Musashi's Dokkodo (The Way of Walking Alone)

The Book of Five Rings, Musashi’s most famous writing, is a work
where life experience meets genius. One surefire way to know
whether or not you hold genius in your hands when you read it is to
have the work span your lifetime regarding its impact. If, for example,
you read the classic science-fiction book A Wrinkle in Time by
Madeleine L’Engle as a child it’s magical. To re-read it later in life
brings back those magical feelings. That’s the mark of a truly well-
written book, but is it genius? No, not so much… Let’s contrast this
with Musashi’s work. To read The Book of Five Rings in your youth
and then peruse it again in mid-life, the sensation is not a recounting
of emotion but rather a newer and deeper understanding of what has
been presented. This is what you’re looking for. In fact, The Book of

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Five Rings is often placed alongside The Art of War by Sun Tzu, On
War by General Carl von Clausewitz, Infantry Attacks by Field
Marshal Erwin Rommel, and Patterns of Conflict by Colonel John
Boyd. Each of these works has materially influenced military
thinking, directly or indirectly influencing modern combat despite the
fact that they were written decades or even centuries ago.
In this sense, Musashi truly was a combative genius. Small wonder
that our patron sword saint crossed over to become an icon, a
legend... But what drove him? What brought him there?
While he never wrote a book that we know of, Musashi’s father
Munisai was a famous martial artist in his own right. His very name
means, “A man unequaled.” After defeating a famous swordsman of
the Yoshioka family in front of the shogun, Ashikaga Yoshiaki, he
was honored with the title, hi no shita heihojutsusha, which
translates as, “The greatest fighter/tactician under the sun.” He was
also reported to be self-assured, aggressive, aloof, and domineering.
And, he firmly believed that his son was arrogant. It is easy to see
that this combination of the autocrat and the arrogant would not mix
well. Night and day; oil and water... And, to be certain, it didn’t.
Musashi’s father treated him poorly, ostensibly in order to bend him
to his will. It didn’t work. When he could no longer abide the strict
rules of Munisai’s household and treatment that he felt was beneath
his station, Musashi ran away from home.
[4]
 He was only eight years
old at the time. It is reasonable to assume that he returned to his
birthplace now and again, as it was a place of refuge after all, but
once he had made his reputation by killing Kihei he left his
hometown never to return. We do not know if he ever spoke to a
family member again, but it’s likely a safe bet that he did not.
With no meaningful relationships in his young life, he set out to
“barrow the battlefield,” a term used by swordsmen wanting to prove
themselves in combat and win a position within that domain. The
cause, the lord under whose banner he fought, even the reason for
war was not horribly important, but rather proving oneself by killing
others was paramount.

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Let’s think about this: No meaningful relationships, a self-selected
loner, intense focus to the point of obsession, and a willingness to
kill. Of course we love Musashi, he is Clint Eastwood, Chuck Norris,
Jason Statham, and Bruce Lee all rolled into one badass mercenary
who roamed the land with a three-foot razor blade searching out
prey to slaughter... Wait a minute, on a movie screen that’s that
makes for a rousing good time, but in real life it sounds an awful lot
like something a psychopath might do.
Was Musashi a functional psychopath? We believe the answer to
that question is a definitive yes. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Let’s
examine some of his behaviors: To begin, Musashi was ruthless. He
sought out other men to murder. He didn’t kill to defend his life, his
property, or even his liege-lord; he killed simply to test his skill in
battle. He killed to improve his reputation and status in life. He killed
because he could. And, he was very good at it.
Musashi was fearless, another common attribute of functional
psychopaths. Fearlessness can be good or bad, it’s not the trait so
much as how it is used and perceived. An example of this might be
the “Zodiac Killer” who terrorized Northern California in the late 60’s
and early 70’s. The Zodiac Killer, in at least one documented
instance, walked up to his victims in broad daylight and shot them to
death. Then he taunted police with cryptic messages. Fearless for
certain, but not in a good way... Contrast this with members of elite
military units or law enforcement operators who overcome long odds
and complete hazardous assignments in part due to fearlessness
that lets them focus on the job despite the dangers they face. It’s not
that they never get scared but rather that they never let their fears
stop them. Musashi clearly embraced the adage, “A samurai never
fears death.”
The ability to be and stay mentally focused was a key to Musashi
developing and honing his skills as a swordsman. This mental
discipline led to the development of his innovative two-sword system,
a style that was unheard of in the orthodox sword-schools of his
time. In fact, Musashi’s focus was similar to that of Michelangelo di

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Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni. It is said that while sculpting the famous
renaissance artist would not bathe or change his clothes for weeks
at a time. When Michelangelo would finally remove his footwear,
layers of skin would fall off of his feet and remain with the boots. Just
as Michelangelo’s focus was so intense that it caused him to forget
about simple hygiene, so was Musashi’s. Wild unkempt hair, rumpled
sweat-stained clothes, a disfiguring skin condition, and a thousand-
yard stare were common descriptions of the master swordsman.
An absolute lack of conscience is another attribute of a psychopath.
At no time does Musashi speak about being fair or just in his
writings. His only focus was on how to win. He saw the world as a
very utilitarian place. At no time did he ever express remorse either.
It is our belief that Musashi never lost one moment of sleep over the
people that he killed, the families that he disrupted, or the damage
that he had done. Sure, he lived in a different time, was held to a
different set of standards and ethics, but even in warrior societies it’s
not easy to wantonly go around killing people with no remorse.
Insofar as we can tell the only remorse that Musashi ever
experienced was not being even better, more efficient at slaughtering
other human beings.
Musashi’s actions throughout his life benefited himself first and
foremost. Some might point to his writings as a deed designed to
assist his disciples, and we would agree, but in many ways they
were self-serving too. While his books may not have been
propaganda per se, everything was described through the lens of his
own perspective. Musashi’s life was about himself, his swords, and
finding increasingly efficient and effective ways to use them. He was
detached from society, rarely stayed long term in the company of
others. He did not depend on others, never formed any lasting
romantic relationships, and lived alone the majority of his time. In
fact, in his last writings he addressed the fact (in his opinion) that
one should never be guided by love, filial or romantic.
In today’s world we are able to obtain vast amounts of data about
crimes and criminals over the internet. When we search for the

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information on serial killers, or read news reports of violent crimes,
we can get information almost immediately. While early reports can
be suspect, much of what is reported in the early minutes and hours
ultimately proves to be accurate later on because reporters have an
easy time finding relevant and meaningful information near instantly.
Pick a criminal, any violent criminal, and perform a background
check. Within moments we can find a history of antisocial behaviors.
Sometimes they originate from nature, other times from nurture, but
they’re virtually always there. Every violent crime has a back story,
and oftentimes the criminal has a history of antisocial behaviors that
originates from his or (rarely) her childhood.
It is well known that Musashi’s father was an autocrat, he dictated
the terms of his household and his martial arts school. From our
modern minds it must have been very hard to live in that household.
This is speculation on the part of the authors, but requires
consideration. Is it possible that Musashi’s father, a teacher of
martial arts and observer of people’s temperaments, saw something
in his son that was not desirable? Is it possible Musashi’s father saw
a nascent psychopath, yet his father only knew to call the behaviors
arrogance since modern psychological science was unknown to
him? Is it possible that this father chose to be hard on Musashi
because it was the only way he knew how to squelch the undesirable
conduct that his son exhibited? And finally, is it possible that his
father’s actions only fueled Musashi’s antisocial behaviors?
So, what is a psychopath really? The Merriam-Webster Dictionary is
a fine place to start with their brief and clear definition: “A person
who is mentally ill, who does not care about other people, and who is
usually dangerous or violent.” This is a simple template in which
everything we know about Musashi simply fits. However as much as
we would like to make it that simple, placing Musashi into the
category of functional psychopath still has some, well… wiggle room.
Let’s look at it this way: On July 22, 2011 Norwegian national Anders
Behring Breivik killed eight people with a bomb and then hunted
down and shot 69 participants of a Worker Youth League summer
camp. Two court-appointed psychiatric teams who extensively

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examined Breivik in prison came to two different conclusions about
the state of his mental health. If nothing else these differences prove
that even what we might conclude as an “open and shut case” of
insanity, of aberrant psychopathic behavior, may not be.
However, even though we are not psychologists and obviously spent
no time examining Musashi in the flesh we stand by our conclusions.
Musashi was a functional psychopath. To prove our point we use a
checklist that comes from a guy who is a psychologist and far better
versed in the subject matter than we will ever be, Dr. Kevin Dutton.
He’s also a writer and postdoctoral researcher at University of
Oxford’s Department of Experimental Psychology. His definition,
which should sound eerily familiar to our earlier description of
Musashi, includes the following elements:
•
Ruthlessness
•
Fearlessness
•
Ability to be and stay mentally focused
•
Lack of conscience
So, without question Musashi was a functional psychopath. While we
believe that he was born predisposed to an antisocial personality
disorder, we simultaneously acknowledge that Musashi was, beyond
any shadow of a doubt, a genius. Can we separate the psychopath
from the genius? Sure we can, but it is a bit of a challenge. Once we
move past the acknowledgment that Musashi was a psychopath it
places his writings in a different light.
When we read Musashi’s writings, Go Rin No Sho or Dokkodo, we
are reading the thoughts of a functional psychopath. Should we,
therefore, accept his writings in totality? Clearly not. No more than
we would never accept the policies of the Nazi party in total just
because we like the way they addressed German citizens’ access to
healthcare. But, that’s the point isn’t it? We should feel free to
embrace the uncomfortable, to move past the icon of Musashi
constructed by Eiji Yoshikawa some seventy years ago.
Engage with the essentials of the master swordsman’s teachings, his
meaningful messages, all the while keeping a balance between the

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value of the icon and the reality of who he was as a man. In other
words, he wrote about a different time and place, a different culture
and ethic. There is merit in much of what he said, but his words are
not a bible.
Many people know about Musashi’s first book Go Rin No Sho, have
even studied it in depth, but far fewer have perused his second one.
On the occasion of Musashi giving away his possessions in
preparation for his impending death, he wrote down his final
thoughts about life in a treatise he called Dokkodo for his favorite
student Terao Magonojō to whom Go Rin No Sho had also been
dedicated. The title Dokkodo translates as, “The Way of Walking
Alone.” It is a short essay that contains a mere 21 passages, yet it is
just as profound as his longer dissertation.
The book you hold in your hands is our interpretation of that final
work.
When reading famous historical writings readers are oftentimes
subject to a single person’s perspective about what an author from
the past had to say. For instance, it might be the one person who
spent the time and energy to translate an ancient work such as