Recently, one of the music groups I follow released a song about the famed Musashi Miyamoto and his A Book of Five Rings. This song inspired me to take another inspection of his manuscript. Instead of reading it this time, I listened to the audiobook, which, I feel, had a different impact on me. What follows are my reflections and opinions on Musashi’s writings.
At the beginning of Musashi’s manuscript, the retired swordsman tries to differentiate his style and approach from other sword systems. He then splits his book into five chapters. Throughout his writings, he does not dwell on techniques, but rather principles. Regarding the two-sword approach, Musashi only discusses five techniques. But even when he describes them, he frames the techniques as fundamental building blocks and everything else that he writes stems from those five techniques. He does provide variations – things like, “Here’s what happens if your opponent does this instead of the initial scenario” – but even then, he’s pointing back to root principles rather than a catalog of tricks.
What is unique about his approach is precisely that principle-based mindset. He lays out a multitude of concepts that all revolve around two aspects: mindset and constant adaptation. Both are intertwined and can be summed up in the following phrases: do not fixate on one thing; respond to the opponent’s movement, intent, rhythm, and energy, whether it’s a single opponent or multiple. Essentially, this is a samurai from the 1600s saying, “Be water, my friend,” centuries before Bruce Lee ever said it out loud. And the irony is how both men, separated by 300 years, arrived at the same conclusion through intense training: no wasted movement, strong grounding, clarity of intent, and the objective of striking the opponent – not the weapon, not the idea of the opponent, but the actual opponent – with decisive effect. Flashiness means nothing. The techniques are supposed to build intent and understanding; they are the foundations, not the end all be all. Musashi never claims that technique is what makes his school unique. His two-sword method is unusual and unorthodox, but Musashi is clear that memorizing techniques will only get you so far. Techniques can be performed and sold, but mindset cannot. His art is the mindset, the intent, the willingness to absorb whatever comes, adapt to it, and overcome. “Modify, adapt, and overcome,” as the Marines say.
To me, this approach to martial arts – or fighting – is what makes Musashi’s treatise unique. It is not about the techniques; it is about the underlying mechanisms that make the techniques meaningful. Those mechanisms are compacted into two variations of a phrase with a single meaning. Musashi ends many of his explanations of techniques, strategies, tactics, and mindsets with either “You must investigate this,” or “Investigate this thoroughly.” Variants of those two statements appear continually throughout Musashi’s writings. He is essentially telling the reader that the responsibility falls on the practitioner to put in the necessary hours of training – with blood, sweat, tears, and pressure – to arrive at real understanding. He doesn’t hand out a step-by-step method because such explanations do not and cannot fully satisfy something that is effective, repeatable, and applicable in a multitude of scenarios. For a practitioner to arrive at a conclusion, they must investigate for themselves – through training, experimenting, applying, and seeing what actually works.
Looking at Musashi’s life, he fought in more than sixty duels, which included one-on-one, ambushes, and uneven odds. Granted, parts of his life have become legendary over time, but in stripping away the myth, one can see that Musashi was a prominent duelist. He faced opponents from multiple schools with different weapons, strategies, and philosophies. He had to test his principles under every possible circumstance and he emerged victorious. When he says, “Investigate thoroughly,” he’s speaking from experience. Such an investigation for us means taking what we learn in the dojo and testing it – seeing where the tactics, principles, and mindsets hold up under pressure.
Dojo practice can become a general, all-inclusive curriculum for the average student, but Musashi is pushing for something deeper: training that continues outside the dojo; training that pressures the mind and body in ways structured practice cannot always simulate. This aspect becomes especially relevant when we consider how koryu schools transformed after the age of warfare ended. Swordsmanship shifted from a battlefield skill to a path of self-cultivation, influenced by Zen and the changing social structure. Scholars like Alexander Bennett and even Antony Cummins have documented how sword schools changed from the 1600s onward, where such schools continued modifying techniques to suit new purposes and new contexts. When Musashi demands thorough investigation, he is pointing at something that does not always survive in modern dojo life. Dojo training preserves fundamentals, and that is important. The concepts and aspects that make the martial system have teeth – pressure-testing and the application in varying contexts – that is the responsibility of the individual practitioner.
Older koryu demonstrations, as we see them now, often represent a distilled, formalized version of arts that once lived under very real pressure. These demonstrations preserve lineage and allows people to grasp the shape of the tradition. But when one investigates something intensely, what emerges can look completely different from dojo choreography, because pressure transforms movement. You may even stumble onto what those techniques once looked like when used for survival, rather than for demonstration.
Speaking of various sword systems, Musashi discusses other sword styles and how his approach is on a different level. His critiques come from two perspectives: the first to possibly promote himself, his style, and acquire patrons. The second stems from the confidence he gained through the harrowing experiences of his duels. With his sixty duels and encounters with all sorts of fighters, he had firsthand knowledge of what other schools emphasized and how to counter them. His victories weren’t theoretical – they were lived.
During his time and beyond, secrecy was the norm where practitioners and schools alike fiercely guarded their techniques, approaches, and training from outside eyes. This martial information was currency. The idea of knowing other styles was complicated for the average samurai at the end of the Warring States period. Yet, Musashi still found ways to observe, experience, and understand the approaches of different schools. This is something we actually can do far more easily today thanks to the internet. But even with information everywhere, there’s still a reluctance in many martial arts communities to learn from outside their style.
Throughout my research, I have seen different martial artists, systems, and organizations have a strong resistance to studying other systems, whether it originates from traditionalism, philosophical framing, or cultural instances. Granted, there are individuals who do cross train and experiment, but there is not a cultural push from some systems and organizations toward incorporating knowledge, training approaches, and overall structure from other art like Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, wrestling, boxing, or any other combat system. Some of the training methods in certain systems have not changed in decades – some, even centuries.
Musashi’s advice of knowing other styles so one can have a chance to prevail does not appear much in many martial systems. That being said, many martial artists stay within the comfort of their chosen system. They get what they came for and leave it at that. Knowing what other styles can do, even on a basic level, however, expands one’s ability to discern tactics, principles, and practical application. It sharpens one’s understanding of their chosen art. When one understands how a judoka throws, how a boxer moves, how a karateka generates their power, and how a BJJ practitioner can takedown an opponent, it becomes more than self-defense; it results in a broadening of a martial vocabulary and versatility. There is a massive difference between watching something online and actually trying it. Investigation means doing, failing, adjusting. It means entering someone else’s game just long enough to understand why it works, and how to counter it. Musashi understood this – his era demanded it. Ours doesn’t – but maybe it should.
For modern practitioners, the challenge is motivation. Most are not training for duels, war, or prize fighting. They are hobbyists, passionate but not pressured. That is fine, but Musashi’s point stands: to achieve a deeper understanding, know the terrain outside the dojo walls. Investigate thoroughly, including other styles – not only to counter them, but to refine one’s own.
