CONDUCT

 by Yang Shuangxing

Back many years ago, there was a form of Japanese martial arts competition that was considerably different from what we see today. Known as kachi-toru (to win through successive victories) or kachi-nuke (win or be left out) worked like this:

The contestants (usually judo practitioners) lined up according to rank and experience. At the head of the line were the senior black belts and those of lesser rank or experience lined up. Those of lesser rank or experience lined up accordingly. Starting from the lowest end, the contestant with the least experience was paired off with the one next to him. Whoever lost the bout would sit back down and the winner would take on the next person in line. He would continue to do this until he was defeated...then he would sit down and let the victor go on.

In the lower ranks, winners seldom made it through more than three bouts before being defeated. But in the brown and black belt grades, conditioning and the ability to execute technique was often quite high and a skilled judoka might burn through four or five opponents before being bested.

Now, this whole thing seems a bit unfair, right? They were...just like real life. That's one of the lessons competitors would take with them afterwards. But if you look closely at it, it wasn't as unfair as you'd think. Sure, the victor would be warmed up – but he'd also be tired and sucking wind when his next opponent entered the ring. BUT...the new opponent had just risen up from sitting in seiza; there was no call as to who was “on deck”, or time to stretch out and loosen up before the bout. So he'd walk in cold and a bit (maybe a LOT) stiff. It'd be akin to a mugging in real life; there's no time to get warmed up first...

Yes, the “last man standing” was the winner, but don't get your panties in a twaddle about that; if you'd won the last match, you'd probably bested a guy who has already put away four or even five guys. The whole concept of a “winner” was changed. You might have won, but everyone was talking about the brown belt who put away six opponents before he was finally defeated. The goal of such competitions wasn't to produce “champions”, but to allow everyone to conduct him or her self in a manner that displayed, under very difficult circumstances, the kind of conduct that would make one successful in a real encounter or life in general. Proper etiquette wasn't named as the goal, but it was certainly a by-product of these events.

Looking at it from the angle of personal behavior and the constant maintenance of a strong spirit were considered to be more valuable attributes than the more easily measured qualities of success or failure. Martial arts ethics came to the fore. The childish tantrums we often see in professional sports (ie., tennis, and numerous others) might be tolerated in a modern setting, but they're in opposition to what the Martial Way emphasizes in so far as conduct is concerned. For instance, many years ago, a young judoka scored a point in a competition with a clean, textbook-perfect hip throw. When the center judge announced “Ippon” (full point), the young man raised his fist in joy. Then the official shouted “Hansoku-gachi” (loss by forfeit). The youngster was shocked but knew better than to EVER argue with a referee, so he sat down at ringside. The referee walked over to him and told him to save the celebrations for later. Congratulating yourself like that on the battlefield could very easily get you killed.

At a different event, the two contestants struggled against each other for some time, but they were getting nowhere. As is the custom, the center judge stopped the match and told them to return to their starting positions (for a short 30 second break). One of them turned around and walked back to his starting position and the judge immediately called his opponent the winner of the bout! Why? Had this been an actual combat situation, turning one's back on the opponent leaves a potentially lethal gap in one's awareness. A gap in proper conduct.

Yes, of course, the contest arena isn't a real battlefield and regardless of how serious the contestants may be, it's a world away from the real thing where one's life is on the line. But what we're trying to reinforce is an ethos; a state of mind that, although we're not engaged in a real life-and-death struggle, emerges with a sense of that spirit. The perfect place to see proper conduct is in the viewing of a sumo match. When the action is halted by the referee, the sumotori don't lose their focus at all. They don't jump around or pump their fists in the air when they win. They are relaxed before and after the action of the bout. Their attention never goes slack. Their conduct isn't one of pomposity or machismo...it's a kind of quiet awareness, sober and steady bearing.

While it is true that the values of the martial ways transcend culture, it is equally true that the same values are based upon the tenets of a parent culture. Those who feel this in unimportant will never grasp the true nature of these arts. Because these arts and their ethos are so different from many of the prevalent attitudes that we have in the West and the modern world in general, they present a real challenge to those who are able to overcome some of their own prejudices and expectations to try and understand them on their own terms. They were created as integral parts of the cultures that bore them and to attempt to separate them from their parent cultures is, for the most part, a waste of time. To ignore the dimension of proper conduct that runs so deeply through them is a destructive error.