Do Not Get Hit

Aki had attended a very special school. It was one of the only traditional training centers remaining in his country (and unlike anything in the United States, to the best of my knowledge). Aki and his fellow trainees had entered their dojo as children. It was not easy to get in. They and their parents had to pass interviews and tests. And then for years they received only philosophy and strenuous disciplines for self-control. There was no sparring for them. There were no flips and falls. They had been prepared to expect this. They had been told that if they wanted to learn fighting, there were countless dojos whose only requirement for entry was the payment of tuition. And this had been made emphatically clear on the first day when the highest instructor, the one Aki called karate master, gave the orientation.

Each time a new group of beginners formed, Aki told me, the karate master would gather the youngsters at his feet. He would stand towering above them, looking stern, and he would explain that for four years they would practice mental and emotional disciplines. For four years they would learn self-control - four years before they would try any of the physical tricks and tactics that other dojos offered on the very first day. If any of them disapproved of this idea, they were requested to leave now, before the instructors should waste even an hour's time on them.

"Nobody ever wanted to leave," Aki said. "In many years we saw so many new students coming. It was so difficult, but nobody wanted to leave. Sometimes they were put out by karate master's deciding."

The karate master cautioned the new pupils that this first four years was a test period. Every day was to be a test - both inside and outside the dojo. They were to maintain good health, attend school regularly, get good marks, and above all, they were not to fight - not at school or at home or at play or ever.

"If you should ever fight," this teacher had said, "ever even once during these four years, you can change to another dojo. You cannot continue here."

This last admonition had caused a stir in Aki's group (as he supposed was the case with every new class), and the children began talking among themselves.

"What if someone starts a fight with us?" one youngster asked.

"Yeah, some kids are always starting trouble," another added.

"Well, just don't hit first," someone offered.

And another: "Right. We should just explain that we're not supposed to fight."

And someone said something like, "Turn the other cheek."

The suddenly they felt the master's sharp gaze and they fell silent, realizing they had been chattering among themselves while he watched.

"You do not sense my meaning, so you discuss it among yourselves? How useless! Why do you not ask the one who said this? Am I not still here?"

They waited.

"Well, ask me!"

"What do you mean?" someone asked meekly.

"What do I mean by what?"

"What do you mean by saying, 'Do not fight'?"

"I mean," said the teacher, pausing for effect and speaking slowly, "Do not get hit! If you get hit, you fail!"

Aki assured me that his master had explained there was no blame or shame in such failure. He knew that he was testing his young aspirants from the first day on a principle he would need four years to teach. "Something may happen to you which you will think is not your fault. You will blame someone. But I will blame no one. This is because I understand how things happen. Or, you will call it chance. But I will call it your doing. This is because I have great admiration for you. I understand and respect your capacity for self-control. My expectations for you come out of this respect. Perhaps, if you can feel my respect, it will help you on your way."

[...] The one who hits and the one who gets hit are together in that arrangement, I thought to myself. Together, on that inside level they co-create the scenario that is then projected on the outside.

[...] One practices one's posture - one's mental-emotional posture. The first step in Aki's training was attitude control. Before Aki and his young classmates could begin to practice their physical stances, they had to practice their mental-emotional stances. When Aki talked about his episode in Central Park, I was struck by his eminent attitude. It was his unique emotional control that was his special strength, and this strength was apparent in his very nature. But he had practiced it for years. He had learned to be attentive to his attitudes and to the circumstances they created. Attitudes radiate, and subtle or subliminal thought they may be, they invariably invoke response.

[...] it was the concept of self-mastery that was presented in the first four years of Aki's training, before he could start with his physical training - the throws and tumbles that other dojos took from the beginning. More than four years, it seems, would likely be required to develop and perfect it - more than a lifetime, perhaps. But it was as useful as it was exceptional, in Aki's view, to begin with and to build upon the concept of self-mastery rather than the notion of self-defense.

[...] It is not self-defense but self-mastery that the adepts have learned. To maintain and assert the illusory sense of a separate, contending self, to encourage and nourish a preoccupation with adversity and defensiveness - this is precisely what martial arts is not. Self-mastery involves developing a concept of self quite different from the contemporary meaning implied when using the English words "self" and "defense." Self-mastery involves overcoming the illusion of the isolated self.

This basic principle of self-mastery must be what Aki's karate master had in mind when he told his new students, "Do not get hit." Aki's style and philosophy seemed to suggest a sense of collective self - of an interplay between mutual and individual will and intent. Because of the interrelatedness of all things, each "self" is a responsible participant in the collective will of all of life. One way of saying this is that both "hitter" and "hittee" are co-creators of the scenario in which someone hits someone.

Such a thought threatens those who prefer to hold onto a we-they, victim-consciousness point of view. But a we-they point of view is threatening in itself. It will be a co-creation philosophy, rather than a self-defense philosophy, that will provide workable solutions for our contemporary social problems.

[Doug Boyd]
Mystics, Magicians and Medicine People: Tales of a Wanderer, p. 59-63, 65-6

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

Gichin Funakoshi interpreted the "kara" of Karate-dō to mean "to purge oneself of selfish and evil thoughts. For only with a clear mind and conscience can the practitioner understand the knowledge which he receives."

Funakoshi believed that one should be "inwardly humble and outwardly gentle." Only by behaving humbly can one be open to Karate's many lessons. This is done by listening and being receptive to criticism. He considered courtesy of prime importance.

He said that "Karate is properly applied only in those rare situations in which one really must either down another or be downed by him." Funakoshi did not consider it unusual for a devotee to use Karate in a real physical confrontation no more than perhaps once in a lifetime. He stated that Karate practitioners must "never be easily drawn into a fight." It is understood that one blow from a real expert could mean death. It is clear that those who misuse what they have learned bring dishonor upon themselves.

He promoted the character trait of personal conviction. In "time of grave public crisis, one must have the courage...to face a million and one opponents." He taught that indecisiveness is a weakness.

"Karate"
Wikipedia

Is there a limit to man's power? Why can a man's fist break a stone which cannot be broken with an iron hammer? Strength itself is not the answer.

One day I visited Shohkakuji Temple in Nagasaki. The old priest of this temple is the one who had learned the art of Chinese Karate and Zen. This old priest showed me a part of his training practices during my visit. What I saw there was a scene almost dreadful to behold. He put some oil around his hand and thrust it with a yell, into boiling water in a big pot hung over the hearth.

As I was watching it in surprise, he slowly counted from one to ten and pulled his hand out of the boiling water quickly. "Look at my hand." He showed me his hand with a smile; it was not only not scalded but had undergone no change whatsoever. I could never forget the words he mentioned, "You can do anything if you will. Only act with self-confidence."

Man's mental power is great; his body supported by this great power is mysterious beyond solution by science. As far as there actually exists a priest who could calmly put his hand into boiling water [...] it moves our mind as a believable example of the greatness of man's mental power.

The essence of Karate, therefore, is nothing else than a training of mind over body. This is why Karate, capable of such power, should not be used wrongly or violently. The art of Karate seeks for something deeper than simple physical cultivation.

I have tested the limit of possibility for human strength using Karate. As a result of it I have found out that I can easily break thirty piled roof tiles, two red bricks or a two-inch thick square board with one stroke. I can also break a stone weighing over twenty pounds. I have verified that the strength to do these which is called 'superhuman,' is developed by repeated training. And needless to say, it is mental power, surpassing physical strength, which is required for this severe training.

" [...] As the proverb goes, 'Temper the heated iron before it gets cold,' so train yourself in self-discipline before you grow older if you wish to be a great man." The Oriental Confucian maxim is: "First train one's self, manage a household, and then reign over a country." It is essential to train one's self if one wants to administer the affairs of state well.

"The really great man can only be produced through continuous heavy training."

I once had an ambition to become a good politician and after experiencing much doubt and suffering, realized the necessity for power over self. Today, as a man who studies and trains in the martial art of Karate, I feel keenly that a perfect man can be produced only through a combination of culture and physical training.

The affairs of state can only be well administered by the hands of a man self-disciplined mentally and physically. Miyamato Mushashi, a famous swordsman of olden times, once said, "Make yourself familiar with all sorts of martial arts; do not think of greediness, profit or life in tomorrow. Think of nothing but the victory or defeat of today."

There is another saying that a lion runs after a hare to the best of his ability. If a lion must try his best, how much more should the politicians and statesmen give their best to the country they serve.

One famous statesman of the Orient devoted himself to serving his nation without thinking of self-interest or distinction; he even refused to accept peerage and court rank [...] If the statesmen of our time could have such pure minds there would be no unsightly bribery or graft.

To sacrifice oneself, to be selfless, is most important. I believe that true soldiers, true men of martial art, are prepared to give their lives to their first cause, moral obligation - and real statesmen should have the same resolution.

When I, as a man of martial accomplishment in sports, consider my fatherland, Korea, I earnestly believe that a mental revolution of Korean youth is a more burning need of the hour than industrial revolution and cultural elevation.

What is this mental revolution? My expression may sound a little too formal but the mental revolution I conceive of envisions Korean youths who do not try to promote their country simply by ideology or because of their desire for political power. They seek integrity and mental strength through physical training in order to become men of firm purpose to take charge of the future of their fatherland.

Cultivation of character is necessary for this purpose, and both physical and mental training are required to cultivate character [...] Only young men with integrity gained through self-discipline such as comes from the spirit of martial accomplishments can take charge of their country.

[...] I should like to propose the salvation of Korea by human nature trained in this self-denying spirit. I hope that young men of my fatherland will try to gain the self-discipline of mind and body inherent in the martial art of Karate so that the country may be restored to its rightful stature.

[...] It is the mission of us all to give our best efforts for country and for mankind.

[Mas Oyama]
What is Karate?, p.19, 119, 121, 128-30

Budō is a compound of the root bu, meaning war or martial; and dō, meaning path or way. Specifically, dō is derived from the Buddhist Sanskrit mārga (meaning the "path" to enlightenment).

The term refers to the idea of formulating propositions, subjecting them to philosophical critique and then following a 'path' to realize them.

Dō signifies a "way of life". Dō in the Japanese context, is an experiential term, experiential in the sense that practice (the way of life) is the norm to verify the validity of the discipline cultivated through a given art form. The modern budō has no external enemy, only the internal enemy, one's ego that must be fought.

Wikipedia
Budō

Zanshin is the state of total awareness, of relaxed alertness. It means being aware of one's surroundings and enemies, while being prepared to react.

By artificially creating social units in which everyone is the same age, the ability to help and to learn from each other is greatly reduced. Instead, conditions for competition are automatically created, because each child is put under pressure to be just as good as the next one.

In a group of ten children of quite different ages, there will naturally be much more cooperation than in a group of ten ten-year olds.

[Helena Norberg-Hodge]
Ancient Futures: Learning From Ladakh, p.108-9

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