WHAT HAS THE WEST CONTRIBUTED?

 By Phillip Starr

After all I've written in previous articles about how the deterioration of the traditional martial arts can be ascribed, at least partly, to the West – commercialization, sportification, and on on, it would seem that I believe the West has contributed virtually nothing of value to the ancient arts. But the truth is quite the opposite, actually...I believe that we have contributed a great deal.

For instance, in China (and perhaps Japan as well), a student NEVER questions the teacher. Ever. To do so often results in a quick and rather painful response. It's a carry-over from Confucianism; to question the teacher is considered disrespectful and an affront to their position of authority and knowledge of the subject as. But in the West that's how we learn. From the youngest age, we're encouraged to ask questions. Numerous Eastern teachers who came to the West and began instructing Westerners discovered that we're always asking questions and many of them responded as they would in their native cultures (my teacher was one of them). But many of them eventually came to understand that questioning the teacher (in the West) is not a show of disrespect. On the contrary, we're asking the teacher because we respect him and we believe that he knows the correct answer.

Some Asian instructors quickly realized that THEY didn't know the answers to their student's questions...they'd never questioned their teachers! So they had to dig deeper and find the answers and this helped advance the arts a bit further.

One of the largest contributions made by the West has been in the fields of physics, exercise science, and kinesiology. Our forefathers knew that moving in certain ways worked very well but they didn't necessarily know WHY. Now we do...or we can find out. Much as many of us hate the admit it, a great many of our martial arts forefathers weren't particularly well educated. Some were functionally or even totally illiterate. Many lacked the verbal skills to adequately express what a student was supposed to do or feel. The “science” of the day was, in many cases, what we'd consider very crude. But thanks to modern technology, we've been able to determine exactly what happens when we move in certain ways and even find the most efficient ways of performing them. This has given the arts a HUGE boost forward.

WANTS VS. NEEDS

 by Phillip Starr

Sometimes, students feel that their teacher is providing less than fulfilling instruction because he/she isn't teaching them what they want to learn. The instructor, however, knows better than they do what they NEED to learn and that may not sit well with the student. And there are times when the student thinks he/she NEEDS to learn one thing, but the teacher knows better and proceeds to teach them what they really need to learn. And the student may be a bit miffed…

This kind of thing rarely happens in the East, where students join the class with the understanding that the teacher will teach them what they need at the appropriate time, regardless of what it is that they want to learn. His judgement isn't questioned. Ever.

In the West, some students feel that since they've paid money to receive this teacher's instruction, they should be taught exactly what they want...kind of like ordering a hamburger. Not. You may compensate the instructor, but you have no choice about what is on the curriculum. All items and subjects, however, are required. There's no picking and choosing. You will get all of it (if you stick around long enough), in the proper sequence, and at the pertinent time.

Just as a young child (or student) may THINK that what he wants to eat for dinner (or, in the case of martial arts instruction, learn) is the right thing, and may feel that his parent (teacher) is being unfair to insist that he or she eat (learn) something else (and the child may even claim that it tastes terrible), so it is in the training hall. Nutritious food, like basic techniques, give you strength and fosters good health (and necessary skill). Sweets (more advanced techniques) may come after a good, nutritious meal but they're no substitute for it.

UNDER THE MICROSCOPE

 by Phillip Starr

There is much more to your traditional forms than what you see. Much more. Many of you already know this to be true. But oftentimes, it's very informative to place your form “under the microscope, so to speak and examine it in minute detail. By doing so, we can become aware of numerous small elements that might otherwise go unnoticed. You must proceed very slowly, movement by movement. Hurrying will result in your missing key points.

For instance, take the first movement and examine it very closely. If it's a defensive technique of some kind, some naysayers (those who disdain the practice of forms and regard them as useless and unrealistic) will argue that, “In a real fight, you don't have time to chamber your arm like that before you do such-and-such technique...” Fine. But what makes them (or you) think that that preliminary chamber is what it seems...a preparatory movement for the execution of a particular technique? Very often, it isn't what it appears to be. A dear friend of mine who teaches traditional Okinawan karate, can demonstrate (rather painfully) just what that alleged “chamber” really is.

At times, the microscope has to be even more finely adjusted. In that singular movement or just before it, is there a subtle shift of the weight? How, exactly, do the hips move? Where should the eyes be directed? Do you turn your head before moving or do you initially catch the enemy's movement with your peripheral vision? When you make that step, do you step heel first, slide your foot, or what? Yes, it matters...sliding the foot along the floor is next to impossible to do outdoors and it's bloody well impossible on uneven, rocky, or muddy ground. If the foot slides, it would be an indication to me that this set was intended for use indoors...

There are some forms (especially Chinese sets that were developed by Buddhist monks) that sometimes contain what seem to be numerous nonsensical movements...until you're told that these monks were known to conceal small weapons under their billowy sleeves, on the lower legs or ankles, or even sewn into the hems of their sleeves! The seemingly silly, pointless movements are actually techniques for retrieving a concealed weapon! Movement(s) following this retrieval sometimes represent actual use of the weapon (which may involve throwing it at the enemy).

Some ostensibly infinitesimal, inconsequential movements may even be blows or seizing techniques directed at specific vital points, which are subtly delineated in the set. The “follow-up” techniques may be based on the opponent's reaction to the aforementioned strike or seizing technique (many of these reactions are involuntary; the opponent cannot help but react in a very explicit way). However, you must be able to “decode” such movements (which occasionally appear in traditional Okinawan and Chinese forms) and to learn to do that, you'll need to train under a qualified teacher. I'll go out on a limb and say that most current instructors are wholly unaware that these techniques even exist.

So...adjust your microscope and get to work. You may be very surprised at what you find!

THE TEA HOUSE

 by Phillip Starr

The old Japanese tea hut (chaseki, but also known by other names) is rather small; often just a single room used for tea ceremony (chado). Sparsely decorated, it often features an alcove in one corner where a scroll and flower(s) are displayed. And that's it. No gawdy pictures or posters, no fancy furniture (one sits on the matted floor), and usually, no windows. The focus is on the ceremony itself (which maintains very precise movements not unlike kata) rather than on gulping down tea.

Sen no Rikyū, also known simply as Rikyū, is considered the historical figure with the most profound influence on chanoyu (known also as chado), the Japanese "Way of Tea". He was also the first to emphasize several key aspects of the ceremony, including rustic simplicity, directness of approach and honesty of self. It was Rikyu who determined that the entrance to the hut should be small so that persons wanting to partake of the ceremony would have to enter on their knees.

The entrance is quite small; so small, in fact, that it's not possible to simply walk inside. You must get on your knees to crawl through the doorway. This applied to anyone wishing to enter the hut, even the shogun himself. There were no exceptions. Why was the doorway made in this way? It was done so that all who entered would have to humble themselves first.

I can scarcely imagine some of today's swaggering “masters” (many of whom have the title plastered all over the back of their training uniforms) humbly entering such a place. Too bad we don't have something of this sort for competitors at tournaments nowadays...

SOME DETECTIVE WORK...

 by Phillip Starr

In my book, HIDDEN HANDS, I strongly recommend doing some investigative “detective work” on your forms, particularly in so far as the history of the founder (of a given style or form) is concerned. Piecing together what may seem like fairly insignificant details can eventually provide you with profound insights into the form and/or how it is to be done. This kind of investigation isn't at all easy; you're working what, in law enforcement terms, is a “cold case”...the person into whose character and background you're looking likely shuffled off this mortal coil quite some time ago. But even so, it is possible to gather some considerable information...if you're up for it.

Where and When?

1. Exactly where was the founder from? What is the economic climate like in that place? Blue collar, white collar...this can provide information on the kinds of adversaries he would have had to be concerned about. What was the political climate there at that time? Was there open warfare going on? A lot of banditry and other such crime? If so, the sets might contain tactics/techniques to be used against an armed assailant. If it was a peaceful area, there would probably be less concern about facing an armed opponent.

   

2. What are living conditions like in that area at that time? What was the terrain like? Rocky ground, hills, or smooth prairies, crowded cities...? Lots of rain (thus, mud)? These factors would impact footwork considerably.

   

3. The founder- what was he like, physically? Tall, short, fat, thin, very strong, average strength...? What were his hobbies (this can help you understand what kind of person he was and even how he thought, to some degree)? Married? If he was single, why?

   

4. What was his vocation? For instance, a professional soldier would wear shoes that had very thick bottoms and would affect kicking movements. He may have needed a lot hand/wrist strength for his job, maybe his job was of a higher level and he used his mind a lot...it would also give an indication of how he dressed. Someone who typically wore a long gown or robe would likely be able to move with greater freedom than someone who wore a lightweight shirt or no shirt at all.

   
   
   

5. Did he learn martial arts from someone else? Who? What was his background?

6. What was the founder's level of education? Let's face it; until fairly recently, most Chinese were only semi-literate and many were illiterate altogether. In Japan, things were better...in 1868, at the end of the Tokugawa shogunate, fully 40% of the people were literate (which compares favorably to many Western nations at that time).

   

And much as we may hate the admit it, some of our forefathers may or may not have been particularly bright or creative. This would impact their understanding, creation, and practice of the various forms and the information contained therein. Some of us would regard this statement as bordering on heresy, but it's a fact.

Doing a bit of detective work can yield a good deal of information about the system that you practice and help you better understand why certain things are done as they are. It's worth it, believe me.

THE PREPARATORY STANCE

 by Phillip Starr

A young gong-fu practitioner I know was telling me about his six-month stay in China where he'd spent time training in his particular style under an old and quite traditional teacher. His stateside instructor had written to the older instructor to let him know of his student's desire to learn from him and the older man smiled and asked the young man to participate in the class, which was already in session. Still a bit shaky from jet lag, the younger student endeavored to perform the same set as the other students in the park. Standing straight, he began and before he'd completed the first movement, the older instructor said, “No. Begin again.”

The young man was a little confused but he did as he was told. This time, he was told start over before he'd even executed the first move. “How is it wrong?”, he asked. “I didn't even begin.” He'd made a common error, although a very slight one. He'd started off with his feet placed firmly together, side by side. His teacher in the U.S. had always told his student to begin with “feet together” and this was how they all stood. It's a trivial thing, to be sure, but it was significant to the older teacher. He wanted the inner edges of the heels joined rather than the whole side of the foot. With just the inner sides of the heels touching, the feet were pointed outwards at about 45 degrees; with the sides of the feet together, the feet pointed straight ahead.

Although not as significant as an error in a particular punch or kick, the “feet together” position was regarded as an error because it is somewhat less stable than the “heels together” stance. As it was explained to me many years ago, this posture is intended to foster a sense of self-awareness as well as acting as a sort of on-guard position. In the systems that I learned, the set(s) are begun from this position. Then the feet are often brought together (side by side) and the knees may be bent slightly as the fists or open hands are drawn to the sides of the waist just prior to the execution of the first actual posture.

Every single movement is performed just so for a reason(s). Most sets were not just tossed together haphazardly and our martial arts forefathers were very pragmatic. Very. Pragmatic. I like to think of the many tiny details (such as this one) of the Way as being ends of threads that all all wound up into a large ball. Pull on the thread, and part of the ball unravels. In this way, various facets of the Way are often revealed.

PATIENCE

 by Phillip Starr

The student approached his teacher to ask what was a very important question. A friend of his who was an instructor at another karate school has just been promoted and the inquiring student felt the need to keep up with him and although he had been promoted to a rather high grade less than two years prior to his, he felt that he was ready to move forward again. “Sensei”, he began, “What do I need to learn to make it to the next grade?”

His teacher, seated at the small desk in his office, glanced up and said calmly, “Patience.”

In our fast-paced, modernized world, patience is more of a virtue than it's ever been; it's often in rather short supply. This is true not only in having patience with others, but in being patient with ourselves, as well. When we're training and polishing our meager skills or trying to develop new ones, progress doesn't happen in a flash. It moves very, very slowly – so slowly that it's often impossible to perceive it. But you can be assured that it's happening; your mind/body digests very gradually.

Trying to hurry the process will only forestall it and may well result in injury. Remember the old adage, “The hurrieder I go, the behinder I get”...? It's very apt here. The more we hurry, the more slowly we advance.

Yagyu Matajiro was born into the Yagyu family after his family was already firmly established themselves as highly skilled swordsmen. Although encouraged to learn the art, he was a lazy pupil...so much so that his father banished him from the dojo. His pride crushed by such harsh punishment, he set out to master the sword and prove his father wrong. He traveled far and wide to find a worthy master and wandered into the Province of Kii, which is a beautiful mountainous area, festooned with waterfalls and thick forests.

On his travels, he'd heard of a legendary swordman, now retired and known as Banzo, who lived here. He found the ramshackle hut where the eccentric old man lived and announced himself to what appeared to be an empty room. “I am here to learn swordsmanship”, he began. Then he added, “How long will it take?”

“Ten years”, came the reply.

Matajiro frowned. “That's too long! What if I train very hard in class and practice everday?”

“Twenty years”, Banzo said loudly from the kitchen.

Well put. Being in a hurry only retards progress. I think a lot of it has to do with maturity. Oftentimes, younger students try to hurry. Those who are older and more mature have learned better. Developing real skill takes time and there's simply no way to hurry the process. Some younger students become frustrated and give up and decide to follow other ways or teachers that promise a high level of skill in a much shorter time. Of course, they never achieve genuine skill...

As Westerners (especially Americans), we're used to many things being “quick and easy.” In fact, we tend to prefer them that way. We have “fast food” (which really isn't food), “instant tea” (which my teacher loathed), and so on. And that's what we expect of martial arts. And although there are many who promise to deliver “quick and easy” skill, there's really no such animal.