"If I have brought up one corner and he [the student] does not return with the other three, I will not repeat..."(Huang 1997, in Takagi et al., 2010, p.91)
I am currently reading a very geeky book on Buddhist thought co-written by a colleague and former sempai (actually, once a sempai, always a sempai). It was so difficult for me to follow, that I read the entire glossary first, in preparation, so I could pick my way through discussions of the Three Mysteries, the Six Elements, and endless references to the Mahavairocanabhisambodhi-sutra. I am convinced that somehow this is good for me; but even if it isn't, I promised my sempai I would buy the book, and, having bought it, I feel compelled to at least try to read it.
In wading through some of the more obscure discussions, however, the above quote hit me like a vajra. The reference was made in the main text and the above quote in a footnote from the Analects of Confucius. If I ever needed a metaphor for teaching a martial art form that consists only of kata, this is it.
Kata, in koryu, is theory. It holds out hypothetical situations of attack, defense, counterattack, and counterdefense. I have met more than one practitioner of more "combative" martial arts (i.e., ones that allow free-sparring), that a kata-based practice is somehow "impractical" - that kata is boring and repetitive, and that sometimes the hypothetical situations make no sense. The pedagogical sensibility of kata is forgotten in the rush to make practical sense of it.
The biggest criticism of iai, for example, is that the first set of kata in many ryuha begin from the kneeling posture of seiza. Actually, there are many practical reasons for using this posture for beginning students, but of course the criticism settles on the idea that swordsmen did not sit in seiza while armed; therefore, this is a bogus and "inauthentic" practice.
Then there are the scenaria themselves. I remember a mid-level student leading a new one through the unfamiliar steps of a particularly challenging sword kata. The new person asked the meaning of one of the movements, and the mid-level guy replied, "I don't know - it's kata - it's not supposed to make sense." Overhearing this, I responded, loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it makes no sense!" Grr.
This mid-level student was never a favorite of mine, actually, because, unlike the suggestion in the above quote, he could never bring himself to consider what might be beyond whatever he was actually shown, like the dummy in The Analects. I could not bring myself to repeat anything beyond the movements of a given kata, which he already knew, because he was too lazy to figure out the other "three corners" of the kata on his own. As a result, he never got beyond memorizing the movements of many of the kata; their meanings were in the other three corners, which he could not be bothered to figure out. Eventually, he became incredibly bored.
There's no question that beginning students have their hands full just trying to follow and ingest the most basic aspects of kata, the physical techniques. Some, who have become acquainted enough with basic kihon, may be astute enough to figure out where the kihon and its variations fit into the scenario of a particular form. This is, actually, as it should be. No teacher that I have ever met ever expected a student to come back with the "three corners" of understanding during the first week of practice, or even the first year. In fact, the occasional person who infers meanings too early in practice is, in all likelihood, wrong. At best, she will have to discard these early inferences; at worst, she will be stuck with them, unable to change her thinking even as her understanding deepens. But sooner or later, the teacher will expect the student to be able to take kata and figure out what its underlying meaning is, and in the case of iai, there are many, many meanings layered underneath drawing, cutting and resheathing a sword. Of the three corners, after 27 years of practice, maybe I can get two, but I would not bet the farm on it. Figuring out the three corners can take a very long time.
I notice the writer of The Analects did not attach a time frame to "returning the other three," so I won't either. But I hope it happens eventually. Swordsmanship is not just about swords.
The book: Takagi and Dreitlein, Kukai on the Philosophy of Language, 2010, Keio University Press.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Tameshigiri stories
[I suppose I should issue a disclaimer - no part of this entry should be used as instruction for readers to teach themselves practice cutting. Tameshigiri should only be practiced with an experienced teacher in a proper setting.]
Everyone seems to love tameshigiri (practice cutting). To those who don't know, tameshigiri involves setting up some sort of target (or targets) and then using a sword to cut it (or them). Targets can be made of paper, rice straw, bamboo, or materials in combination. The idea originally was to replicate in some way conditions of cutting human flesh and bone. In the past, some (though not all) swords were tested at execution grounds, on actual bodies. The swords were then engraved with the results of these tests, as though advertising the toughness, durability and sharpness of the blades. There are some gruesome illustrations which readers can look for if they have a mind to. I am not going to post any of them here.
I bring up the history of some practice cutting to make several larger points: (1) tameshigiri is serious business; (2) it is not a game, or even a sport (though there are competitions in tameshigiri); and (3) it is potentially very dangerous, both to the participants and any spectators, including students awaiting their turn to give it a try.
On the other hand, tameshigiri is important to the practice of swordsmanship. It helps to clarify technique. No matter how many fancy kata you may know, if you do not have a decent cut, the kata is meaningless. Likewise any armchair speculation about what makes good technique has no meaning if it cannot be borne out in the practical sense. Moreover, realizing that a sword can actually cut (and inflict major damage) should be a way to show students just how deadly serious the practice can be, and how showing both politeness and respect as part of practice is not just empty ritual, but vital to developing a good understanding of what the practice of swordsmanship is, and what it means.
I should say, at this point, that my teacher did not particularly care for tameshigiri practice. Some of my sempai loved it (and one of them became positively obsessed with it for awhile). After many years of practicing it myself, as well as watching others, I think I have a good idea why he was not terribly impressed. To be honest, it is not that difficult to teach someone to cut a target with a sword. Give someone a sharpie, line the person up with a target, position his feet so he won't cut into his legs (and position everyone else out of harm's way), and let him try it. In that sense, it's not as difficult as many of the other aspects of swordsmanship - the history, the philosophy, as well as the meaning of the scenaria of the kata, along with any aesthetic principles and movement principles involved. Moreover, if you practice good technique, you do not need to prove it by cutting an actual target. How do I know good technique? I can both hear a good cut, and see it. But, as I stated above, I have no objection to people gaining some insight into proper technique by practice cutting, and I don't mind trying a few myself to see if any bad habits have interfered with what we are actually doing in our practice.
While making an effective cut can be done with some basic instruction, making a proper cut is more complicated. I know some lovely people whose practice is shaped around target-cutting. I have seen photos of more than one of them making a good-looking cut while employing improper technique. In particular, leaning forward so that the right shoulder is angled towards the target. To paraphrase Bruce Lee, targets don't cut back. If one were to apply that technique in the practice of an actual kata, the teacher would (or should) point out that pitching the body forward makes the swordsman vulnerable to a counter attack. We practice a number of partner kata where the attacker evades and counters a defender's cut. Keeping the sword in line and the posture erect helps minimize the effectiveness of the counter attack. A straw target will just sit there whether you succeed in cutting it or not, and it's not going to try to cut you if you make a poor show of it. While kata scenaria are hypothetical, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that an opponent who evades a counter will take advantage of any mistake the defender may make.
It's not difficult to figure out that target practice must be absolutely made as safe as possible for everyone involved, from the condition of the swords being used to the positioning of the person cutting as well as anyone else in the room, but, time after time, I have been surprised by the seeming lack of basic precautions during practice cutting. As I have been able to assume more responsibility during cutting sessions, I have worked very hard to contain students' understandable enthusiasm. I have seen people become very reckless during a cutting practice, or (perhaps worse) treat it as some sort of performance. To me, it is simply another aspect of practice, and not an end in itself. And it needs to be treated with utmost seriousness, about which I have some thoughts.
First, practice must be closely supervised. I cannot emphasize this enough. Something happens to people when they realize that a cut actually works. I have seen students get a little goofy, or giddy, and their concentration erodes accordingly. I never let inexperienced people try "fancy" cuts; I never let them try nukitsuke (drawing and cutting in one motion). A bad draw can allow a sharp blade to cut right through its wooden saya (sheath) and into the swordsman's hand. I will never forget a video shown by a colleague of a competition in Japan where participants paid an entrance fee and got to try cutting. One guy drew the sword recklessly, and we could just see a small object fly across the bottom of the screen. It turned out to be his thumb. I am hoping no one is doing stuff like that anymore. I also heard about an exhibition a number of years ago in NYC where people from the crowd were able to pay a fee and try to cut a target. Even though I did not hear of any accidents; to me, stuff like this is unforgivably stupid.
Students should at least know the rudiments of what they are doing. At yet another exhibition, held at a seminar, which style emphasized the use of actual swords as opposed to practice swords, the teacher cut beautifully. His student who hosted the seminar tried next. He also cut well, but he needed to watch the sword and his hand as he attempted to sheathe the sword. I am not making this up. This teacher refused to allow his beginner students to use practice swords (which imitate in weight and fittings the real thing, but less dangerously and less expensively). He would only allow them to use wooden swords of his own design. As a result, the students at this particular seminar had never learned to either properly draw or resheathe a sword. I was horrified, torn between wanting to leave the room so I would not have to watch someone badly injure himself, and feeling the need to stay in case I had to apply first aid.
Building on the foregoing, I am not a fan of tameshigiri being done as part of a demonstration of swordsmanship. There are simply too many variables - the position of the crowd, for one. No spectators should ever be positioned anywhere near the possible trajectory of the cut, or even the sword. Should the practitioner lose control the force of the cut could result in causing a loose blade to fly through the air. This means, really, that the person cutting should have his back to the audience. Not that much fun to watch. In fact, I have spoken to spectators who relate that watching a cutting demonstration is boring.
In addition, though I have seen some successful cutting demonstrations, there is not much control over the condition of the targets. The straw mats used for cutting practice need to be wet, but not too wet. A too-wet target is not a good target, and a dry target is more difficult to cut. Again, I observed a demonstration where the swordsman was unable to cut through his target (probably because, while waiting for his part in the demo, his target became too dry). His reaction, once his first cut was unsuccessful, was to reset the target and try again, with more force. He succeeded in knocking over the target and the stand, at which point he thankfully gave up. I was once at a group-dojo practice that included tameshigiri. I was given management of the second round of cutting. By that time, the other students (led by some of the teachers) had started applauding each successful cut. I asked them to stop, since this was practice, and not a performance.
A sword is a tool. When it is sharp enough, and the target is properly prepared, the tool will work quite well, without any undue effort. Forcing a cut causes damage to the sword, and could injure the person cutting. It's like trying to put in a good screw with a broken bit, or trying to put in a damaged screw with a good bit. No matter how hard you try, you need a new bit, and an undamaged screw. Both items need to be in working order.
I am not even going to discuss in any detail people who "cut" watermelons or other fruit (there was a story some years ago about a karate teacher who attempted to cut a pickle against a student's neck on video, with predictable results. I did not see this tape, so I am not sure if the story is not apocryphal, but even the idea is appalling). Many stupid examples are now available on YouTube, if you care to watch. And they totally miss the point, beyond the obvious - there's no cure for stupid, and if any teacher you ever meet suggests anything similar, get thee to another dojo - stat.
Everyone seems to love tameshigiri (practice cutting). To those who don't know, tameshigiri involves setting up some sort of target (or targets) and then using a sword to cut it (or them). Targets can be made of paper, rice straw, bamboo, or materials in combination. The idea originally was to replicate in some way conditions of cutting human flesh and bone. In the past, some (though not all) swords were tested at execution grounds, on actual bodies. The swords were then engraved with the results of these tests, as though advertising the toughness, durability and sharpness of the blades. There are some gruesome illustrations which readers can look for if they have a mind to. I am not going to post any of them here.
I bring up the history of some practice cutting to make several larger points: (1) tameshigiri is serious business; (2) it is not a game, or even a sport (though there are competitions in tameshigiri); and (3) it is potentially very dangerous, both to the participants and any spectators, including students awaiting their turn to give it a try.
On the other hand, tameshigiri is important to the practice of swordsmanship. It helps to clarify technique. No matter how many fancy kata you may know, if you do not have a decent cut, the kata is meaningless. Likewise any armchair speculation about what makes good technique has no meaning if it cannot be borne out in the practical sense. Moreover, realizing that a sword can actually cut (and inflict major damage) should be a way to show students just how deadly serious the practice can be, and how showing both politeness and respect as part of practice is not just empty ritual, but vital to developing a good understanding of what the practice of swordsmanship is, and what it means.
I should say, at this point, that my teacher did not particularly care for tameshigiri practice. Some of my sempai loved it (and one of them became positively obsessed with it for awhile). After many years of practicing it myself, as well as watching others, I think I have a good idea why he was not terribly impressed. To be honest, it is not that difficult to teach someone to cut a target with a sword. Give someone a sharpie, line the person up with a target, position his feet so he won't cut into his legs (and position everyone else out of harm's way), and let him try it. In that sense, it's not as difficult as many of the other aspects of swordsmanship - the history, the philosophy, as well as the meaning of the scenaria of the kata, along with any aesthetic principles and movement principles involved. Moreover, if you practice good technique, you do not need to prove it by cutting an actual target. How do I know good technique? I can both hear a good cut, and see it. But, as I stated above, I have no objection to people gaining some insight into proper technique by practice cutting, and I don't mind trying a few myself to see if any bad habits have interfered with what we are actually doing in our practice.
While making an effective cut can be done with some basic instruction, making a proper cut is more complicated. I know some lovely people whose practice is shaped around target-cutting. I have seen photos of more than one of them making a good-looking cut while employing improper technique. In particular, leaning forward so that the right shoulder is angled towards the target. To paraphrase Bruce Lee, targets don't cut back. If one were to apply that technique in the practice of an actual kata, the teacher would (or should) point out that pitching the body forward makes the swordsman vulnerable to a counter attack. We practice a number of partner kata where the attacker evades and counters a defender's cut. Keeping the sword in line and the posture erect helps minimize the effectiveness of the counter attack. A straw target will just sit there whether you succeed in cutting it or not, and it's not going to try to cut you if you make a poor show of it. While kata scenaria are hypothetical, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that an opponent who evades a counter will take advantage of any mistake the defender may make.
It's not difficult to figure out that target practice must be absolutely made as safe as possible for everyone involved, from the condition of the swords being used to the positioning of the person cutting as well as anyone else in the room, but, time after time, I have been surprised by the seeming lack of basic precautions during practice cutting. As I have been able to assume more responsibility during cutting sessions, I have worked very hard to contain students' understandable enthusiasm. I have seen people become very reckless during a cutting practice, or (perhaps worse) treat it as some sort of performance. To me, it is simply another aspect of practice, and not an end in itself. And it needs to be treated with utmost seriousness, about which I have some thoughts.
First, practice must be closely supervised. I cannot emphasize this enough. Something happens to people when they realize that a cut actually works. I have seen students get a little goofy, or giddy, and their concentration erodes accordingly. I never let inexperienced people try "fancy" cuts; I never let them try nukitsuke (drawing and cutting in one motion). A bad draw can allow a sharp blade to cut right through its wooden saya (sheath) and into the swordsman's hand. I will never forget a video shown by a colleague of a competition in Japan where participants paid an entrance fee and got to try cutting. One guy drew the sword recklessly, and we could just see a small object fly across the bottom of the screen. It turned out to be his thumb. I am hoping no one is doing stuff like that anymore. I also heard about an exhibition a number of years ago in NYC where people from the crowd were able to pay a fee and try to cut a target. Even though I did not hear of any accidents; to me, stuff like this is unforgivably stupid.
Students should at least know the rudiments of what they are doing. At yet another exhibition, held at a seminar, which style emphasized the use of actual swords as opposed to practice swords, the teacher cut beautifully. His student who hosted the seminar tried next. He also cut well, but he needed to watch the sword and his hand as he attempted to sheathe the sword. I am not making this up. This teacher refused to allow his beginner students to use practice swords (which imitate in weight and fittings the real thing, but less dangerously and less expensively). He would only allow them to use wooden swords of his own design. As a result, the students at this particular seminar had never learned to either properly draw or resheathe a sword. I was horrified, torn between wanting to leave the room so I would not have to watch someone badly injure himself, and feeling the need to stay in case I had to apply first aid.
Building on the foregoing, I am not a fan of tameshigiri being done as part of a demonstration of swordsmanship. There are simply too many variables - the position of the crowd, for one. No spectators should ever be positioned anywhere near the possible trajectory of the cut, or even the sword. Should the practitioner lose control the force of the cut could result in causing a loose blade to fly through the air. This means, really, that the person cutting should have his back to the audience. Not that much fun to watch. In fact, I have spoken to spectators who relate that watching a cutting demonstration is boring.
In addition, though I have seen some successful cutting demonstrations, there is not much control over the condition of the targets. The straw mats used for cutting practice need to be wet, but not too wet. A too-wet target is not a good target, and a dry target is more difficult to cut. Again, I observed a demonstration where the swordsman was unable to cut through his target (probably because, while waiting for his part in the demo, his target became too dry). His reaction, once his first cut was unsuccessful, was to reset the target and try again, with more force. He succeeded in knocking over the target and the stand, at which point he thankfully gave up. I was once at a group-dojo practice that included tameshigiri. I was given management of the second round of cutting. By that time, the other students (led by some of the teachers) had started applauding each successful cut. I asked them to stop, since this was practice, and not a performance.
A sword is a tool. When it is sharp enough, and the target is properly prepared, the tool will work quite well, without any undue effort. Forcing a cut causes damage to the sword, and could injure the person cutting. It's like trying to put in a good screw with a broken bit, or trying to put in a damaged screw with a good bit. No matter how hard you try, you need a new bit, and an undamaged screw. Both items need to be in working order.
I am not even going to discuss in any detail people who "cut" watermelons or other fruit (there was a story some years ago about a karate teacher who attempted to cut a pickle against a student's neck on video, with predictable results. I did not see this tape, so I am not sure if the story is not apocryphal, but even the idea is appalling). Many stupid examples are now available on YouTube, if you care to watch. And they totally miss the point, beyond the obvious - there's no cure for stupid, and if any teacher you ever meet suggests anything similar, get thee to another dojo - stat.
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