TITLES

 by Phillip Starr

I've had several conversations with martial artists about instructors who are referred to as “sensei”, “sifu”, and so on, and it became immediately clear to me that many of them don't have a firm grasp of what such titles really mean or why they're used in the first place.

The title, “sensei”, is used in Japanese and Okinawan martial disciplines and means, “one who has gone before.” It is applied to all manners of teachers, from high school teachers to college professors as well as to lawyers, doctors, and other persons who are in authoritative positions. Naturally, it is used in all martial arts schools to refer to the teacher. He is, quite literally, “one who has gone before”, in terms of experience within his chosen discipline.

The title of “hanshi” (Japanese) is tossed around quite a lot nowadays. One who holds this title has achieved the highest level of expertise within his martial art and is a model citizen; he is a pillar of the community, a teacher of teachers, and an exemplary role model. I have to chuckle at the dozens of teachers who now refer to themselves as hanshi. Legendary martial arts teachers such as Gichin Funakoshi, Gogen Yamaguchi, Masutatsu Oyama, and many (perhaps most) others were never given this title, nor did they yearn for it.

Some even reference themselves as “soke” (pronounced “so-keh” as opposed to “soak”, like some ignoramuses pronounce it), which is the founder or headmaster of a particular martial discipline or style. In Chinese, it is “shihzu”, which infers that one is an ancestral teacher (something like a grandfather, if you will). In Cantonese, it is pronounced “sijo.”

The Chinese use the term “laoshih” to refer to any teacher, from primary school to university profs. It is generally not applied to martial arts teachers, who are usually called “shihfu” (or “sifu” in Cantonese). However, it isn't the same as the Japanese term, sensei. Shihfu means “teacher-father.” In China it used to be common for aspiring students to “adopt” the shihfu as a sort of surrogate father. If the student was not an adult, his parents would often present him to the teacher at a special ceremony wherein the shihfu adopted the student. The instructor would, from that time on, have more authority (in so far as the student's life was concerned) than his real father!

In the People's Republic of China, most martial arts teachers are often referred to publicly as “coach” and sometimes laoshih. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) frowns on the use of such honorific terms as shihfu...but they are still used. Beyond that title there are no further titles save for “zushi” or “shihzu”, which refer to the founder of a given school.

Referring to teachers as “Master” or “Grandmaster” is unknown in China. My own teacher never used these terms when referring to legendary martial arts figures of the past. Using the terms, “Grandmaster”, “Professor”, and “Doctor” actually were coined by Ed Parker's kenpo stylists back in the late 1960's and early 1970's. And it's only gotten worse over the years...

Now, some contemporary martial arts enthusiasts insist that titles of any kind are unnecessary and they prefer to call their teachers by their first names. And some instructors seem to prefer it as well. In my opinion, this is an error. I remember the first time I heard a student refer to his teacher as “Sensei Judy.” And she smiled. And then there are those who skip the use of the term sensei or shihfu altogether and just call the teacher Bob or Fred. Good. Lord. Can you imagine what would happen if you referred to your commanding officer (in the military) in the same fashion? I know I can!

The title should be used as an outward show of respect for the teacher. In my opinion, to do otherwise is to be rather disrespectful and/or to place oneself on a par with the instructor. No truly respectful student would ever do this. I recall a discussion I once had with one of my senior students when he asked if I thought of us as friends. “Of course, I do,” I told him.

“Well, what I mean is... are we 'buddies'?”, he asked.

“No”, I replied. “We can be friends...we can be very good friends. But we'll never be 'buddies', as I understand the term”, I said. “I will always be your teacher.”

I'm not sure that he fully understood the implications of what I said. I hope you do.

THE LARGEST OBSTACLE

 by Phillip Starr

     Like most martial arts teachers, I frequently subject my students - all of them - to various and sundry "tests" from time to time.  Administered without their knowledge (if they knew they were being "tested" the results would be tainted), these small and sometimes seemingly insignificant character tests allow me to look into their personalities or, as my teacher would have said, "see into their hearts."  This helps me to better understand each of them; how and why they learn or fail to learn, why they think and behave as they do, what they fear, what they believe (especially about themselves), and so on.  This enables me to be a more effective teacher.

     Over the many years that I have been involved in teaching, I have found one particular obstacle that is more insidious than all of the others combined.  It has ruined careers, destroyed countless relationships, and stunted the growth of many martial arts enthusiasts.  Of all the obstacles that are encountered by those who choose to follow the martial path, it is the largest and most dangerous.  It is also often the most difficult to see.

     And what might this obstacle be?

     Ego.

     Think about it.  Whenever someone fails to achieve something, they often think or say, "I can't do this."  The actual translation of that thought or statement is, "I won't do this."  Now, the why of that statement can vary considerably.  Some of the why’s would include:

· I don't really want to do it.

· I'm above doing that.  Doing that is beneath me.

· I'm too embarrassed to try.  Others will laugh at me.

· I'm afraid to try it but I don't want anyone else to know that I'm afraid.

· I don't want to put out that much effort.

And so on.

     Some time ago, I told my students at the end of class that we needed to clean up the training hall.  It needed to be dusted, vacuumed, and so on.  I watched to see who would pitch in and help.  Quite frankly, I was more than a little disappointed to see who didn't!

     On another occasion, a former student of mine went to the school of another martial arts teacher.  His ego wouldn't permit him to don a white belt and become a beginner again.  Instead, he behaved like a customer in a fast-food burger joint; he wanted it “his way!” He informed the instructor what it was that he wanted to learn and he fully expected the instructor to comply with his request!  Naturally, the teacher, who is a dear friend of mine, declined his request and when I heard of this incident I was very embarrassed and ashamed. It reminded me of an old story, which I will relate here...

    There was once a young swami who was training under a very well-known and highly-respected guru in the foothills of the Himalayas.  Part of his training involved traveling around the countryside and teaching the Vedas (holy Hindu scriptures) to the people. He erected a platform so he could sit and look down at the people while he lectured.  Subsequently, his ego began to grow at an alarming rate.

     A very powerful, older swami heard of this and came to see him.  Sitting amongst the crowd of followers, he was barely noticed by the young teacher who treated him like one of his followers and ordered him around every day.  When the older man would pose a question that he knew the young man couldn't answer, the young swami acted as though he knew the answer and would brush the query aside.

     One morning when the young swami was at the river brushing his teeth, the older swami, posing as a student, approached him and began to ask a question.  "I'm brushing my teeth right now," the young man said.  "Go and get me a bucket of water."  The older man nodded and said quietly, "That's alright.  You go on brushing your teeth."

     The young swami's teacher found him by the river two days later.  His gums and jaws were swollen and he was still brushing his teeth with his finger although he was barely conscious.  After some time, his teacher managed to bring him around and scolded him for being so egotistical.  "The man who did this to you is a very powerful swami," he said. "You were rude to him and he has taught you a valuable lesson.  Be sure that you learn from it."

     I've met countless martial arts teachers over the years, many of whom would make the aforementioned pompous swami look rather humble.  It has been my experience that those who insist on being addressed as "Master", "Grandmaster", "Great Grandmaster", "Hanshi", "Soke", "Grand Ultra-Cosmic Poohbah", and all other manner of eloquent titles...aren't.  Their egos are strangling them.

     I've met and trained with some of the greatest martial arts teachers of our time - Hidetaka Nishiyama, Seiyu Oyata, W.C. Chen - and none of them were ever addressed as "Great Master So-and-So."  Known simply as "sensei" or "sifu", they were exceptional men whose skill was of the highest caliber.  They weren't interested in titles; their sole concern lay in the development of real skill and in imparting that skill and knowledge to others.

     Another fine example of such a teacher was my friend, Sherman Harrill.  He had trained in Isshin-ryu karate under the founder, Tatsuo Shimabuku, and had spent decades perfecting his skill and researching what he had been taught.  For years, "Sherm" wouldn't wear a colored belt at all.  He'd wear a karategi (karate uniform), but no belt.  I used to harass him about it and he ignored me until I mentioned that a uniform without a belt just looked plain dorky.  I must have struck a nerve because shortly after I made that remark, he began wearing a belt. But...he insisted on wearing a white belt!

He said that he was really just a beginner and so began another round of me harassing him about not wearing the appropriate colored belt.  It took several years of loud complaining before he finally acquiesced and put on a proper black belt. Sherm didn't know the meaning of the word "ego."  I don't believe I ever heard anyone refer to him as "master" and I shudder to think what he might have done to who anyone who did.  Sherm cared nothing for titles.  Or belts (obviously).  What he cared about was knowledge and skill and he'd go to whatever lengths he needed to endure in order to learn.

     Another excellent example is that of another close friend, Mr. Ron Christenham. Known far and wide simply as "sensei" (I imagine there are many people who don't know his real name - even other martial arts instructors, including me, refer to him as "sensei" and everyone knows exactly who we're talking about), he exemplifies what a genuine martial arts teacher should be.  He doesn't try to do it; he has simply become it.  His unassuming, humble, and polite manner conceals his remarkable skill and extensive knowledge of the arts.  He is the perfect antithesis of the sort of teacher who revels in being called "master", grandmaster", or other high-flying titles.  He doesn't strut around with a puffed-out chest and his uniform is not adorned with patches that proclaim him as "instructor", "master", or anything else.  But if you were to walk into his aikido class, there would be no question as to the identity of this man.  You can feel his spirit from across the room!

     Martial arts are much more than learning some fancy punches, kicks, and throws. They’re more than a pretty uniform with patches all over it (I've seen some uniforms that resemble colorful maps of downtown Los Angeles) or black belts with half a dozen hash marks on one end.  At the end of the day, martial arts is learning about yourself - good and bad - and striving to perfect your character.  That means laying ego aside and that can be a very, very difficult thing to do.  Just when you think you've finally done it, the ego creeps up from a blind spot and returns. 

     Do you feel proud that you've finally eliminated ego?  Then you'd better look again...

     Have you ever cleaned the training hall when no one else was around or watching you?

     Have you ever (or would you) clean the toilets?

     Remember, character is what you do and how you act when no one else is watching. Ego strangles the development of character.  And everything else.  I have some former students (and some still consider themselves students although they never manage to attend class) who are truly “unteachable”.  I say that they are beyond teaching because they won't jump into class with everyone else and pour sweat.  They don't have the beginner's mind that thirsts for knowledge and skill.  They are unwilling to push themselves (especially in front of others) and admit their weaknesses.  If they will not own up to their weaknesses and failings, how can they hope to overcome them?

     Take time for self-introspection.  You might be surprised at what you find.

THE FIRST STEP

 by Phillip Starr

So you've received your first-grade black belt. You're thrilled and proud as well you should be. After all, you made it! But...is this the end of it? Are you an “expert” now?

Some time ago, I lost count of all the first-grade black belts I've known who, after having strapped that coveted piece of black cloth around their waists, closed the book on traveling the martial path. Such a pity!

In the West we tend to place great emphasis and meaning upon the acquisition of the black belt but in the East, it's not regarded as such a big deal. There are, after all, 10 “dan” grades, with 10^th being held as that of perfection (or as perfect as is humanly possible to achieve). So as my iaido teacher is fond of saying, “A shodan (first grade black belt) is only 10% of perfect, a nidan (second grade) is just 20% of perfect...” And he's right.

I've always regarded a shodan as an advanced beginner; a student who, in preparation for a long trip, has just finished packing his/her bags. The adventure is about to begin! Why would anyone spend so much time meticulously packing their bags only to forget about the trip and crawl into bed to take a nap? And yet, this is exactly what the vast majority of those who receive their shodans do!

They miss the point of all their previous training, which was intended to prepare them physically, mentally, and spiritually for learning the TRUE art.

THE DARK SIDE

 by Phillip Starr

     For many martial arts enthusiasts the main goal of training is to become stronger and faster, and to master fighting techniques and tactics so as to defeat any aggressor who dares assault them.  Basic techniques are drilled over and over while muscles scream and the breath comes in gasps.  Forms are practiced over and over and then studied and analyzed in minute detail until their true meaning is understood.  Students leave their blood on the striking post and their sweat on the training floor.  But underneath it all is something more, something personal, insidious, and dark.

     We've all faced times of hardship and times of "testing" as we've traveled the martial path.  These difficulties come in all manner of shapes and sizes, from minor to major injuries, illnesses, delays, loss of interest, problems with relationships...and there is simply no way to intellectualize or buy your way out of them.  Oftentimes, you must work or even fight your way through them and at other times you must simply grit your teeth and wait them out.  Sometimes simply staying on the path is all you can do. The legendary founder of aikido, Morihei Uyeshiba, put it succinctly:

"In extreme situations it seems as if the entire universe has become our foe.

At such critical times unity of body and mind is essential.

Do not let your heart waver.

Bravely face whatever God offers.

One should be prepared to receive 99% of the enemy's attack and stare death right in the face in order to illuminate the path.

Transcend the realm of life and death and you will be able to make your way calmly and safely through any crisis that confronts you."

     In the practice of martial arts we must eventually confront our own "shadow side.” All of us have fears - from a simple fear of the dark to fears of pain, financial ruin, loneliness, and disease. And although these fears seem to come from outside of us, I think they are often the result of an internal process. This is a process of which we may not be consciously aware, a process that lies below our surface personality.

     In training we strive to perform correctly, even under pressure.  It usually doesn't take long for inhibiting problems to begin to surface; poor attitudes, envy, self-pity, criticism (of self or others), insecurities, anger bubble to the surface to be seen by everyone. You can't hide them although you may try and then it becomes obvious that you're trying to conceal them! 

     The fact is that we've lived with these "shadows" for so long that we've developed our own personal ways of handling them.  They've become a part of us - habits, if you will - and we've become so accustomed to carrying them around that we don't even notice them until we get involved in martial arts training, which is really very different from most other physical activities because we're dealing with the basest form of human relationships...a punch in the mouth.  We have to learn to respond appropriately to physical attack while we must simultaneously "be with ourselves" under gradually increasing levels of physical and emotional pressure.

     Before long we must face the ways in which we typically handle this and other forms of stress; how we armor ourselves against them, how we withdraw (into ourselves) or attack aggressively and what we see may not be pleasant.  We're exposed not only to ourselves but to all of our classmates as well.  The way we defend ourselves under great pressure (as when a partner tries to punch us in the face) shows us how we work to survive in daily life.

     As Wilhelm Reich said, your body acts as a "prison" that holds "you" (or what you perceive as "you") in place.  Although you can see an open door before you, you are held back in your "prison" by your limiting beliefs, attitudes, and so forth.

     A skilled and caring instructor will see immediately what you see but he cannot present you with an instant "cure."  All he can do is encourage and guide you and you must listen. He's been where you are.  Your chosen martial art can be used as a vehicle to explore those things that you find undesirable in yourself - your fears, what threatens you, feelings of inadequacy and inferiority, and so on.  It is at this time, when we recognize various aspects of our "dark side" that we must take master Uyeshiba's advice to heart.

     You face your opponent (your training partner) and he becomes you.  You project your fears, your weaknesses, and even your strengths onto him and confront them as you practice fighting.  And as you strive to "not lose", it isn't really your opponent who you are trying to defeat.  It's your "shadow side."  This is why practice fighting is so very important because in actual combat it's the same thing.  Your opponent, whether he's just a training partner or a real assailant, is a mirror.

     I believe that the willingness to face our "dark side" and striving to understand and eventually overcome our weaknesses, fears, and the many things about ourselves that we would rather keep stashed away is what makes a true warrior.  You must begin by being bold enough to admit the truth of what you see about yourself.  Then you must be strong enough to resolve those aspects of yourself that you find undesirable.  This can be accomplished through correct martial arts training but it isn't easy and many students will quit training in order to avoid having to face themselves although many of them, perhaps even the majority of them, are unaware that this is the reason they're quitting.

     Remember the word of master Uyeshiba above:

“In extreme situations it seems as if the entire universe has become our foe.”

(Ever felt like the whole world - maybe even the whole universe - was against you?)

“At such critical times unity of body and mind is essential.”

(First, recognize the situation and the feelings it evokes.  Then "Get One-Point" and exercise reverse breathing.  Unify your body and mind!)

“Do not let your heart waver.”

(Don't get cold feet.  Don't even think about the possibility of giving up or failing. Ever. Those are not options.)

“Bravely face whatever God offers.”

(Face the problems directly and remember that every problem you face has a hidden gift to give you.)

“One should be prepared to receive 99% of the enemy's attack and stare death right in the face in order to illuminate the path.”

(Like the old Japanese saying; "You only live twice.  Once when you are born, and once when you look death in the face." )

“Transcend the realm of life and death and you will be able to make your way calmly and safely through any crisis that confronts you."

(When you have overcome your fear of death, you can make your way calmly through any crisis.)

THE BOW

 by Phillip Starr

*Partially excerpted from “The Making of a Butterfly” by the author

Contrary to what many people believe, China is not “the land of bowing.” That title is reserved primarily for Japan. This is not to say that the Chinese don't bow; they do, when they intend to show deep respect or thanks. It is a beautiful convention that has, unfortunately, been forgotten in the Occident where it was once fairly common.

In Japanese, Okinawan, and Korean martial arts schools it is customary to bow when walking onto or leaving the training floor, when addressing a teacher, and many schools do it when the instructor enters or leaves the training area.

I remember a day many moons ago when I learned the real significance of the bow. My classmates and I trained in the basement and backyard of our teacher's home and although Chinese martial arts schools generally don't require students to bow to the training area, I did (mostly because I also trained in Kyokushin and Shito-ryu karate and I was accustomed to doing it). It had become an unconscious habit that my teacher, W.C. Chen, eventually came to appreciate.

As I stepped from the basement stairs onto the floor, I quickly bowed and walked in. Being in a bit of a hurry to start warming up, I actually just nodded my head. Before I'd made it ten feet, my sifu motioned for me to approach him. As I did so, he said, “You did not bow when you entered the room.”

I thought that maybe he'd missed it because it was quite slight. “Yes I did, sifu.”

He became stern and replied, “That was not a bow. Try again.” He waved me back to the stairway. I bowed more deeply this time but it didn't satisfy him. “That's not a bow”, he said.

Okay. I was a bit confused. WHY wasn't the deeper bow correct?

He motioned for me to approach him again and then swept his arm across the room. “When you bow, you are honoring those who have gone before you and who have given us this art. This is where you will develop yourself and grow (up).”

Turning to face me, he continued, “You must be reverent because this is where you will learn to save your life! You must always train seriously, as if your life depends on it...because it does! So, you must always be serious when you bow.” I was taken aback a bit. I'd never looked at it that way.

Addressing the other students who were eavesdropping, he said, “And all of you must humble yourselves here. You are here to learn and if you cannot be humble, you cannot learn. If you have a big (swelled) head, then you have an empty head and an empty heart. So be serious; be humble.”

He turned back to me and continued, “You will teach this art someday and you must be even more serious than your students. You must be more humble, too. A real teacher is this way because he knows the why and not just the how.”

TCM and TCMA

 by Phillip Starr

*Partially excerpted from “The Making of a Butterfly” by the author

There was a time in the not-too-distant past when traditional Chinese medicine and traditional Chinese martial arts went hand in hand and traditional medical therapy was part and parcel of one's martial arts regimen. One of the first Americans to travel to China (in the late 1970's) and practice kung-fu, Mr. Mark Salzman (author of “Iron and Silk”) discovered this when he went to practice at a park in China one day. Several people who had been watching him approached him and asked if he could help them with various ailments. They associated a martial artist with one who was also skilled in traditional medical therapies. Unfortunately, Mr. Salzman hadn't learned any of this part of kung-fu and had some difficulty communicating this to the local inhabitants.

My teacher, a highly skilled acupuncturist and tui-na (Chinese chiropractic and massage) practitioner, carried on this tradition. “This was very common in the country (rural) areas where towns were small and there were many villages. The village kung-fu teacher often was also the village doctor,” he told me.

My teacher, W.C. Chen, once told me that healing and hurting are two sides of the same coin. “If you know only one and not other (in so far as martial arts are concerned), you have only half an art.” And his lovely wife, Mei, added, “People appreciate healing more than hurting. In your life you will have more opportunities to to help heal people than hurt them.” My teacher taught me acupuncture, tui-na, rudimentary (Chinese) herbology, and qigong for health. “Teach your students the same way,” he admonished me. “This way the art will remain whole...and the world will be a better place. This is your mission.” And that's exactly what I did, requiring senior students to acquire as much skill as possible in the healing arts as a part of their upper-level examinations.

For many years I kept a small clinic in the back of kung-fu school. Various chiropractors and even physicians would frequently refer patients to me. I always enjoyed being able to help people regain their health. Mei was right; I certainly had many more opportunities to help heal people than hurt them!

SWIMMING ROUND THE STONE; MY TWIST ON IT

 by Phillip Starr

In Japanese (and Chinese) culture, the carp has a long history of respect because many of its attributes are considered worthy of emulation. For instance, it is a paragon of bravery. If you have ever caught one on a fishing line, you know that it will fight furiously to try to free itself. But when the battle is lost and the fish has been brought out of the water, it lies still and accepts its fate calmly and stoically...in a spirit similar to that of the samurai when they faced death.

The Chinese are responsible for teaching the Japanese how to selectively breed this fish and they imparted many of their secrets several centuries ago. Today, the raising of koi (carp) is a multi-million yen business.

Mr. Dave Lowry (author of several best-selling martial arts books) wrote an article on this subject and I will put my own spin on it, for what it's worth...

One technique for raising healthy fish was the placing of a stone in the pond where the fish lived. If koi are placed in a pond with nothing but water in it, they become lazy, listless, and subject to disease. The Chinese found that placing a stone in the pond give the fish something to swim around and they grow energetic and strong. It's a kind of anchor for them and they can clearly see it and use it.

Mr. Lowry goes on to say that he often regards the budo (wudao or martial ways) like that stone. They form a stone of sorts,.. for those who have made the martial ways a part of their lives. He then goes on to discuss how the budo kept him anchored during the turbulent 60's (which is when he trained with his sensei in iaido and also trained judo). The budo provided him with family; consistency in a world where values had been turned upside down and inside out (I too, remember those days). The training hall provided a sort of granite boulder around which he and his classmates (who trained regularly) swam.

The traditions, the training methods, the challenges...were all the same as they had been for his martial arts ancestors. Outside the walls of the training hall the storms of social change raged, but within the training hall was the calm of a temple. He always knew that the stone was there and he could depend on it. The budo provided him and his classmates a core upon which they could center their lives.

Mr. Lowry's essay on the subject is really very delightful and it made me think....that within a given martial art style or system, there must also be a stone. I think this stone is formed out of the traditions, the training methods, the forms...of a given style or art. Without them; without the stone, the style or system flounders and becomes confused, weak, and sick. This is, I think, what has happened to many “modern” martial arts. They have no stone to swim around. They are unidentifiable. They have no markings which make them distinct and clear. No forms, no traditions, no sense of etiquette, no traditional, hard and fast training methods.

Follow your traditional system. Its methods and traditions will remain steadfast; they form the “stone” around which you “swim.” They provide us with a great consistency; a solid anchor which we can see and touch and experience firsthand.