Knew you'd like this part. The Matahachi parts were frustrating but his ending is satisfying (and amusing).