The meaning of iai practice

Recently, someone posted on a forum I belong to a comment about how watching iai (Japanese swordsmanship) was as much fun to watch as paint drying. He suggested that it might be more fun (tongue firmly in cheek) if someone were to toss a cherry bomb into an iai demonstration and video the stunned reactions of the practitioners, unable to cope with a sudden, unexpected event. Ha ha. The reactions varied from along the lines of "If you think iai is boring, try watching kyudo (archery)" to a minor discussion of what iai practice was actually for. In that writer's opinion, iai practice was to train people to fight with swords, and learning solo kata alone would not be practical enough to accomplish that aim. That's why, he continued, one needed free-sparring with bokuto (kendo having too many rules and being too sportified, I guess, to be much use).

Interestingly, I have been thinking about this issue myself lately. In fact, last night, at my "summer school" class (see the identically-named post) the other instructor and I had a brief chat on what iai kata training was for. He made a nice analogy. "Kata is like learning the alphabet. Learning the alphabet is good, but the point of learning the alphabet is not to stop there. You learn it so you can write poetry." Or, as he continued, to at least be able to write some rudimentary sentences, if that is the best you can do.

The poster noted in the first paragraph was trying to be provocative, and he succeeded somewhat, but I thought the comments he provoked were similarly off the mark. Initially, iai kata was a safe way to control and use a sword - that is definitely true. But even as long ago as 1585, teachers were considering a deeper meaning to practice. That is why Japanese swordsmanship of this type, wherein kata begins and ends with the sword in the scabbard, is called "iai" (whether "-jutsu" or "-do" - take your pick) and was differentiated from kenjutsu - swordsmanship wherein the sword is already drawn. The kanji for "iai" roughly (very roughly) translate as "being in harmony." As a result, while Japanese people can readily understand "kenjutsu" or "kendo", the word "iai" will leave them baffled. (Contrary to a lot of popular belief outside Japan, Japanese people are not walking encyclopedias of traditional culture; if they are not aware of iai, or even jodo for that matter, they will have no idea what it is).

I wondered for a long time about the word "iai." Why name an artform like this, which involves formalized training in deadly technique (not even potentially deadly, pretty much actually deadly) given such an obscure, and seemingly misleading, name? I used to tell Japanese acquaintances "Kenjutsu wa chotto onaji desu. Chotto." ("It's a little like drawn sword technique. A little bit.") There was no adequate way for me to describe it otherwise. Certainly the techniques, once the sword is drawn, are very similar. But there's that damn obscure name thing again.

As much as I am fond of blaming some recent historical events (like the Allied Occupation) for some of the modern, stated reasons for budo practice (my favorite one is "self-improvement"), I cannot do that for the word "iai" because the use of the word predates the war (though I don't know if anyone knows for sure by how many years. If you have a documentable idea, feel free to comment). So, as the name would indicate, iai practice has a meaning beyond the practical one.

One thing iai is not for is to be an end in itself. This, according to a number of people who teach koryu budo and spend time writing and commenting, is one of the fallacies of modern iai practice. And they have a point. Many instructors (including myself) continually harangue students on how to do correct kata. Step like this, cut like that. We use targets occasionally to check the veracity of techniques. We discuss the technical issues - what artery is being cut, what body part being dismembered. I even occasionally have described partner kata like that in demos, and watched some members of the audience wince at the anatomical correctness of the techniques being shown. I don't blame them. It was a ghastly business, swordsmanship. It had ghastly results. And I think people who forget that, considering iai to be simply some sort of meditative art form, are also missing the point.

Two things - the word iai, and that the kata begins and ends with the sword in the scabbard, in addition to whatever philosophical overlay you want to include, are the essence of this style of swordsmanship. Being in harmony suggests being attuned to the world around you - not just plants and animals (which is sometimes what people think of - being in harmony with nature, as it were) but in a world with other people in it. The sword is in the scabbard. The practitioner decides when, for whatever reason, it should be drawn, and when it should be resheathed. That involves moral judgment and courage, and not just timing or other tactical considerations. There are lots of hoary quotes people come up with on this score. Sayings such as "katsujin to" ("life-giving sword") and "the best techniques are done with the sword in the scabbard," though they seem like cliches, have had deep meaning for practitioners. My teacher was one of them.

As for the cherry-bomb at the demo thing, no one, not even in the commentary, suggested doing such a thing if a long-time master swordsman were performing a demo. That's because it would be unlikely to disturb him/her. If it were thrown in such a way as to potentially cause bodily injury, there would certainly be a reaction; but if the object was just to make noise, I doubt it would make much difference. Concentration is not tuning out what is going on around you. On the contrary, it is taking it all in, and adjusting accordingly. My teacher was once performing a demo in a small, chotchke-filled dojo in New Jersey. The host had decorated the space with every imaginable Japanese souvenir. Suddenly, in mid-cut, Sensei let go of his sword, which went clattering to the ground (it made a nice cut in the wooden floor, which we found when we looked around later). The reason for this seemingly-embarrassing moment was that he had miscalculated the placement of a low-level shelf full of breakable objects against the wall. Feeling the blade come in contact with something, he dropped the sword in order not to damage the wall, the shelf, or its contents. He then calmly picked up his sword and continued what he was doing as though it had never happened. The host was baffled that "someone at his level would make such a mistake." But it wasn't a mistake. Sensei never explained it; and only those who were genuinely paying attention knew what had actually happened. It would have been a mistake if he had continued the cut, unmindful of the damage it would cause.

Unfortunately, many students leave practice before they understand any of this deeper meaning of iai. They get through the shoden set, maybe get to shodan level, and, figuring they have an understanding of what they were doing, stop practicing. They know how to use a sword! And it makes them feel badass! I remember the late, great Bill Mears, an iai teacher and one of the most sincere guys I had ever met in my life, regretting the loss of senior students. In his mind, they were so close to actually understanding what practice was all about, but they decided they already knew. He knew - iai is not about kata, or even fighting. It's about poetry.

Women warriors (again)

So, this past weekend, I got to hang out for a few hours with a statistical rarity - a budoka who happens to be female. I should say, that this particular rarity only seems to be the case outside Japan, and, in my anecdotal experience, specifically in the U.S. The occasion was a taikai (lit. "large gathering") of some modern sword-style practitioners. I respect this style, and many of the people who practice it, but modern styles are not my thing. My friend and her husband were selling equipment. I came to "help," and also pick up an equipment order for some students (I don't think I was really all that helpful - but at least I provided some entertainment).

During the course of our hanging out (which included looking for a beer store that happened to not exist - yes, there are statistically-rare women who also like to drink beer), the thought came up briefly of the dearth of women budoka in the U.S. This is not a new topic for me, as some readers of this blog might know. Go to any large gathering of budoka in the U.S., and you may find a handful of women, mostly junior students. If the event is prestigious enough, you may also find some spouses of male budoka who are not directly involved. We encountered one such person at the event this weekend, who accosted my friend with an endless stream of comment about a psych paper she was working on. As we faded out of earshot, I asked what that was about. "I have no idea," my friend responded, "except that this event has been going on for three days, and she is probably bored out of her skull by now." Hmm.

This point led to a discussion of what it is like to be a woman taking part in such an event. At the events I go to in Japan, women make up 1/4 to 1/3 of participants, and at least some of them are senior students and/or teachers. And it depends on the type of budo - if it is a naginata gasshuku or taikai, men can expect to be in the minority, since women mostly practice naginata. If kyudo, maybe half and half, since many women in Japan also practice kyudo.

At any traditional weapons seminar in the U.S., however, women are a rarity (I can't speak for empty hand styles). The few women participants I encounter at these events are not very friendly; it's as if they have had to hunker down just to get where they are, and they are so used to being alone, and so serious about what they are doing, that getting them into a basic conversation can be incredibly difficult (I am speaking from personal experience). As for the women's auxilliary, they can be almost hostile. Maybe it's because they are annoyed that their husband or boyfriend would rather spend his time swinging a sword or stick on that particular weekend instead of being at home. There is also the feeling that they are mentally asking me, "What are you doing here?" as though, if my husband or boyfriend were not taking part, I had no business being there myself.

My friend pointed out that little girls seem to love swords, sticks, and all kinds of stuff like that. I concur. Years ago, my husband and I contributed a pirate ship miniature golf obstacle for a charity event. Play had to be stopped at least twice because a cadre of little girls had taken over the "pirate ship" and were prepared to repel all attempts at boarding (i.e. playing through). And they were as serious as a group of little girls playing pretend could be (which is very serious, actually).

But something seems to happen once girls get to be nine or ten. Somehow they get the message that martial activities are not for them. By the time they are teenagers, the animated looks are replaced with gazes of supreme boredom, even as boys step right up. Some feminist writers, such as Peggy Orenstein, have questioned the value of the messages young girls are receiving via U.S. mass culture. In particular, the message that girls are supposed to emulate princesses, whose social role is essentially passive. This idea, disappointingly, flies in the face of the previous generation's struggle for equality (and all to make a few more bucks for toy manufacturers). I recently gave a demonstration/workshop at a kids' camp in Philadelphia. One of the more poignant questions came from one of the female counselors: were there gender restrictions to studying swordsmanship? Gender restrictions.

I responded, of course, in the negative. As far as I know, in Japan, there have been no restrictions. I could be wrong about the past, but I can definitively say now that budo in Japan is open to everyone. However, I said, in the U.S., sadly, girls and women feel somehow that the martial arts are not for them.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened to me if I had been judged and pushed into a social mold like the ones I see around me for girls now. When I was a kid, I was a tomboy. Would I now have been called "transgendered" as a child, instead? Would I be ostracized because I don't like the color pink?

Real, traditional budo has a lot to offer people - a sense of history, traditional aesthetics, strategy, philosophy, even ethics; along with the fitness and confidence that one normally hears about. I find it incredibly sad that half the population thinks such things are not for them.

Leap of Faith

[Note to patient readers - lately I have been using a computer that only lets me input straight html for this blog, which results in paragraph divisions being wiped out. I apologize for the difficult read, and promise that, as soon as I get to a more civilized machine, I will reformat any offending posts.]

I just came back from a trip to the south of France. The Languedoc, where I stayed, is a historically rich area. In particular, it was a seat of power of the Cathars, a heretical sect of Christianity that became so powerful, the region was subject to the first (only?) crusade ever launched against a heretical sect in Europe. Outside of simply hearing that they existed, I had little idea of the Cathars, but during the course of the week, I bought four (count'em) books about in order to ease my ignorance. I often do this after the fact: I seem never to have much time to research a place before I visit it, but when I am visiting, I actually have time to browse books and bring some home. Afterwards, I read them on my overcrowded train ride to work. It gives me a chance to relive my experience and add to it at the same time.

So, having read only one book, my observations here are a little sketchy (please don't flame me, historical experts, but feel free to help out).

The Cathars were an interesting lot. Among other things:

1. They considered themselves Christians, but disliked the use of the crucifixion as a symbol. Cathar crosses depict a man with his arms outstretched (sans nails and agony) instead.

2. They believed in a form of reincarnation; i.e., that souls not worthy to ascend to god would have to go 'round again.

3. They held women in a higher social position than the Catholic Church did. A number of educated noblewomen were Cathar leaders.

Anyway, from the 12th-13th centuries, the Cathar heresy grew, was persecuted, moved around, and eventually was brutally wiped out by the beginning of the 14th century (approximately). The one book I read was trying rather hard I thought to not be too hard on the Catholic Church hierarchy, while at the same time trying to tell the story straight - a not-easy task in a book from France, where the largest building in the smallest town is the church.

In the wake of the crusader armies (which were led by men who, not coincidentally, were as much or more into the idea of conquering the heretics for their lands and titles as for the good of their souls) came inquisitors. After an area was conquered, the residents were given about two weeks to turn in their Cathar neighbors. Cathars who turned themselves in or were turned over to the inquisitors had an opportunity to recant. The book does not say, but I expect that those who recanted were probably imprisoned for life (or perhaps offered a merciful death). One could not have a bunch of remorseful heretics running around town, after all. They might, after being freed, shout "Just kidding!" and go back to being heretics again. It looks, without being all that clear, that the Cathars decided death by fire was preferable (after all, union with the divine or being reborn were the two choices, so what's to lose?). In one instance, thousands of Cathars threw themselves onto a pyre in a town square as an alternative to recanting. No one even needed to tie them up.

We always hear about Christians being martyred for their faith, but it is rare for me at least to read that there were others who were equally convinced of their righteousness that they would prefer death instead of renouncing their oppositional beliefs. Moreover, the regular townspeople hated the inquisitors so much, in some towns they complained to their local lords, asking for their expulsion (and in some cases at least, the local lords complied). At least one group of inquisitors was attacked and assassinated with axes! Others were simply killed here and there. Needless to say, the church took a really, really dim view of its investigators being hacked up, and appropriate punishments were meted out for townspeople, too. Again, we read about fear of the inquisition, but this is the first time I read about ordinary citizens who were so appalled at the oppression of the heretics that they took the law into their own hands a number of times.

Nevertheless, the church, between its spiritual power on earth and its ability to hand out lands and titles to the nobles on its side, eventually won the fight. The Cathars were wiped out, the indigenous Oc culture was wiped out at the same time, and the area became more "French."

Nowadays we would look at the Cathar heresy as being a diff'rent strokes situation. It's very hard, from our perspective, to believe that others could be killed en masse for not believing with the party in power. But there you are. And it is nice to know that some people stood up for their fellows. Unfortunately, in the end, they were not able to make that much of a difference.

And that's the really depressing part.