The Value of Repetition

I shall tell an old story here that I think well illustrates my point. It concerns a very famous reciter of ballad dramas, who had a very strict teacher when he was learning the art in his youth. Day after day, week after week, month after month, in fact year after year, the young man was made to recite the very same passage from the Taikoki ("the story of Toyotomi Hideyoshi") without ever being permitted to go any further.

Finally despair overwhelmed the young man, who (if I recall correctly) was destined to become the famous Master Koshiji. Persuading himself that he was not suited to the profession, he ran off one night from his master's house, heading for the shogun's capital of Edo and some other profession.

Following the Tokaido road, Koshiji stopped one night at an inn in Shizuoka Prefecture where, as luck would have it, a recitation contest was to be held that very evening. Having nothing to lose, Koshiji entered the contest and recited, of course, the passage from the Taikoki that he knew so well. After he has finished, the sponsor of the competition cried out his admiration. "That was superb!" he exclaimed. "Do tell me who you are, for I am sure you are a very famous master."

Young Koshiji was pleased by these words of praise, but at the same time, somewhat perplexed, he had to confess that he was a mere beginner. His astonished listener replied, "I find that very difficult to believe. You performed this evening like a famous master. Under whom, then, do you study?"

At this, Koshiji spilled out the story of how he had run away because his master was so very demanding.

"Ah, what a terrible mistake you have made!" cried the sponsor. "It is precisely because of that demanding teacher of yours that you have been able to recite so superbly this evening after studying for only a few years. If you will take my advice, go back at once to your teacher, offer him your apologies, and beg him to resume your instruction."

Young Koshiji did so, and before he died became the most famous master of his time. I tell this little story not merely, of course, to inspire reciters of ballad-dramas, nor even would be followers of Karate-do; I tell it because, like the lesson of so many stories that may or may not have their basis in actual events, it is applicable to life itself.

[Gichin Funakoshi]
Karate-Do: My Way of Life, p.107-8

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Night after night, often in the backyard of the Azato house as the master looked on, I would practice a kata ("formal exercise") time and again week after week, sometimes month after month, until I had mastered it to my teacher's satisfaction. This constant repetition of a single kata was grueling, often exasperating and on occasion humiliating. More than once I had to lick the dust on the floor of the dojo or in the Azato backyard. But practice was strict, and I was never permitted to move on to another kata until Azato was convinced that I had satisfactorily understood the one I had been working on.

[Gichin Funakoshi]
Karate-Do: My Way of Life, p.6