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Preface
Three years ago, in anticipation of the premiere of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace in 1999, I wrote three articles on Jedi sword fighting for www.EchoStation.com. These articles were so well received that I decided to pursue a more public avenue of sharing what I soon realized was a background that paralleled Jedi training. Buoyed by so many gracious e-mails, I composed several query letters and soon had invitations to do bookstore talks/demonstrations and an offer to give a sword fight demonstration for the Washington, D.C. Episode I charity premiere which took place several days before the general release of the movie. The enthusiasm of my audience was so positive that I decided I might continue the dialog by writing a book that answers in part or in whole many of the questions that were asked of me during my public appearances. Thus, the idea for Shimmering Sword was born.
Central to the thesis of this exploration of Jedi swordsmanship is the assumption that had we lived in a world in which the lightsaber and the laser beam existed in the manner as they do on Lucas’ movies, lightsaber fighting would have and could have existed. In this sense, despite George Lucas’ premise that Star Wars takes place “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...”, the Jedi universe is very much of the science fiction genre, which has traditionally explored the human condition and his and her relationship with technology. Star Wars, therefore, has less to do with myth (the archetype of Man versus the gods) or fairy tales and fables (Man versus Nature) than it has to do with a spiritual awakening of the inner spirit when confronted with utter and complete self-annihilation. The Death Star is representative of the folly of nuclear weapons, and not God’s punishment by cataclysmic inundation.
Star Wars is not a philosophical allegory nor a religious parable. Rather, it takes an episodic look at the human condition in its polar extremes of goodness and evil. Most see this dichotomy of light and dark as two exclusive opposites, but Lucas’ movies are profound examples of the gray area that is the balance of the outer fringes. Instead of a carefully delineated yin and yang, the two twisting orbs are more a confusion of light and its fading absence. While the Jedi may seem good and the Sith bad on a superficial level, there is, and always has been, a subtle subtext to Star Wars that we, as humans, live mostly, if not completely in the gray.
Despite the popular consensus, encourage by Lucas and his philosophical mentor Joseph Campbell, Star Wars is not a myth, but an epic in the ancient tradition, telling the tales of men and women as masters of their own destiny. Even in the most dire of tragedies which illustrate how Man overcomes the Fates by accepting a self-destructive end instead of cowering to omnipotent beings such as the gods or the mightiest of goddesses Mother Nature. Interventions by the gods become incidental when compared to the emboldening spirit of evolving writers, who began to assert the inner strength of humans - fortitude, independence, free will, indomitability - rather than humanity’s supplication and submission to “greater beings.”
Instead of the admission of spells and magic (powers borne of ignorant sentimentality), the New Human strikes a balance among the instinct to believe the inexplicable (magic being the emotions of the heart), the fruit of his intellect (technology reflecting the growth and development of the mind), and the determinism of his actions (ethics which represent the actions of the hand). Combining these three aspects, the New Human finds his most extreme, and often necessary, role; that of swordsman, the individual who must combine his instinctual feelings for survival and self-preservation, the sword of his own creation, and a code of moral conduct which dispenses life and death at an instant’s notice. These New Human characteristics find their expressions in the father and son characters of Anakin/Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. One is the New Human who finds fulfillment in the evil and nefarious ends of selfishness, while the other is he who finds fulfillment in the pursuit of justice and peace. Lucas’ ultimate message is that good eventually trumps evil, Luke redeeming his father by bringing him back to the side of goodness. Lucas’ vision of humanity is an optimistic one without being utopian or overly romantic.
It is against this background that I explore the world of the Jedi Knight which finds its basis in the reality of human history. Shimmering Sword discusses swordsmanship as a way to better understand the Jedi Knights, which is an artistic expression of our own real-world existence. As such, I have attempted to write a book for the general reader with an interest in better understanding the sword fight in Star Wars. It focuses on the human activity surrounding the traditional weapon of the sword which forces men to confront each other head to head. It is an exploration of the cultural conditions of men and women who find that there may sometimes be no choice other than the resort to the use of force. The premise of this book is not “Could it happen?” but “How did it happen?” and can this help the reader better understand their world by understanding that of the Jedi.
While Star Wars may seem a blatant juvenile form of artifice unworthy of serious discussion, it is no different from any other fiction which asks the audience to suspend reality for a time. Whether that suspension of reality makes an impact on us or not is often a function of how transferable that fiction is to the real world. The more real it seems, the more enjoyable and profound the experience. It is, therefore, incumbent upon me to examine the historical precedents that have informed the development of the lightsaber in the Star Wars universe so that we might better understand ourselves.
Much of Shimmering Sword refers to historical examples as the basis of Star Wars lightsaber fencing. So too does my own history affect the views and perspectives of swordsmanship which do not, by any significant measure, reflect the general experience of fencers of the Western tradition. Students of Japanese martial arts will probably share many of my interpretations of the sword art and fighting, though modern arts have the tendency to become more competitive than life transforming. It will, however, help the reader evaluate the text by knowing some of my experiences which serve as the lense through which I look at swordsmanship.
I began my twenty years in the martial arts at the age of fifteen when I heard about a local fencing club in Ft. Myers, Florida on the radio. An avid player of Dungeons & Dragons, I was drawn to the fencing because I wanted to know what it must have been like to wield a sword. I had already seen Star Wars earlier but was not that impressed with lightsaber fights until much later. With the help of my instructor Tom Howson, I learned the basics quickly and was soon participating in local tournaments around the state and in national tournaments around the country.
Though I tried to find a university which had a competitive fencing team, I opted instead to go to Georgetown University for its program in International Relations. My hope was that a city of Washington’s size probably offered fencing somewhere in its locality. I did find a club, but while I got to fence, I practiced without a regular coach and fenced a rather erratic schedule.
Because of my studies in international affairs, I discovered that I was legally a Filipino citizen until the age of twenty-one. I only had one chance, so I contacted the national fencing organization in Manila and asked if they were sending fencers to the World Fencing Championships in Lausanne, Switzerland that year. The head of the national federation said there was already one person scheduled to go, but because each country was allowed three representatives, I was welcome to participate as long as I paid all of my expenses getting there. In addition, they also invited me to participate at the World University Games in Zagreb, Yugoslavia.
I was overjoyed at the prospect of competing at the world level, but I performed miserably. I had no teammates to practice with, I was fatigued from my travels, and I had little stability having to move from one hostel to another in the weeks and days preceding the competitions. While I did not rank in last place at either the World Championships or the World University Games, I was out of my league. My only consolation is the fact that I was probably one the best fencers to have ever represented the Philippines in fencing. In addition, I had my first and only diplomatic experiences as the Head of Delegation at both competitions.
The experience affected my perspective on Western fencing profoundly. While my performance was lackluster, I did have a unique opportunity to observe the best fencers in action. What I found repulsed me. Instead of meeting dignified and respectful swordsmen, world-class fencers were aloof, self-centered, and arrogant. The highest thing on their mind was winning, which created an atmosphere of unrivaled oneupmanship. This was, of course, competition, and winning medals depended on that state of mind, but something in my heart told me that if these were the people I was supposed to emulate as a fencer, I wanted nothing to do with it.
To this day I view the Olympics with a strong dose of cynicism. Despite the façade of peaceful competition, the Olympics is tainted by a nationalistic pride, nepotism, outright corruption, and the overvalued worship of a technician who can accumulate the best statistics. Originally, the Olympics were a celebration of the Greekness of a collection of city-states, but it was also an exclusive club which served as a propaganda tool to demonstrate the Greeks’ martial prowess. It was a fillip to the face of barbarians (i.e., non-Greeks) who were not worthy of participating alongside the Hellenes. Today, TV portrays the Olympics as a community of peaceful competition between nations, but underneath its picturesque veneer is a cut throat network of self-centered egos. While I do not disparage the effort of athletes striving for self-perfection, there is an unhealthy focus on a search for fame and wealth.
The one redeeming aspect of my world-class fencing experience was the reception of the Philippine delegation at the opening ceremonies of the World University Games. I was one of three representatives of the Philippines to walk behind the flag of the nation of my parents’ birth. Such small delegations usually receive but token applause from a crowd which awaits the largest delegations from the most powerful countries of Great Britain, the United States, China, and, at the time, the Soviet Union. But just one year earlier, the Philippines had dominated world headlines as Filipinos in a patriotic fervor of “people power” deposed their dictator Ferdinand Marcos. Croatians knew the yoke of oppression and they expressed their nationalistic desire for more freedom by cheering the Philippine delegation loudly as we walked around the track. Many stood up from their seats in our honor, while others waved the pointer finger and thumb, making an “L” sign which was the symbol of the political party of Cory Aquino who became president after Marcos fled the country. The loud chorus of cheers that followed us through the stadium was equal to that of the cheers for the United States. Their open welcoming of the Americans con-trasted with the Croatian silence and cold stares as the delegation of the Soviet Union walked along the avenue of nations. It was obvious that the Yugoslavs still remembered the threatened invasion of the Soviet army in 1956. I will never forget the friends I made in Croatia and the welcome the city of Zagreb gave me during their opening ceremonies.
Once I returned Stateside, I virtually gave up fencing. When I met Martha Matthews, who was a clerk for Justice Blackmun at the U.S. Supreme Court. She introduced me to a curious martial art called aikido, which had at the heart and spirit of its practice a love for the enemies who might attack. You learned how to defend yourself, but you also learned how to fight without doing permanent physical damage to your assailant. Suspicious at first, I finally joined the dojo after seeing classes in Japanese sword in which students used wooden practice swords called bokken. Aikido, which is predominantly an empty-handed fighting art, is basically the set of skills a samurai would use if he had lost his sword in battle.
Training under Shihan Mitsugi Saotome, I had the instruction of a world-renowned teacher who had trained directly under the founder of aikido, Morihei Ueshiba, who himself had derived his art from the martial techniques of an aiki-jujitsu style of fighting from Hokkaido. Saotome impressed me not only with his technical ability which stresses martial competence, but also by his philosophical interpretations of aikido. It was his influence which opened my mind up to the fact that it was possible to pursue combative arts without the need to participate in competition.
After two years of aikido in Saotome’s headquarters dojo in Washington, D.C. as well as training under the supervision of George Meyer who teaches aikido at the U.S. Naval Academy, I decided to go to Tokyo where I would train at the Aikikai Hombu Dojo, a kind of Mecca for aikido students the world over. For four years, I went to daily practice and quickly became a devoted follower of two generous instructors, Masuda Sensei and Endo Sensei, who taught me both the vigor and kindness of daily practice.
In Tokyo, I also decided to pursue my interest in kendo (the Japanese equivalent of Western fencing), which uses bamboo swords called shinai instead of foils, epees, and sabres. Here too, my instruction was deeply influenced by the kind and disciplined instruction of Kubo Sensei, headmaster of the Kyumeikan Kendo Dojo on the outskirts of Tokyo. Not only did his ability to speak fluent English help me learn kendo (he lived the U.S. for a year in his youth), but also his gentle but tough spirit encouraged me to persevere in the most difficult of practices. Under his training, I also began my studies of iaido (the art of sword drawing), jodo (the art of short staff), and naginatado (the art of Japanese halberd).
When I wasn’t doing martial arts or writing novels, I made a full time living as a teacher. Starting first as a French conversation teacher in my senior year, I continued for four years teaching English as a second language in Japan. Upon my return to the States, I began teaching middle school where, for the last five years I have been teaching fencing to ten to fifteen-year-olds, and now college students. When I’m not teaching fencing at Georgetown University, I still find time to occasionally train on Saturdays with the U.S. Naval Academy Aikido Club in Annapolis, Maryland.
Before moving to the body of this work, there are some points of clarification, as well as basic expectations on the part of the reader which I must address. It will be assumed that the reader is familiar with the plots of the four finished, and soon to be five films. If there is any basic question about major Star Wars characters, information can be most easily obtained by visiting the official Lucasfilm website at www.StarWars.com.
For the sake of brevity, I often substitute the episode number of the five Star Wars films interchangeably with the titles of the movies.
Episode I The Phantom Menace
Episode II Attack of the Clones
Episode III untitled
Episode IV A New Hope
Episode V The Empire Strikes Back
Episode VI Return of the Jedi
I will also refer to Episodes IV-VI collectively as the Original Trilogy, and Episodes I-III as the Prequel Trilogy. Because of the plethora of Star Wars materials, I only consider the original movies, their screenplays, and novelizations, which are considered, for the sake of argument, canon sources of information. Generally referred to as the Expanded Universe (EU), Del Rey, Bantam Books, Dark Horse Comics, West End Games, and Wizards of the Coast have come up with so vast a collection of writings in novels, comic books, and graphic novels, that it is now necessary to consult a detailed timeline to know where within the Star Wars universe a story takes place. Because plots are fleshed out by individual authors based on the needs of a particular time frame determined by editors at a publishing company licensed with Lucasfilm Ltd., it is easier for me to stick to the original films which are both accessible to the general public and the direct work of George Lucas, the creator of the franchise.
Clarification is also necessary for the overlapping definitions of the martial arts discussed in this book. By “martial arts,” I refer to all combative arts whether their professed purpose is battle or friendly competition. Competitive fencing, kendo, and aikido (the three arts I have practiced for twenty years) fall into this general category. “Sword arts,” or more simply “swordsmanship,” refer to combat with the intention of using a sword specifically for attack or defense in a battle or duel situation. If the focus of sword fighting is on the competition or the “way” of an art, I will specifically mention the art by name.
It should also be noted that in most instances I will use the terminology of the competitive arts (kendo and fencing) to express concepts, ideas, and movements in sword fighting use specifically for battle. It is my assertion that while the modern, competitive forms of the older “killing” sword play are often exercises and games of tag which do not reflect real battlefield fighting, the essence of true swordsmanship used for that purpose can be learned and discovered if one’s intention is to learn the “killing” aspect of the art. It follows then that the basics of classical kenjutsu (traditional Japanese sword fighting) can be learned by adapting modern kendo techniques. This is not to say, however, that a modern kendo fencer can pick up a live-bladed katana (Japanese curved sword) and automatically become an expert in its use, nor the Western fencer with a small sword. Practice specifically with a real weapon is still necessary for proficiency and eventual mastery.
When referring to the Jedi and their lightsabers, I have consciously and purposely refrained from using the self-created terms of “lightsaberist” and “lightsaber art.” The Jedi, for the sake of linguistic style, will be referred to as “swordsmen” or the more cumbersome name of “lightsaber fighter.” Jedi will be use to represent both its singular and plural usage, while kendo and aikido practitioners will be referred to by their Japanese names which add the suffix -ka. Ergo, kendoka and aikidoka.
Japanese teachers take the title Sensei (as in Saotome Sensei) which refers to the time honored position of teacher. Within context, I may refer to Sensei with an uppercase “s” when its antecedent has already been stated. Sensei with a lowercase “s” is the general term for teacher, which is not to be confused in Japanese with the word for instructor (which does not rank as high as teacher) nor with the title Shihan, which refers to an officially recognized master teacher within a Japanese martial art. It is generally assumed that a 4th degree (dan) blackbelt can be addressed by the title Sensei.
For the sake of cultural differentiation, I will refer to European sword arts (broad sword, rapier, two-handed sword, et al) as “Western swordplay” or more generally as “Western fencing.” “Eastern” martial arts will include any and all Asian fighting arts, while I may occasionally refer to the Japanese martial arts collectively as “samurai arts.”
This book is meant for the general reader. For this reason, the use of academic footnotes has been eschewed in favor of easier readability. Unfamiliar terms will be offset by italics and will be explained within the text. An asterisk will refer the reader to a footnote at the bottom of the page. For those with a deeper, more academic interest, a bibliography is given at the end with the understanding that no bibliography is conclusive.
The use of italics follows standard usage when naming a specific book, film, ship, et al. In the case of Japanese words which have in effect become indigenous English words when used within the context of a specific martial art, the word will be italicized in its first instance in a chapter and then in regular type thereafter. Most italicized words can be found in the glossary.
Probably the greatest deficiency of this edition is the lack of pictures to illustrate the many shapes into which a sword can be fashioned. I have made up for this by including pictures at the www.ShimeringSword.com website. From its homepage, links to my Star Wars and non-Star Wars related writings can be found. It is hoped that with the success of this edition, a revised edition can be completed in anticipation of Episode V.
It will be quickly noted that my references to Star Wars lightsaber fighting are compared to Japanese martial arts exclusively. For reasons that will be explained later in the book, let it suffice at this point to say that lightsaber sword fighting is directly influenced by Japanese sword fighting arts specifically, and more recently by the Chinese art of Long Fist wu shu. While I may be criticized for limiting the scope of my comparisons to samurai arts, I would rather be accused of cultural myopia than being a charlatan expert in Chinese martial arts with which I only have cursory familiarity and incidental training. Perhaps this book will invite a fellow martial artist of the Chinese tradition to write a book similar to this one.
I am a creature of my own experience and personal preferences, and from the many comments people have given me from my talks, there is a general acceptance for my particular perspective, which is undoubtedly biased toward Japanese martial arts. This prejudice cannot be stricken from my perspective, and it rests with the reader to consciously take my background into account when they judge this work according to their own intellect. I invite the reader to do so, and relish an informed discussion.
Many of the examples given in this book are anecdotal, exposing me to criticism for this lack of academic discipline. I counter that the discussion of any sword fighting technique will inevitably require anecdotal evidence. If the swordsman is to be trusted, then his assertions should be taken as a confession of an honorable person bereft of the intention of subterfuge. While this does not exclude the refutation of my assertions or the questioning of my conclusions, I have gone to great lengths to express a consistent perspective on the subject of swordsmanship. Certainly a martial artist who believes the sword should only be used in the utilitarian purpose of killing will undoubtedly reject my thesis, as will the idealistic pacifist who looks as the sword as an antique symbol of power. There is plenty of room in between, and I place myself somewhere therein.
To experienced martial artists, much of this book would have the ring of simple common sense. Much is gleaned from the experiences and conclusions that have occurred to me over the past twenty years I have been doing and reflecting on the martial arts. Certainly many of my seniors will recognize this enterprise as perhaps premature, but my intent is to make connections not for the experts in their own personal martial art, but to collect thoughts for those who would like to understand the sword fighting aspect of the Star Wars universe in comparison to the historical fencing tradition of two different and unique styles.
In respect to the reader's intelligence, I will not dumb down the text by using vague or general terminology where precise, and perhaps, uncommon words best fit. Depending on a person's experience both within a martial art, and even in life, this book can be understood on many different levels. It is a different book to the housewife and the war veteran, as much as it reads in a particular way for those with an academic background or none at all. This potential rereading must be acknowledged by any who attempt to understand the many ideas and concepts presented within these pages.
For librarians and parents, a quick warning about the contents of this book, which is recommended for high school students and older. The topic of sword fighting is a subject which, at its very heart, acknowledges the life and death of those that participated in the sword's use. No longer does the pursuit of the art of the sword as generally practiced in public have the goal of inflicting or advocating the infliction of harm to another person. Rather, its goal, if one can be given in the name of sword practitioners all over the world, is the improvement or entertainment of the person through an ancient art. Learning swordsmanship no more promotes the killing of another person than does the capture of a pawn by a queen in chess infer the torture or execution of the piece. There are certain descriptions that do give specific detail in the uses of a sword, which could often become an instrument of butchery though the sword is more often used representatively as a symbol of peace through strength.
Lastly, it is imperative that all training in sword work should be done under the auspices of proper teachers. Anyone interested in learning the art of swordsmanship should inform and education themselves before participating in a critical dialog with any potential instructor, especially those bearing the title Master. One must know the goals and purposes of learning any martial art. Care must be exercised in the education of skills that confer the power to coerce.
With this, I beg the reader for his and her forgiveness in an extended introduction, and that you may continue on to the present subject at hand.
Sic Anima Tecum
Nick Jamilla
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