Who doesn't like Zatoichi?
Budo with a small 'b'
Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter. If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.
~ Wu-men ~
There was a friendship between the founder of Taikiken and of Kyokushin Karate that blossomed into much cross training between the best fighters of both groups, which had an additional effect.
The documentary is below. Enjoy.
Sometimes, I’m surprised that some long-time Tai Chi practitioners still struggle to understand how to decipher Tai Chi postures for practical applications. They often wonder how a specific movement in the form can be used in actual combat. Some postures appear more frequently in books and videos for application demonstrations, perhaps because they seem more straightforward or are considered iconic signatures of Tai Chi. Regardless of the exact posture, the applications shown in most books and videos tend to be quite rudimentary and superficial.
I believe most martial arts-oriented Tai Chi practitioners focus on push hands as their primary combat practice over the years. Many teachers don’t emphasize specific application practice in their curriculums. They might demonstrate an application here and there, especially if asked about a particular posture, but even teachers who are skilled in using Tai Chi for real combat often don’t incorporate application practice into their regular classes.
However, I don’t point out this as a criticism. In fact, I do have respect for many teachers who don’t believe in regular applications practice. Usually, and how you commonly see applications practiced and demonstrated, both practice and demonstration misses the mark of how Tai Chi really works. Even in classical Tai Chi books by famous masters, applications mostly only show a brief idea of how a posture could be used, and does not really reflect how the same master would actually use Tai Chi in a real situation.
So there might be reasons, but I am still puzzled about how the practical knowledge of applications even amongst senior long-time practitioners sometimes seems quite limited. Because, in my own opinion and experience, if you understand how Tai Chi is actually used in fighting and self-defense situations, you should be able to easily interpret any Tai Chi movement or posture into a vast amount of applications.
Tai Chi forms are highly compact. Performed as a continuous, flowing movement where different postures seamlessly blend into one another, it can be difficult to discern where one posture begins or ends – and even harder to grasp where one “application” starts or stops. Beginners, in particular, often struggle to interpret the movements. They might be accustomed to watching other martial arts styles or traditional forms (kata), which feature more distinct, segmented movements. As a result, they may find it hard to understand why and how Tai Chi has been designed in such a fluid way.
While Tai Chi is compact, its very compactness and flow introduce a level of simplification. I’m not referring to ‘simplified Tai Chi’ variations, but rather to the form itself, which conceals and distills certain movements. Why is this the case? This philosophy of simplification is rooted in the tradition of Chinese aesthetics and arts. While I won’t go into too many examples, Chinese calligraphy provides the most obvious parallel. In calligraphy, there are various writing and painting styles, not only for different occasions but also to represent the skill level of the artist, from beginner to master.
A friend asked me to contrast seitei systems and koryu systems in Japanese budo, and their relative benefits and drawbacks. “Seitei” are standardized systems, generally practiced by large organizations that intend to create a common standard for rank testing and competitions. “Koryu” are classical systems, generally defined as having been founded prior to the end of the Tokugawa Shogunate in 1868. Seitei are used by organizations that can be global in reach, such as the International Judo Federation, the International Kendo Federation and the International Naginata Federation. Koryu are generally small groups ranging from fewer than 10 people, to a few hundred or a thousand.
The advantages of standardized training systems are straightforward. Everyone knows what is expected. The syllabus and the path to promotion are clearly defined. Since it is standardized, you know that anywhere you go in the organization, people will be doing the same thing in the same way, and that your experience and rank will be respected. Because the decisions about rank are made by the organization, you should be able to clearly see and define differences between ranks. If you run into a personality issue in one dojo, it is not difficult to move to another dojo training the same curriculum. The biggest benefit is that there are many people pushing against each other to improve, so there is a great deal of experimentation in how to teach things, and successful techniques are shared widely, making the teaching ever more effective. A similar benefit for the art is that people are naturally competitive, comparing themselves to others in the organization and finding more ways that they can improve. Actual competition deserves its own essay.
Koryu is the antithesis of a standardized practice. There have been thousands of koryu throughout history, and there may be a couple of hundred that remain today. They each have their own prescribed kata, and the variety is amazing. Not just unarmed combat, sword arts and naginata (similar to a glaive), but somewhere in the syllabus of one of these koryu you’re likely to find methods for fighting with nearly anything that was recorded as being a weapon in Japanese history. Koryu are personal rather than organizational. Koryu’s strength is actually this lack of standardization. The kata are there, but they are not carved in stone, or even really printed on paper. Koryu grow and evolve as their practitioners explore new ideas and pathways. Different groups doing koryu of the same origin are free to go in different directions. This flexibility and adaptability mean that healthy koryu never stop evolving. It is much easier for a koryu to modify or add to its syllabus than it is for a large organization where everything is codified and overseen by committees that have to come to agreement about how things will be done. Koryu can adapt quickly to changes in the world around them.
Large,
standardized, organizations are large, standardized, organizations.
This means that they come with all the baggage of any large
bureaucracy. There are internal politics and petty fights to satisfy
petty egos. They tend to be rigid and have difficulty with change,
even when the path they’re on is clearly heading off a cliff. All
that standardization that makes it possible for people to freely
train with each other also tends to drive things down narrower and
narrower roads. The effort to match the ideal of the standardized
kata often means that anything that strays from that limited model is
deemed “wrong”. This makes cross-training difficult because you
will be criticized for anything that bleeds through from other
systems, styles, or schools into the standardized set. I find this a
particular issue because I sincerely believe that martial arts whose
practitioners don’t cross-train are doomed to fade and die in
weakness and irrelevancy. Cross
training
in
martial arts isn’t optional. It’s necessary.
Frequent contributor Jonathan Bluestein as a close friend of Master Kernspecht and gave a eulogy at his funeral, which is below.
A guest post by Mr Bluestein on the Wing Chun of Master Kernspecht may be found here.